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25 Unicorn Street, Sunday Evening
Apr. 5th, 2009 08:32 pmThe 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.]
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.]
