Nightshift 42: Bill's Hardware

[ruthless_hunter]

[from here]Lockdown kicked the door to the hardware store down and barged in. There was already a zombie in here, a big one, who the bounty hunter guessed was the owner of the store. There were also two other zombies with him, so Lockdown was already outnumbered. But that had never stopped the bounty hunter

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[deadlyjuliet]

The sound of a pot smashing behind him gave Grell pause and he glanced over his shoulder in time to see Luxord leaving a stunned creature on the floor. These things were rather persistant and, unfortunately, very bitey. As evidenced by the undead man coming around the aisle, hands reaching for Grell's face, jaw open and-- "Augh, your breath is positively rancid!"

Taking the shears, Grell thrust them straight forward into the man's eyes, wincing as the points connected and sank in. Oddly enough the zombie seemed to stop moving, his arms going lax as the body sank to the floor. Unfortunately, that dragged Grell with it and the death god was forced to stumble forward, his arm following the arc of the body. Pressing one foot to its neck, he pulled the shears free and made a face at the sight of the gunk left behind. "This is why the dead should simply stay dead."

Creepy. Everything about this was simply creepy; and it look a lot for Grell to admit to that. Shaking the shears, Grell noted the head on a stick and stuck his tongue out in disgust. "Barbarians. No sense of style." Looking back to Luxord, he called out, "Come on, darling, I wouldn't want you to get left behind."

Moving over to the door (while cutting his way through the dead mobs - God bless the chainsaw), Grell shouldered it open and stepped into the storeroom. Which...was dark, but surprisingly free of movement at the moment. A good sign, if he ever saw one. Moving through the racks of inventory, Grell let the power flare up in his eyes, keeping a close watch for anything that might try to get the drop on them.

[clockmongler]

Luxord would have enjoyed this a lot more if he were not injured. It could have been a fun game, with who could survive and who would succumb to these monsters... But it simply wasn't the same when they were after him. It reminded him of the Heartless and having his heart stolen violently from his chest and, god forbid, he wasn't finding any of this and the memories it brought amusing.

Disgusting, mindless things that only targeted the living. It had been so long since anything like that had left him on their list as well. Well, so long as he stayed close to his lady with the chainsaw, he'd be fine. Blood soaked and annoyed, but fine.

"Do you see any stairs?" The sooner they found somewhere safe that they could relax and laugh at everyone else down below, the better. He was beginning to think he really couldn't salvage this date.

[deadlyjuliet]

No moaning save for the sounds left behind was a good thing. The sound of the wood creaking from down below? Not so good. The blasted creatures were pushing their way through the floors, emboldened by the smell of blood or whatever else it was that drove their mindless instincts. Grell clicked his tongue against his teeth and rounded a corner in the shelving. "Not at the moment, but there must be some in here."

Dusty storerooms always had them. Maintanence on roofs was important - vents and others things were always up there and that meant there had to be some way up. Putting the stairs outside usually invited robbers and thieves, so inside was really the onl--

"Ah~ Found it." In the left corner was a door and right next to the door a red sign, tinged with grime and hanging lopsided on the wall, but still legibly reading: Roof Access. Wood splintered to his right and Grell made a face as he saw a half broken hand reaching through. It was time to get out of here. Moving quickly to the door, Grell tested the handle and cursed under his breath when he realized it was locked. Of course. Always. At least the lock was rusty for some reason. Sighing, he dropped the shears and took the chainsaw in both hands, holding the handle against the knob. "Terribly sorry to do this to you."

With all his weight, Grell bashed the handle into the knob - and was more than a little miffed to see that it didn't budge at first. If he chipped a nail like this, he was going to be so ticked. Twice more and the handle finally gave way - and with good timing, the undead were following the noise, breaking through the floors and stumbling through the storeroom door. Pushing the door open, Grell grabbed the shears again and then looked to his 'date.' "Luxord, be a dear and grab something to barricade the door with, hm?"

