ArchivedLogs:Flotsam

Flotsam
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Killian, Simon
In Absentia	2015-11-29 "I'm not planning on making this a hobby."(Part of Flu Season TP
Location <BOM> Beachfront - Ascension Island
Largely rocky and desolate, the majority of the waterfront on this small island is an unwelcoming place. Craggy and forbidding, lined with jagged black rocks, the coast here can take a fair bit of scrambling to navigate. Here and there, though, the coastline levels out to narrow sweeps of pebbly beaches littered with shells and seaweed carried in on the frigid tide. Occasional old trunks of fallen trees dot the narrow beach, victims of the storms that frequently plague the island. One small stretch of the western shore holds a small dock, a few boats usually moored there. Tucked off the mainland coast in Jamaica Bay, the buildings and lights of the city can be seen far across the water. It is a clear afternoon, crisp and bright and pleasant enough. Sunny, chill, far enough away from the city (and currently upwind of it) to be away from the worst of the rotten-meat odor that's been hanging over it lately. Dusk does not look like he's particularly /enjoying/ the day -- his expression is pallid, face scrunched up even with large dark sunglasses on. His hair is rumpled, his clothing rumpled, wings curled tight around him; overall despite the late afternoon he still manages a just-rolled-out-of-bed sort of drag to his demeanor. He has a hand-rolled cigarette between two fingers, an insulated mug of coffee clutched to his chest like a security blanket. Currently glowering off across the water in the direction of the distant city like it has offended him. Simon wasn't buried but he can be seen pulling himself out of the beach this afternoon. He's looking a little rumpled as well but its more the 'running and hiding' type of rumpled. He's been making trips into various parts of the city to get food and other supplies for the Brotherhood, his ability making him quite adept at avoiding zombies and other scavengers alike. Dressed in jeans, a deep purple jacket, a baseball cap, and carrying a backpack, he pulls the bandana he'd been covering his nose and mouth with down once he's fully out of the ground. When he sees that he isn't alone on the beach, Simon nods a greeting. "{Hello}" he speaks in fleunt, polite French. Nimbly scaling down the rockier side of the shore not too far away is the common sight of Killian's border collie form. His black and white fur, much more kempt than it had been just a week ago. Not so drooly and rabid looking, his sharp brown eyes not so glazed. Calm in movement and intention, if still intense by nature on his current path as he manuevers down towards Dusk. Paws slow some feet away, pausing his travels until he comes to a stop- almost within arm's reach of his initial target. Ears rotate, curious, towards the French, but instead of words or change of form, Killian collects his haunches beneath him. A grumbly-whine sort of noise escapes him, followed promptly by an all-too-human sigh. Dusk looks up with a sudden twitch of wings, a sudden widening of eyes when there is abruptly Person where there was no Person before. A growl rumbles in his throat, but quiets immediately once he recognizes Simon. His head just shakes at the French; he lifts his chin in a nod of greeting instead, waggling his thermos in a wave. One corner of his mouth pulls up out of its grimace as Killian makes his way down the rock. "Yeah," he answers the sigh, "I'm right there with you." There's a quiet sigh from Simon at the reaction to his French. He's been getting a little frustrated with language issues lately. He glances up as he notices Killian, smiling faintly and nodding his greeting. Dusk's words have Simon surprised and he hesitates a moment before switching to English. "Have you started to feel any less ill?" he asks, frowning as he looks between the other two. The white-tip of his otherwise black tail beats on the ground once in response. Then, as fur melts away, dissolving into the somewhat smudged tan of his skin to leave behind the stubble and black hair of his head, limbs elongate until Killian is left seated and reclining in the spot he'd chosen. Now-blue eyes study Simon first, the expression moving from blankly unreadable to a crooked smirk when he eventually looks back out over the water. He's quiet, too, for the initial little while. Despite the English, he finally adds his two cents in imperfect Spanish, choppy, not so-fluent, "{Not helpin' wearing yourself all damn day. Ain't no lack of 'em.}" Then, to Simon, slower, "{Escaped it?}" Dusk crouches down where he's been standing, his long talons digging into the sand. He offers his coffee towards Killian, taking a long puff of his smoke. "{They never fucking end.}" His own Spanish comes with a native speaker's ease. He nods to Simon, eyes drifting back towards the city. 