iii, 8, and I am so sorry.werewolf_hackerJuly 25 2012, 03:33:22 UTC
[She's the only live person he's found. Anywhere in LA. And he's so not into the whole Adam and Eve scenario because not only did he lose his beloved Mate in this clusterfuck, but, well, he's pretty sure he's shooting blanks anyway because of the werewolf thing.] Have you seen anyone else? Alive, I mean.
Ha, no worries! :) and hi! __visiongalJuly 25 2012, 06:24:11 UTC
LA is pretty much a shadow of its former self when she wakes up from her coma. The zombie apocalypse has raged through the entire city and she only makes it out of the hospital alive because of sheer dumb luck and not, in fact, because she's awesome or a crack shot or even handy with a broadsword. She's faced zombies, plural, before back when Wes got shot by a cop (the regular kind, not the undead kind) but this is different. Uber-different because they just keep coming.
She lost hope of finding survivors a week and a half ago. She is the walking, talking embodiment of a nuclear cockroach. She doesn't find anyone until she breaks into a store looking for food and-there he is. Guy. Human guy. Well, he looks pretty human from what she can see. He's not drooling zombie which wins him so very many points in her book. "You're real?" She whispers, then, realizing that doesn't sound very stable, shakes her head. "I mean... Wow. No. I thought I was the only left..." Her voice trails off a little as she takes him in. "I'm Cordelia."
"Ben. Yeah, wow, I thought--" His voice is rusty; he hasn't spoken to another person for weeks. Dogs are still around, but dogs are afraid of him because of the wolf issue, and as a Pack animal he's been going a little crazy with being alone. His nostrils flare, inhaling her scent like a starving man. The scent of a real, live girl. Woman. "...you're human," he says wonderingly. His hand reaches out practically of its own accord.
"Well, I'm not a zombie if that's what you mean," Cordelia murmurs, head tilting as she studies him. He reaches out a hand as if he doesn't quite believe she's there and her own immediately goes to the handgun she took from a dead cop.
She doesn't step back, though. Cordelia gets it. She gets that this, after weeks of death and decay and running (always. fucking. running) is surreal on so many levels and when his hand comes in contact with her left arm, she blinks. "You are real." A laugh bubbles up and it sounds crazy, scarily so, out of place in this post-apocalyptic world where the undead roam freely and Cordelia is an actual nuclear cockroach. "What the hell happened?"
He pulls his hand back as if she burned him and touches each of his fingers to his thumb, in turn. "Zombies happened. Zombies happened everywhere. Chris Matthews got eaten by a cameraman on live TV." He barks out an entirely humorless laugh. "In the middle of reporting how there was nothing to worry about. That asshole always was a fucking hack." It's a measure of how rattled his is by all this that he actually said "fuck" in front of her.
"I haven't seen one for a couple of days, though. I think maybe they starved out. Seeing as there aren't any people left either." He notes the gun, and the fact that she nearly pulled it on him, as nearly an afterthought. "You can't kill me with that."
"Everywhere?" Her voice falls a little flat at that. She knew, somehow, that this wasn't just LA. Deep down, part of her had even come to terms with the fact that most of her friends and family were probably dead but, still... Harsh life lesson, much? She doesn't speak for a second, tries not to think about the world going to hell in a handbasket, about people dying live on TV (even if it was someone as annoying as Chris Matthews); nobody deserves that...
Then Ben's attention shifts to her gun and Cordelia's focus is no longer world ending, it's Ben. Again. And it's surprisingly not over the fact that they may or may not be the last people on earth. "Wasn't planning on it unless you got a little handsy," she tells him with a shrug, "Which you didn't." Of course, curiosity gets the better of her; it's Cordelia's biggest downfall. "What do you mean can't? Like... Can't because you'd smack me down first? Or can't because you're strangely impervious to bullets?"
"Zombies happened everywhere. I haven't been able to get out of LA, but the power's still on and I've got a computer autodialing every number it can. It's supposed to call me if a live person actually picks up." He shakes his head. "It's been a week. And nothing."