[clockmongler]

He was not enjoying this, not one bit. The longer it took for the other to open the door, the more X felt the need to toss him into that oncoming group. It was self-preservation, pure and simple--as much as Luxord liked the God, he liked not becoming the first zombie-Nobody in existence even more (that was how it went, yes? If they kill you, you become one of them?). That creaking from the floorboards, the figures shuffling forward, those noises growing louder and louder...

He wasn't fearful, make no mistake. Simply very, very unhappy.

But the knob finally gave way and the desire to strangle the man in front of him went with it. A bit. Why was he being the one asked to do this? He was already carrying both his cards and the God's incessant little box, so why...?

Ah well. Crowbar, come with Uncle Luxord. That should hold it down for a bit if they used it to block the door from the other side, wouldn't it? He made plucking the item from the shelf nearby quick, sliding his cards back into his sleeve and following behind Grell as fast as he could. Perhaps it was paranoia, but if she left him behind, he was going to spend the rest of the night being the first zombie to learn how to scale walls and verbally berate a living being before choosing to eat their heart rather than their brains.

[deadlyjuliet]

Simply put, the reason Grell was asking Luxord to do things was because the death god was becoming unexpectedly sore from waving a chainsaw about. It used to be that whipping his scythe about in one hand was easy, almost comically so, but tonight he was learning something very unappealing about being mostly human. Humans were weak. And with the pruning shears in one hand and the chainsaw in the other, he was hard pressed to try to do anything other than keep a grip on his greatest prize for the night.

Also, he didn't want to chip a nail while trying to manage too much at once.

Getting inside, the death god left the chainsaw and the shears on the steps for a moment, patting the red handle affectionately before going back to the storeroom. Crowbars were lovely, but he wanted something heavy to keep those things away from him. His skin crawled with the very thought that they should ever get close enough to touch him again. He needed a barrier that was harder to break, more durable, more... Box. He needed a box. Waiting until Luxord was inside the stairwell (wasn't that nice of him?), Grell grabbed a nearby crate (bricks, apparently) and set his jaw as he started pulling it - slowly - toward the door.

Right. Humans were weak. Stupid human body. And those nasty creatures were getting closer.

"Oh, for the love of-- FINE." Hopping the box to the other side, Grell drew on every bit of power he had in him and shoved hard against the wooden box. The thing slid forward with surprising ease and he rammed it hard up against the door just in time to feel the power flicker and die, leaving a headache the size of the Great Pyramids behind. Grabbing his head, the death god cursed and pulled himself up and over the box, landing on the other side rather unceremoniously. "...door."

[clockmongler]

Well, now wasn't he feeling silly. "...you could have asked for help, love." Or have been more specific. Luxord didn't know what in the world he was doing in the middle of this, none the less what it was implied he should barricade the door with.

...Ah, II was right. He was useless.

He placed the present on the foot of the stairs, alongside the crowbar. For once in a long while, he managed to look genuinely concerned for someone else's well-being and made his way over to Grell, hand outstretched to be of assistance. Ugh, those noises. Perhaps the crate would impede the little monsters' progress, which X was truly hoping for, but they still needed to make it to the roof, rather than the stay put. He'd help the God up and come back for the tools, if necessary.

"Come now. Just a bit further."

[deadlyjuliet]

It had been a bad idea, but now, at least, those things were stopped. He could hear them, thumping against the crate, but they didn't have enough sense to do anything about it, meaning they were stuck for now. More important than the z-things outside, though, was the headache raging inside Grell's head. Cracking an eye open when he heard Luxord's voice get closer, he muttered, "Faster this way..."

Not smarter, but he could rest later when they weren't being touched by those nasty creatures. Reaching out for Luxord's hand, he pulled himself woozily to his feet and grit his teeth. For all his whining about work, Grell did and could do things when he really felt like it and this had been one of those rare times. Now that said work was done? He didn't feel like doing anything but killing someone to make himself feel better.

Putting a hand to the wall, Grell took a few tentative steps forward and was glad, for once, that he wasn't wearing heels. This was as bad as a wine hangover after drinking at an all-night gala event. "Nngh... going... to kill... someone...."

Stairs. Stairs weren't bad. He just had to not...fall over.

[going here]