'Finished,' he signs, the flick of his hands a fairly typical and easy to comprehend even for those with no familiarity with the language. "Over and done. Thank fucking God. The things I've put people through --" His head shakes slightly. Simon unzips his jacket a little bit for breathing room and listens quietly to Dusk and Killian even if he can't understand them. He can pick out a few words at least. He looks a little confused and apologetic in reply to Killian's question. Dusk's signed reply gets a nod from Simon though, the phase morpher carefully sitting down. "{I don't suppose either of you speak German?}" he asks, trying that language as well. From down in the water there's a splash. A slow scrape. Pale waterlogged hands dragging themselves up out of the tide onto the sand, a bloated rag-clad body staggering half-upright onto the sandbar not far off down the beach. Kind of turning their direction. Killian leans forwards, reaching up to take the offered mug. Clutched between two now-furless hands, he considers it for both its warmth and what's inside. There's a faint unamused chuckle, a heavy rolled shrug of his shoulders as he relents to resting forward with elbows over knees. "If English ain't a problem- fucking words-" The shapeshifter casts an odd glance over a shoulder and then looks back to the loaned mug, "Mad fucking mess, man. Not just you, you know that. The goddamn city's overrun, more than just a few shitheadzombies. Enough buildings exploded all to hell with not your hand in it." Splash, scrape? Killian may shift his attention in that general direction- but sortof watches more than reacts. Dusk shakes his head, too, at the German, one wing shrugging apologetically. His teeth flash in a bright /grin/, though, at the mention of exploded buildings. He doesn't actually comment on these though he /does/ twitch a thumbclaw towards the coffee mug. "Oh, man, Ion came back from /outside/ the quarantine zone the other day with, like, Santa's-fucking-/sleigh/ full of goodies. /Fresh/ veggies and /good/ coffee and --" His words cut off at the splash, attention turning sharply down the beach. His muscles tense, though he doesn't move yet, either. His claws dig more heavily into the sand, eyes fixing on the zombie pulling itself out of the water. "... I like them so much better when they don't... ooze." Simon just sighs again, resigning himself to English since the others seem to be using it without fear. "Buildings have been exploding?" he asks, casting a wary glance over the water. He's surprised at the news about Ion though. "If I had known he was going out that far, I would have volunteered to go with him. I was thinking of traveling beyond the quarentine myself," he admits. The splash doesn't raise concern until Simon sees how Dusk and Killian react to it and he looks over his shoulder. The color drains from Simon's face at the sight of the zombie an he swallows. He reaches for the heavy wrench he's got strapped to his bag, holding onto it just in case. "Yeah?" Comes with re-re-consideration of the coffee, tipping it back to take a sip of it despite the Island's new arrival. "Damn, man." Is what that gets, quieter in volume but apparently agreeing with Dusk's assessment. "Couldn't've had better timing. Decent prey peaced /out/ when it just fucking starting get bad. Even pigeons ain't down with this shit." Scuffing of boots indicates the shapeshifter's rising to his feet, if not all the way. He stops part way, more crouched than anything with a couple of fingers holding his balance before him. There's another quiet chuckle that shakes his shoulders just a little as he sets the mug back- closer to Dusk but behind- to protect what's clearly important. "Can't have missed the rubble if you been supply huntin. All over the goddamn place, yeah? Hit him up for next time maybe?" Is added to Simon, though he's angled more at their undead friend than him. "Sure it's gonna motherfuckingsquish too, full'a bay water." There's a grimace within his smirk, "You had your fill?" The pale zombie on the beach finishes staggering upright, stumbling in the direction of the others with wet splorching footsteps on the damp sand. Squish, squash, squish. The moan that it makes as it sees the trio is a little watery-sounding, as well. Its hands start to lift as it draws closer -- but when Simon reaches for his wrench, it halts. Stops, pausing on the sand, its groan dying down. Its teeth still champ, but it doesn't yet move forward, twenty or so feet off and teetering uncertaintly. Dusk's wings shake in a ripple of silent laughter as Killian protects the coffee mug, his twitch of smile clearly approving. "A few buildings. Not ones anyone'll miss. Well. Not ones anyone important'll miss." He starts to get to his feet, but settles back down when Simon reaches for his wrench, sliiightly relieved. Not in any hurry to head towards the bloated zombie. Though when the zombie /stops/ his brows raise, head tilting to one side. He looks at the wrench, then at the zombie. "Huh? -- Hey. Yo. Biter. Come get us. We're tasty. Delicious meat." He waves an arm towards the zombie, curiously. "I saw rubble but I did not know it was an explosion," Simon replies. Not that he knows how to tell apart the ways buildings get destroyed from rubble alone. He swallows, standing and turning to