lucetilogs | All we want to do is eat your brains

Who: Jack Holden, Simon Lauchlan, Eugene Woods, Sam Yao, and anyone they can tempt in
What: Basically a slumber party
When: November 1st afternoon and evening
Where: One of the villas in Luceti's housing area
Summary: Luceti's residents of Abel Township have landed themselves under house arrest. But even if they can't go to the parties, who's to say they can't bring the party to them? (Or at least some takeout, geez, this punishment thing is hungry work.)
Rating: PG? It's just some post-zombie-apocalypse dudes and their houseguests, it's not really gonna be racy.

Maybe Halloween Land hadn't been the best destination for a small cluster of survivors of the zombie apocalypse.

In their defense, they hadn't known when they'd walked in that literal zoms would be all over the place. Even as placid as the things were, all it took were a few too many of the shambling dead in one place, strained nerves and the wrong line of conversation, and one poorly-timed jumpscare to set off the powder keg of their collective neuroses and send them sprinting for the nearest defensible position between them and the exits. And sure, all weapons had been taken to the battle dome. But where they came from, all that defined a weapon was a favourable combination of weight, length, sharpness, and maximum velocity. Where they came from, they'd all learned a few behaviours on an instinctual level.

It was sort of lucky, actually, that they only had managed to get themselves landed under house arrest for the remainder of the day. It meant that they still had contact with the outside world - or at least the portions of it that wandered close enough to the open windows.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Oh dear, Jack. Whatever did you do?"

Whatever it is, he expected to be highly entertained.

"Nothing awful enough to warrant house arrest."

Jack is very firm on this front, practically pouting as he rests his chin on his palm.

"What did they expect, manning a park with zoms?"

"House arrest? You have been naughty." Loki grinned. "...zoms?"

"Zoms. Zombies! The shambling dead," Jack explains, getting entirely caught up in his animated elaboration of the reviled things before he remembers that Loki doesn't really reliably recognize anything from the past few centuries. "Reanimated corpses that eat the flesh of the living. The things that the Halloween park is just crawling with."

"Oh, those. Right." He knew about those. "We already cured that little problem, didn't we? So they must be fake, here. Jack, did you go about attacking innocent people in fancy dress?"

Oh, this was beautiful and he loved it.

"No!" That's a hideous thought, going around clubbing people with bits of latex glued to their faces, and Jack's visibly appalled by the very suggestion. "Come on, I know a zom when I see one. Or smell one. Or . . . yeah, just trust me, there are a host of sensory cues that one is not just dealing with a person in a costume."

"Then why the incarceration, if you were but merely defending yourselves?"

"Well. Pre-emptively defending ourselves," Jack admits, in the way that makes clear that he would really rather not. It's still an entirely fair course of action, he feels.

"I think someone once pointed out to me that the proper word for that is 'attacking.'" Loki grinned. "So you attacked the attractions at an amusement park. Bad form, that. How long are you to be in this cruel incarceration?"

"Rest of the day, I think. However they're defining that." Jack slouched, letting his mouth fall against his forearms as he looked flatly at Loki. Stupid rules-lawyering deities. "I still think it's ridiculous."

"Jack, you are so adorable when you pout. How could they possess hearts so hard as to resist?"

It's mockery, of course, and Jack gives a few more seconds of bathed-cat glowering. But it doesn't stand much of a chance against Loki's smug satisfaction, and he cracks a little smirk finally, resting his cheek in the crook of his arm.

"Aw, Loki. You're going to make me blush." He pauses, just for a second. "Though a drink from the pool bar would do that too . . ."

"You're quite cute when you do that too," Loki said. "Oho, mercenary creature. I see where this had been leading. But since I like you..."

And off he went to the bar, ordering Jack a drink that involves slices of fruit and an umbrella. For himself, he acquired a generous glass of red wine. He returned shortly with the drinks. "I had no idea humans took their swords tiny and made of plastic these days."

He didn't relinquish the drunk quite yet, out should be noted.

Wait, is Loki . . . actually getting him a drink? Just like that? Jack hadn't expected to get one just like that, and he blinked at his retreating back, watching him head off in the direction of the bar.

Wow. Maybe he was wrong about the guy. Maybe there were certain bonds of friendship you only earned by wiring a guy's spare room. Maybe- wait, no, that's stupid. There's too much stuff here for Loki to just be bored.

He beams as Loki comes back, just assuming that the violently blue drink is his. People always seem to pin him as one for those. Not that they're wrong. "Oh absolutely. Latest in tiny weapons technology." He goes to reach out for it, only for his knuckles to come to a stop against the one-way barrier a few inches out from the window.

And Loki, darling that he is, sets the drink about two inches outside Jack's reach. "Good for stabbing tiny plastic zombies?"

"Eugh, pretty useless stabbing a zom. It just makes a mess, and-"

Jack trails off with a frown, trying to see if he can push the barrier further along, but it's no good. He looks up from the drink to glance suspiciously (and ok, maybe a bit accusingly) at Loki.

"Don't suppose you could move that onto my windowsill, here?"

"And annoys the zombie? Ruins your shoes?"

Loki nudges the drink a tiny bit closer, but not close enough. "Dangerous sort like you, I don't think I want to be within reach."

"Loki!"

It's hard to say if the protest is more of a whine or a laugh, with them all tumbled-together like they are, and Jack gives an ineffective shove against the barrier in an effort to get those last few inches.

"Come on. Promise I won't muss your pretty hair or anything."

A tiny nudge closer, but not close enough. "Oh dear, Jack, I don't think I can manage from here. You might just have to invite me in for hand delivery."

Then he smirked. "Though for that kind of service, I hope you tip well."

All we want to do is eat your brains

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