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

[shiroi_tiger]

It had taken a little while for Algren to get his wits about him, gather his weapons, and finally make his way back home, but he certainly hadn't forgotten about the zombie they had stuffed into his closet.

He also wasn't too anxious to open it, on the off-chance that somehow it hadn't worked and the Tyler inside was still the one with the stupid grin and a desire to eat his face off.

"If you're dead in there," Algren said, before he even considered opening the closet door, "I'm not letting you out."