He might spy something perched on the porch roof, armed with a fishing pole which has a plastic fish dangling from the end of the line (no, we're not sure why: Ryuk likes to come up with strange, random things to amuse himself). Whatever it is looks like some mad scientist mashed together a gothic club kid who tried to hard to look like The Crow, a skeleton, and an actual crow. And it's looking like at him, grinning. "Plastic surgery went wrong, dude?" it asks, in a gruff but mischievous voice.
The thing chuckles, a noise that manages to humorous and spooky at the same time. "Me? Naaah, I came into existence lookin' like this," it says. "I'm a shinigami, a death god: my name's Ryuk.
If Boyle should venture into the library, he'll find a girl dressed like she wandered in from a Jane Austen movie. She's currently sitting and reading, rather wrapped up in her book...
Still no closer to understanding this place, Boyle is on the hunt for anything that makes a bit of sense. So far, he hasn't actually run into a liveblood, so when he does stumble on the library, he freezes. He's not in the mood to be yelled at for intruding, but he also would like some answers beyond what a possible hallucination has to say.
He clears his throat, a dry, rasping sound (since there's nothing in his throat TO clear) to attempt to politely get the young lady's attention.
Well, here's someone as dead as he is, who won't be bothered, but rather intrigued.
Pandora might have been at the Mansion to use the plothole - she can't eat or drink, of course, if it is not blood, but she does have a thing for spices.
And so though she isn't exactly going to drink it, she'll be in the kitchen, a bowl of sweet-smelling chai in her hands, smiling in contented silence.
Boyle doesn't eat or drink and tries to avoid places where there's food as a whole. The living get touchy when the dead are around their food after all.
So, it's by total accident that Boyle finds himself in the kitchen where a woman sits with her ... drink?
Pandora has no such scruples. She intrudes on mortal living spaces happily, and without guilt. She is going to look up at the ghoul, though, head snapping.
“... ye gods.”
She's not, in her time, ever seen anyone like you, Boyle.
She's in fact so surprised, her fangs are showing.
The library has so far been the quieter of the places here and the place where even he could get lost enough to avoid the living.
So he thought at least.
He wants to look at the periodicals under the man's feet, get a sense of time and perhaps place, but he can see that they are all older than he is and he sighs, the sound dry and catching in his throat a bit.
"The mantra of the living." Knowing better in hindsight.
The voice calls Shadow back to the waking world, and he blinks, eyes slowly opening. His vision comes into focus, and he stares at the walking dead before him.
“... What did you do to me?”
He's confused.
Why does he feel like they were just having a conversation, and now it's like he just woke up?
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"Must have gone to the same surgeon as you," he manages. What in the world...?
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"So what're you?"
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"I'm Frank Boyle. I'm a chak. A zombie. One of the walking dead."
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He clears his throat, a dry, rasping sound (since there's nothing in his throat TO clear) to attempt to politely get the young lady's attention.
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And then she actually sees the interloper and emits a startled yelp as she jumps out of her chair, dropping her book. "What are you?!" she squeaks.
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"Easy miss. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just a bit lost."
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Pandora might have been at the Mansion to use the plothole - she can't eat or drink, of course, if it is not blood, but she does have a thing for spices.
And so though she isn't exactly going to drink it, she'll be in the kitchen, a bowl of sweet-smelling chai in her hands, smiling in contented silence.
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So, it's by total accident that Boyle finds himself in the kitchen where a woman sits with her ... drink?
"Excuse the intrusion."
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“... ye gods.”
She's not, in her time, ever seen anyone like you, Boyle.
She's in fact so surprised, her fangs are showing.
Hope amnesia is fine in her case?
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"I suppose ye gods is better than 'kill it kill it.'" Boyle lifts an eyebrow and takes a step back.
"I apologize. I don't normally make a habit of wandering into kitchens."
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So here she goes, wandering the halls, on her way to look up one of her pack members.
“... hey.”
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"Hello..." He steps to the side, assuming that she wants to pass him in the hall.
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“... You.”
Another beat.
“... You're Frank. The industrial zo-- er, undead person.”
Anita: sometimes not very smooth. We're sorry.
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"At least as long as you don't try to add the swing of a baseball bat to the word."
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The question plagues him, even in his sleep.
“Were you the one to bring her back?”
“Yes, no, not the first time, not on purpose,” he replies, mumbles in his sleep. “-- should have known better.”
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So he thought at least.
He wants to look at the periodicals under the man's feet, get a sense of time and perhaps place, but he can see that they are all older than he is and he sighs, the sound dry and catching in his throat a bit.
"The mantra of the living." Knowing better in hindsight.
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“... What did you do to me?”
He's confused.
Why does he feel like they were just having a conversation, and now it's like he just woke up?
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Frank frowns slightly, thoughtful. "But I don't think you were the one to bring me here."
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