(Untitled)

[bitingcynicism]

[Tonight, emerging from deep in the cornfields, there is a young man. A young man who has been liberally splashed in zombie blood and other ichor and whose eyes glow a flickering red. At his side, is a smoking gun, which he's proceeding to reload, even as his eyes scan the rows of corn for more targets. He also looks completely exhausted to the

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[raburaburabu]

*oooh what is thiiiis*

[bitingcynicism]

[Senses her presence almost immediately and whirls around to face her, half lifting the Bloody Rose.]

[raburaburabu]

*smiles, just a little! because you are far from the first person to wave a deadly weapon in my face little boy. also, you are maybe the least frightening*

Such a terrible greeting.

[bitingcynicism]

[Not lowering said weapon either but breathing heavily, as the red hue in his eyes intensifies slightly.]

I don't feel like dealing with you tonight.

[raburaburabu]

Is that supposed to be an excuse?

[bitingcynicism]

Excuse for what?

[raburaburabu]

This sad behavior.

[bitingcynicism]

You pity the zombies now?

[raburaburabu]

Of course not.

[bitingcynicism]

Then what's sad about it?

[raburaburabu]

That reaction to me, of course.

[bitingcynicism]

You picked a bad time.

[raburaburabu]

Oh, did I really?

[bitingcynicism]

Yeah.

[raburaburabu]

Too bad.

[bitingcynicism]

[Growls deep in his throat.]