His jaw tightens. "I figure I'd better put my cards on the table right away. If you want to run me off, I won't blame you." He looks her in the face. "I'm a werewolf. And unless that thing's got silver rounds in it I can't smell, you can hurt me with it, but it would take a hell of a lucky shot to actually kill me." He raises a hand. "I don't go nuts on moon nights and eat people, that's not the kind of wolf I am. I won't hurt you. But if you don't want me around, well. That's your deal and I'll go peaceful."
She figures sharing is kinda inevitable when you seem to be the last two people on earth. He tells her the facts pretty calmly. Zombies everywhere? Check. Lack of people with pulses? Double check. Oh, by the way, I'm a werewolf...
It's not the weirdest admission she's ever heard. She even knew a werewolf once - sweet, dependable, monosyllabic Oz; a friend of hers back in high school who, when he wasn't locked up for three days of every month, did go nuts and kill a bunch of people. So not his fault
( ... )
A corner of his mouth turns up. It's not a smile, it's too ghastly an expression to be called that, but there's humor in it. He hasn't smiled since he failed to save his wife from being bitten and then had to blow her head off when it turned out that, hey, werewolves could be infected by this shit too. "I had a demon as a roommate once. We got along fine as long as he didn't try to suborn my soul." He spins his wolf's-head cane, which has a sword hidden inside, blessed and covered in esoteric runes. "I won't try to eat you and you won't try to send me tripping off to Hell, deal?"
"You have my word," Cordelia promises, "I will not try to do anything untoward to you or your soul." She feels the corners of her own mouth quirk upwards. It's the first time she's even been close to a smile in weeks and though it feels weird? It feels good, sorta. Maybe meeting Ben has its perks after all.
"At least I'm not alone. Being alone has sucked. And that's not even talking about the zombies." She is a total people person, twenty-eight days of the month (and no, she's not a werewolf); her apocalypse-imposed solitude has been driving her nuts. "How long have you been out doing this?" It occurs to her that he might not get which 'this' she means, so... "Y'know, fighting? Surviving?"
"Since it started. Three? Months ago?" He shakes his head. "You'd think that blessed ammo would make a difference in taking out the evil undead, but it turns out, not so much. I haven't seen another living person for... a long time." It's possible his hands are shaking. "And wolves, we're Pack animals, you know, and 'alone' was a terrible look for me even before I got bit by an asshole of a werewolf." In fact, his Micro Desert Eagle is loaded with silver, just in case an asshole of a zombie bites him, because like hell does he want to go out the way everyone else has. He's pretty sure God would forgive him for taking his own life under those circumstances.
"That long?" She isn't quick enough to catch her wince. She notes his hands shaking though and she finds the respect she had for his honesty ratcheting up a notch when she realizes just how long it's been for him. "No wonder you looked so freaked when I came in here just now
( ... )
Well, God doesn't screw with Free Will. Not even in a situation like this, apparently. My Guardian couldn't keep a zombie from biting my wife. [And his legs don't want to hold him up anymore, so he just... sits, abruptly, on the floor. Staring at the large and ostentatious wedding ring he still wears.]
Maybe He just finally gave Mankind up as a bad job.
"Nah, he just screws with everything else," Cordelia murmurs, though it's not necessarily God she's mad at since it's pretty hard to be mad at a guy that a) seems to have checked out on the world and b) might not have existed anyway. Mostly? She's mad at the Powers That Be. They were the one's who let her get knocked up and put in a coma and look at what's left...
It's on the tip of her tongue to say as much but the look on his face quietens her protests. She glances at the wedding ring and then at Ben and sighs before dropping to sit beside him, kind of a show of solidarity to the only other human (well, technically) she's found alive. "Mankind wasn't that bad," she decides on finally, "It didn't deserve this."
