Nightshift 42: Crossroader's Bar and Casino

[itstaichoutoyou]

Something was wrong. Hitsugaya could feel it in his soul. The sky darkened and an ominous wind passed through the town, heralding something sinister. Before his very eyes, the whole place underwent a horrific transformation, particularly the town residents. They had become monsters with decaying skin, revealing muscle and bone beneath

Comments

[cigarettes_plz]

Badou had fully planned to spend the remainder of his evening making sad faces at the barkeep in hopes of a free drink or an ever-illusive cigarette. Between his puppy eyes and Alle's he actually had some confidence in this plan. Unfortunately (or fortunately he guessed) the barkeep was now at least two kinds of dead and the former residents of Landel's were doing an impromptu shambling tribute to Michel Jackson outside.

God he fucking hated when he was right about shit like this. At least they shambled like proper fucking zombies. The one he'd beaten down with his bar stool had shambled anyway. He leaned back against the bar while shots were fired and people jumped out windows and yelled and the dead groaned outside. The glance he shot at Alle was mostly just forlorn. Double-dead barkeep meant no cigarettes. That was pretty much all that was going through his head when he really really really wanted a nicotine fix right now. The zombies were just a nasty kick in the shin in comparison. His life sucked like a whore on sunday night. Or like a guy who's life really sucked hard. "Somehow I feel like this is my fault. Maybe I jinxed us. Think there's flesh-flavored rum back there after all?"

Where was Haine when you needed him? He was a pasty-ass zombie. Maybe he spoke the language.

[tender_cruelty]

"I guess we shouldn't have joked about graverobbing the dead barkeeper, huh?" Allelujah said, his voice remarkably calm considering he'd just beated and stabbed a couple of zombies to death with a barstool and a broken bottle. Maybe he should have taken up bar brawling as a hobby. He had definitely come to one conclusion though; he fucking hated the living dead.

Although thinking of that... "You could just check the corpse over. He might still have some." He couldn't believe that he was advocating feeling up a dead guy for cigarettes.

Allelujah on the other hand had ideas. Weapons, they needed weapons. Chair legs just weren't going to cut it. Damn it! Why didn't a bar have more things to kill zombies with?! If he had a lighter he could at least have set fire to something.

[tender_cruelty]

[Moving down a thread!]