25 Unicorn Street, Sunday Evening

[tyler_gone]

The zombie had spent an indignant day locked inside a reinforced closet, alternately chowing down on pork brains and trying to chew or claw his way through the door. He was missing the battle, and that would displease his master.

He was still pounding at the door with fists that had long since turned to mush when the curse lifted.

The fists became living, if scarred, flesh and bone once more, but Tyler kept pounding at the door for a moment.

Then he stopped. Maybe if he closed his eyes and didn't move, people would forget about him entirely until he had actually died of embarrassment. He sat on the closet floor, wishing he had some gum or something to get the taste of pork brains out of his mouth.

And he really didn't want to know why his pockets felt so lumpy.

[OOC: For anyone who lives there, or who might otherwise want to let him out.]

Comments

[tyler_gone]

Tyler snickered again at the image of Deadpool as a sheep.

"You should. I appreciate you and Tony and Steve sticking me in the closet before I could bite anybody else," he said. "That saved my world a little, right there."

[shiroi_tiger]

Nathan nodded almost soberly at that.

"I would expect it was something that would have been done for any one of us, were the situation different," Nathan decided. Or, at least, he hoped that they would.

[tyler_gone]

Tyler nodded. "It's a good thing to have friends who run around in costumes fighting crime," he decided. "Even when the crime's you."

[shiroi_tiger]

"But for the record," Nathan noted, "I'm not rushing out to make myself a suit of armor or anything. I'll settle for being bait and letting the people with the strange clothing deal with the rest."

Said the guy who dressed in a wardrobe that originated in the mid-to-late 1800s.