face the zombie. He doesn't seem in much of a hurry to go over there. "Why is it just standing there?" he asks quietly.' Killian's eyes flicker a contrasting gold to olive against the blues, but settle as he does. His smirk fades to a more casually lingering grin. "Defective one, maybe. Not-so-brainless." Rambled amusement, soft though he doesn't leave the crouch he's taken. "Thought it could fucking swim, anyway. Or float. You throw any in the water lately?" Asked of either of them. But to Simon's question, an uneven shrug is all that really can be given. The zombie lets out another rattling groan as Dusk's arm waves. It slowly begins its squelching walk towards the others again. Splorch, splorch, splorch, a little unsteady but overall less stumbling than most. There's a moment of pause as it draws nearer before it begins to move again -- when it finally first lunges closer it is not for any of them, initially, but for the wrench in Simon's hand, one pasty dripping hand clumsily reaching out for the mutant's. "I mean, they don't need to breath. You get people dying on boats or whatever, they could theoretically just -- walk over. I brain all mine. I'm a /professional/." Dusk is kind of leaning back, wings propping up his weight in the sand as he watches the creature's approach. His nose wrinkles as it gets closer, a grimace crossing his face. One curled fist comes up to press against his lips when it finally makes its clumsy lunge, stifling -- a smile? Though now his eyebrows have /definitely/ raised. "Seriously? What the /fuck/. I've never had one try to disarm me first. I don't. Even. What. Has someone been training them, that's -- creepy in a serious way." "I try to avoid them rather than fight," Simon admits. He isn't particularly brave when it comes to facing the undead. When the zombie lunges, Simon yelps and phases himself so that the zombie will likely end up falling through him like he wasn't there. Killian huffs something of a laugh, a brief shake of his head following Dusk's words. Though the shapeshifter is less at-ease as it gets closer, standing to take a step or two /out/ of the zombie's lunging path. Stripes faintly ripple up his skin, the pattern of fur etched 2-D like old, worn out, poorly-done tattoos. But the shifting-reflex comes to an awkward halt as the zombie doesn't quite grab for Simon himself. The patterns, the fangs that had also started to warp his mouth all regress back into human features. One heavy dark brow raises, a hand partially lifted in a /confused/ but curious vague gesture, "Can you imagine training these fuckers?" Is the too-casual response to Dusk's intrigue as he leans over instead- though his focus doesn't leave their guest- to grab a waterlogged branch and lift it. He doesn't quite /poke/ at the undead thing, yet, "You that interested in watchin this thing? It ain't lookin' familiar, yeah?" The zombie reaches out -- and then through Simon, indeed stumbling forward to topple onto its face. Splat. Into the sand. When it stands up, its face has been distorted somewhat, soggy skin split open and mashed to one side. It swipes at Simon again, this time keeping its balance but dropping its hand to its side when it reaches into nothingness. Its teeth champ at the air. It shuffles forward through the sand, then pauses. Shuffles forward again, reaching this time to grab at Killian's stick, trying to yank it out of the man's hand even as it leans in to chomp teeth towards his arm. One of Dusk's wings stretches out, casual but strong in its heavy /shove/ that pushes the biter back down the rocky beach. "Nobody I recognize. This is just, this is /weird/, you know? Zombies don't usually -- this. /Think/. I mean, if they're thinking, that's like..." His shoulders shrug. "Zombies don't think. /People/ think. Not thinking real /well/ but still this is kinda..." His nose wrinkles. "... be almost sad killing this one." Shuddering and quickly hopping a few steps away from the zombie, Simon looks a bit sick. "I can never take enough showers after doing that," he says, looking down at the zombie even as it swipes at him again. He holds his wrench up defensively, looking past the zombie at Dusk and Killian. "Then what do we do?" Those stripes come back with a vengence, rapidly coiling up his arms and face followed fluidly after by sudden coating of orange and white fur. The man releases the stick as soon as the zombie grabs for it- both due to loss of thumbs to hold it and because he has no intention of trying to keep it. Face molds broader, muzzle forming with the prominence of wrinkled lips and off-white fangs that put the old human ones that were there to shame. Amidst the second or so it takes to shift, Killian bounds back a foot out of the immediate lunging range. A dinner-plate-sized paw hesitates in the air as what it /was/ about to swipe gets shoved by Dusk's wing. It's replaced on the beach's rocky shore beneath him, tail tip twitching as it watches the creature before looking back at Simon, then Dusk. At Dusk's comment, there's a very human but slight roll of the tiger's head to one side with a heaved sigh that could