kitsjay: (Shoes and Barefeet)
Bet you'd forgotten all about ZOMBIE GIRL! )

In her first full-length (kinda) adventure.
kitsjay: (mountain)
“So, what do we do with her?” he said, staring at the huddled woman in the corner. She let out another tiny scream and pushed herself back, pointing at the carcass lying in the middle of the floor.

“You know that blue bag in my duffle?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s filled with Forget Me Not. It’ll erase her memory,” she said. She looked at the woman and twitched. Previously, she had made several aborted attempts to comfort the lady, but quickly gave up entirely and now was trying not to look at her at all.

She sprinkled the woman with the powder and they both made their way to the car.

“Forget Me Not makes you forget, right?”

“Right,” she confirmed. “Everlasting makes things temporary, Honesty is a spell that makes people perpetually lie, and Touch Me Not is a popular aphrodisiac.”

“Spells are ironic, huh?”

She shook her head. “Oh, magicians are fine. Weird, but fine. It’s the botanists don’t get out much.”

“So are there any flowers that are straightforward?”

“Nightshade has always been a favorite of mine,” she grinned. “Rather permanent.”

“Anything else?”

“Pansies.”

He looked at her from across the car, quietly debating whether she was being serious or not. “Do I want to know the spell that does?”

“No.”
kitsjay: (Default)
"Remember that scene in Dawn of the Dead with the shotgun and the instructional video?" he said, gnawing on a stick of beef jerky she had tossed him.

"Yeah."

"What do you think?"

"Of what?"

He rolled his eyes and took another bite of the jerky. "Of the video."

"Amateurs."

"That's what you said about me at first," he pointed out.

She stared at him for a silent moment, then went back to sorting through the mail.

"Anything for me?"

She shrugged. "Ten for occupant. Are you occupied?"

"Eating beef jerky, sure. Toss 'em."

"Here's one from the ZAR."

"ZAR?" he asked.

"The Zombie Advocacy Rights group. I've run into them before. Jerks."

"What?"

"Seriously," she said, tossing him the pamphlet.

" 'Fighting for the rights of the undead everywhere,' " he read out loud. "It goes on listing how specific dietary needs don't make them evil. This is remarkable."

"I've always thought so."

"Where do these people come from? Am I the only person who didn't know zombies were real?"

"Yes."

"Thanks."

"No problem. Want to donate money to the Charity for Zombie Orphans Fund?"

He took another bite of his jerky. "Do they send charity swag?"

"Sure. Keychains for the undead. Little brains that ooze gray matter when you squeeze them."
kitsjay: (Default)
He picked up a silver cross and put his hands together in a saint-like manner.

"What do you think?" he asked. She turned and arched one eyebrow, then went back to cleaning out the backseat without saying a word. He tossed the crucifix to the other side of the car, then dropped himself sideways into the front seat.

"So what exactly do I need to know about vampires? Are they really scared of crosses, saying the Lord's prayer, all that jazz?"

She let out an indelicate snort. "No. Most of what you know about vampires is made up, years of Bram Stoker's influence corrupting people's minds with untrue legends."

"What is true?"

"Well, for one, that thing about inviting."

"Oh!" He nodded with sudden wisdom. "Sure, you have to invite a vampire into your home, or they can't come in."

"No."

"No?"

She shook her head. "It's the other way around. In order for them to bite you, they have to invite you into their home."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"That's another thing. Vampires? Are very, very dumb. Think what you would get if a pack of werewolves inbred with each other for thousands of years, minus the fur and full moon junk."

"Wow," he said, letting out a low whistle. "What else?"

"Well, the running water is true, but only because they're hydrophobic. If you drop water, any water not even holy stuff, they get queasy."

"You're serious?"

"Dead serious."

He winced at the pun. "What about how they're supposed to be charming and stuff? They can mesmerize humans and put a kind of hypnosis over them, right?"

She rolled her eyes heavenward. "Oh, damn you, Bela Lugosi. I know you're laughing up there."

"I'm guessing that's not true?"

"The opposite. But worse, that one's affected the vampires themselves, so they actually believe it. I cannot tell you how annoying it is to have one of these things trying out his latest pick-up lines while you're trying to drive a stake through its heart."

"What usually works?"

"Well, normally I say, 'There's a very slim chance of me dating you, less than 1%. I give you this much because sometime in the future, I may be struck by a rock and have temporary amnesia wherein I would lose all semblance of character, memory, personality and any claims to good taste that I currently have. If this should happen, you might be able to chloroform me into submission, club me over the head, then drag me by my unconscious limbs to the outside of a restaurant before I recover enough to send you to hell. In other words, I wouldn't bet on it.' "

"Soo... I was actually referring to the staking bit. How you kill them, you know."

She blinked in surprise. "Oh. Yeah, staking works. Pretty effective. Beheading, too. Actually beheading is a pretty good guess for everything but a hydra."

"Do those things really exist?" he stared in horrified fascination.

"God, you're gullible, aren't you?"

Ecce Metro

Mar. 9th, 2007 11:27 am
kitsjay: (happy sam)
He blamed it on the book he had unobtrusively picked up a few towns back and slipped into her bag.

It had a soothing blue cover, emblazoned with a picture of a smiling woman and a discreet font that read, "How to Be Charming". Beneath that, in smaller print, was "A Guide to Being Personable". While waiting in a doctor's office while she got her arm stitched up--"Bad dog bite," she said to the sympathetic doctor, "His owner let him off his leash."--he had seen an advertisement in a Woman's Day magazine from May 2003 for the book, and had quietly canvassed every bookstore on the East coast until he found it.

Of course, he had expected her to find it, twist her lips in a grimace of displeasure, then make sure it turned up in the wastebasket in the most pointed message garbage had ever made.

Instead, she had taken exaggerated care to ask him if he was okay with everything they did, would they mind if they ate sushi again, did he want her to hold the door open for him?

Today's lesson apparently was to take interest in other people's lives.

"So," she said with a hint of awkwardness in her voice, "what did you want to be when you grew up?"

"What is this, first grade?" he said, slouching in his seat defensively.

She gave him a reproachful look. "I was trying to be sociable."

That was deliberate, the avoidance of the word 'personable'.

"Sorry. Um. I don't know. I just kind of figured eventually something would click."

"Eventually?" The car slowed and they circled to the backseat, hauling bags and a suspicious looking set of golf club holders out. He stared at her a second, and she tossed him a pack. "You gonna work?"

"Don't mind me," he said, shrugging. "I'm just waiting for lunch."

"Kind of a metaphor for your whole life, huh? Just waiting for lunch."

He followed her into the hotel, mulling it over. "Well. Yes."

She motioned for him to drop the bags, then rooted around in one and tossed him a soothing blue book.

"Read while you're waiting."

He flipped it over, amused to see someone had crossed out the title and wrote in a black scrawl, "How To Be A Sissy".

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January 2014

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