Ben scrubs a hand over his face. "No, it really didn't. No one's really sure what happened. Science run amok or a terrorist act gone horribly awry. Something. I guess it doesn't matter." He grimaces. "The smell is starting to get really appalling, though. I don't know how resistant you are to illness, but getting to a place where there aren't so many damn bodies would be a plus."
"Yeah, the smell is pretty disgusting," Cordelia nods. It's rivaled only by what she smells like herself and that? Really not pretty. She would give anything for a shower. And something decent to eat. And a chance to sleep uninterrupted without a gun in her hand - y'know, the simple things in life. "I'm guessing that's your plan, to get somewhere with less bodies?"
She levels her gaze with his then and, for a nano-second, she's taken back to that first day in Angel's office, the uncertainty and the hope that maybe, just maybe, the guy (vampire, if you want to get technical) actually wants her around. "Want some company?"
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She lost hope of finding survivors a week and a half ago. She is the walking, talking embodiment of a nuclear cockroach. She doesn't find anyone until she breaks into a store looking for food and-there he is. Guy. Human guy. Well, he looks pretty human from what she can see. He's not drooling zombie which wins him so very many points in her book. "You're real?" She whispers, then, realizing that doesn't sound very stable, shakes her head. "I mean... Wow. No. I thought I was the only left..." Her voice trails off a little as she takes him in. "I'm Cordelia."
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She doesn't step back, though. Cordelia gets it. She gets that this, after weeks of death and decay and running (always. fucking. running) is surreal on so many levels and when his hand comes in contact with her left arm, she blinks. "You are real." A laugh bubbles up and it sounds crazy, scarily so, out of place in this post-apocalyptic world where the undead roam freely and Cordelia is an actual nuclear cockroach. "What the hell happened?"
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"I haven't seen one for a couple of days, though. I think maybe they starved out. Seeing as there aren't any people left either." He notes the gun, and the fact that she nearly pulled it on him, as nearly an afterthought. "You can't kill me with that."
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Then Ben's attention shifts to her gun and Cordelia's focus is no longer world ending, it's Ben. Again. And it's surprisingly not over the fact that they may or may not be the last people on earth. "Wasn't planning on it unless you got a little handsy," she tells him with a shrug, "Which you didn't." Of course, curiosity gets the better of her; it's Cordelia's biggest downfall. "What do you mean can't? Like... Can't because you'd smack me down first? Or can't because you're strangely impervious to bullets?"
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His jaw tightens. "I figure I'd better put my cards on the table right away. If you want to run me off, I won't blame you." He looks her in the face. "I'm a werewolf. And unless that thing's got silver rounds in it I can't smell, you can hurt me with it, but it would take a hell of a lucky shot to actually kill me." He raises a hand. "I don't go nuts on moon nights and eat people, that's not the kind of wolf I am. I won't hurt you. But if you don't want me around, well. That's your deal and I'll go peaceful."
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It's not the weirdest admission she's ever heard. She even knew a werewolf once - sweet, dependable, monosyllabic Oz; a friend of hers back in high school who, when he wasn't locked up for three days of every month, did go nuts and kill a bunch of people. So not his fault ( ... )
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"At least I'm not alone. Being alone has sucked. And that's not even talking about the zombies." She is a total people person, twenty-eight days of the month (and no, she's not a werewolf); her apocalypse-imposed solitude has been driving her nuts. "How long have you been out doing this?" It occurs to her that he might not get which 'this' she means, so... "Y'know, fighting? Surviving?"
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"How about you?"
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Maybe He just finally gave Mankind up as a bad job.
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It's on the tip of her tongue to say as much but the look on his face quietens her protests. She glances at the wedding ring and then at Ben and sighs before dropping to sit beside him, kind of a show of solidarity to the only other human (well, technically) she's found alive. "Mankind wasn't that bad," she decides on finally, "It didn't deserve this."
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She levels her gaze with his then and, for a nano-second, she's taken back to that first day in Angel's office, the uncertainty and the hope that maybe, just maybe, the guy (vampire, if you want to get technical) actually wants her around. "Want some company?"
Reply
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