be counted as a 'Really?' or some other amused but exasperated thing. The zombie stumbles back, splatting wetly down onto its ass on the sand at Dusk's shove. It /doesn't/ immediately get back up, instead considering the others on the beach, fingers curling into the rocky ground. Starting to push itself up, ultimately staying put. Considering Dusk's wing for a long moment. Slowly backing up somewhat. With another small chomp of teeth. Dusk spreads his hands out a little helplessly, gesturing towards the zombie on the sand, like: look at it! "It's /barely/ even trying to eat us, guys. I mean. This is. Kinda. Sad." His nose wrinkles as he looks at its squished-in face, lips compressing. "... I have a friend who's dead people try to kill him /all/ the /time/ since all this zombie shit I can't help feeling bad for this..." His brows wrinkle, the look he casts the creature a little perplexed. His cheeks puff out, and he blows out a heavy sigh. "... I'll find it an empty cabin. We can ask Regan." "Barely is still trying," Simon replies, looking up at Dusk in surprise. "Does your friend try to eat people?" he asks quietly, glancing at the zombie to make sure it isn't about to attack again. Killian pins his ears, the fluffy whites of the insides vanishing beneath the black white-spotted backs. The snarling is lost, the tiger's head dipped as he regards the sand-fallen zombie. The grumbling noise he makes preceeds the return of human features, leaving the man crouched still on all fours, but clothed and normal, sans stripes and fangs. He rocks back a little to grant himself better balance. The grumbling gives way to words, the front of them lost in the transition, "-fuckingterrible idea. You want to have a goddamn pet zombie? Here? One that can kinda-maybe /think/? You gonna feed it, take it for fuckin' walkies?" "What? Are we measuring fucking personhood by whether or not someone's tried to /eat/ people, now?" Dusk's eyebrows lift as he turns his eyes away from the zombie on the sands to Simon, a very faint rumble underneath his voice. "Because that's a shit measurement, dude. /I've/ tried to eat people. Isra's tried to eat people. B's tried to eat people. Half this island's tried to eat people. Get over it." He pushes to his feet, grimaces again as he approaches the creature on the sands. "And no, I don't want to -- kkh. If a zombie is learning to fucking /think/, that's -- that's -- that's /something/, anyway. And Regan's busting her ass studying this disease, you don't think she'll want to /know/? Maybe she'll say kill it. But maybe she'll want to bring it to wherever they're studying it and -- /study/ it. At any rate, it'll be her call. She can look it this and make it." The grimace hasn't left his face as he -- kind of gingerly -- approaches the zombie. Just as gingerly reaching to pick it /up/ by its bloated legs, nose wrinkling as he spreads his wings to lift off into the air. The zombie sits up a little straighter as Dusk approaches. Its teeth champ at the air. Almost hopefully. Its teeth are -- still champing. Futilely. Hands hanging downward and grasping at nothing as it is lifted, dripping saltwater off onto the beach as Dusk hefts it up up up. Simon just frowns, quieting down quickly. There's no more argument from him even if he isn't particularly thrilled with the idea of keeping a zombie around. Eventually he lowers his weapon and just watches quietly as Dusk starts lifting the zombie up up and away. "Dusk, man.." Killian stands, straightening as Dusk goes /to/ the zombie, taking a single step forward, a sort-of hopeless hand held out as a vague gesture of 'don't do that'. "There ain't any lack of.. subjects." The word, just like the rotting smell in the air, leaves a bad taste in his mouth, his grin fading the rest of the way with it. "Fine," Is faintly annoyed, though not with /Dusk/ himself, face darkening under slightly furrowed brows. "But I'm coming with ya. Just don't make a habit of collecting 'em?" "I'm not planning," Dusk's voice comes through gritted teeth as the zombie hangs slack and grasping in his hands, "on making this a hobby." And then he is carting his kind of slimy and gross cargo low over the beach, back off towards the cabins. Surely Regan will be SO THRILLED with the present he is bringing home for her. Simon follows along on the ground, nodding slightly to what Killian says. "Do you want me to call Regan now?" he asks, glancing back towards the city for a moment before turning back to the others for an answer. "Sooner than not, I guess." Killian responds to Simon, though looking upwards, the edge of his lips curling again in his arrogant smirk, "Depending on how long we'd like to our new friend to stay with us." Dryly sarcastic, he's not long for talking. For as soon as Dusk begins gaining distance from them, the man begins an easy, unhurried jog. Steps into it, he's shrinking, feathers rippling down him and arms outstretched the moment they become more avian than human. The black-hewn raven flutters after the much larger Dusk enroute to the cabins, swaying back and forth in its path behind and beside him and his... catch.