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[ooc: Contact for both the mun and the pup. I had to do it... XD]



 
"I'm sorry... I had a lot of sugar today."

How's my driving? You know the drill.

Aim- MicaraSilverfox
E-mail: admin@kitsune-studios.com

[Hunter #7] It's Five O'Clock Somewhere

[The fire station | Open]

Ever since the whole zombie thing, Hannibal hadn't really left the house much. His mind was troubled, a mix between what had happened there and his own want to be back home, leaving him in a slump that he hadn't been in since he had been a vampire. It was almost a week after that he finally made himself get dressed for work making it to the fire station before anyone else did giving him time to put things in to perspective. He had cleaned his equipment, done the checks that he was supposed to do, and made sure the resident pooch was fed. That was when the idea had hit him.

The stores in the kitchen were decent enough, but with the idea that Hannibal had there was no way he'd be able to pull it off with what was there. So he had taken his ride to the store, purchasing everything he'd need in order to feed everyone outside the crews. Okay so his cooking skills in some areas weren't top notch but the man could make an eight-alarm chili that could put hair on your chest. By the time others started to filter in to work he had the crew going in the largest pot that he could find. Patiently the stations dog sat by his feet waiting for anything that Hannibal might pass on to him which did happen sometimes. The dog had a stomach of rock much like the man who was cooking to eat what was going in or coming out of the pot. By noon the firehouse smelled like, well, it depended on the person.

With the firetrucks moved out of the garage considering the use they got and tables set up inside, the finishing touch used was writing in chalk on the side of the building about the free food. Hell they could all use a break after everything that had happened. Why not bond of hot, spicy food and cold beers in the cooler for those that could have them? Of course, there were Cokes for those he didn't want to be drinking that early- King would be lying if he tried to lie and say he hadn't had a couple already.

Besides who knew what the turnout could be like.
I have 21 songs on my play list and on shuffle.

Pick a number and I will write something with whatever characters you want involved in something that fits the mood of the song.

You won't know what it is until I tag it back here.

Mean? Perhaps. XD

[Hunt #6] Even The Trees Hate Us

[Morning: 1666 Nelson Street | Open to residents]

It had felt food to have his pistols back, a surprise he had received while on his way to work one morning. While he didn't have Sundogs or any of the other assorted ammo the Nightstalkers used it was good to have them back. His hands still remembered the feel and the weight they carried. Even the hum of the discs whirling when he kicked the recording device on to see if they still worked. Sure he wouldn't be able to download anything he recorded with them, it was the sound that was comforting. He and those pistols had a long history together so having any semblance of home.

Perhaps that was the reason he had never told Carolyn that he had got them.

No he wasn't sure her take on weapons in the house even if he had picked up a pistol and rounds at the hardware store a few days back when it had become clear that he had nothing as far as guns in the house. Beaver Cleaver land was not the best place to find the good stuff as he head learned- all he needed was a rifle and he'd be content. Or his Bonejack- God how he missed that bastard of a rifle. So he kept one hidden in the closet and one tucked under the bed on his side because he was paranoid like that. He had good reason to be after the while milk thing! Rolling to his right he stretched an arm out snaking it around Carolyn somewhere between half asleep and awake when he heard the shuffling coming from the doorway.

That caused him to sigh when he heard the door squeak open. "Go back to sleep, kiddo. It's to early to be up on a Sunday."

When the shuffling continued and that sound, that gurgling sound that was so unnatural, Hannibal opened one groggy eye to see his zombie not!son making a beeline to the bed he and Carolyn were sleeping in. "Holy fuck! Carolyn- get up! Move! Move!!"



[Early Afternoon: In the neighborhood | Open to all]

So. Zombies.

Not exactly what he liked to Hunt, but he was so not going to be picky. Hannibal had faced down zombies before when he was a vampire. It had been a past time to have the creatures tear apart humans in controlled environments in the strange, amusing past times that they kept. He had seen one sort of match before and that had ended it for him, but he remembered everything he'd learned. Add to that an itch to Hunt, well, needless to say King was ready for a fight.

With the car dead and not!son tossed out the back door the Hunter walked the roof of the front porch of the cookie cutter house. Thankfully the kid's room had a window right above it leaving him the perfect place to be perched and watch for people passing by if they needed assistance. Not to mention pick off the few drone zombies that ambled in to the yard. He was going to have to call Hal and see how they were faring if Carolyn hadn't already done so.
Oh hangovers.

Why did you hate him so much?

That was the way that Hannibal felt as his fingers twitched against the floor much like the first time he had woken up in Mayfield. Brushed against the warm carpet, the feeling of the covers ticked about him as he lay on his stomach face planted with a pillow... except the only difference was that pounding headache like he had drank to much the night before. For a moment he remained stretched out in the bed with hopes it was a dream. That he'd go would actually wake up to find himself back at the Nightstalker HQ and what he was feeling right then was due to the headache he was sporting.

Except hearing the radio downstairs of the classic 50's songs reminded him elsewise.

Groaning King rolled over on to his back raising both hands to scrub down his face. He needed advil- hell did they even have it back in the 50s? Hannibal didn't know but he sure as hell wanted something. Without even thinking he rolled again finding something warm waiting by his side. With louder groan he planted his forehead against the first thing it came in contact with- a shoulder. "...If you are who I think you are please don't smack me. My head is already killing me enough as it is."

And if it was not who he was thinking it was? He was going to go cry in the shower.
[Action 1 | 1666 Nelson St | Morning]
Day three of milk scare. Carolyn had finally convinced him that they would alternate days in drinking the milk until the Milkman got his kicks out and yesterday she had been lucky. Sure she had gotten the good bottle which had made King relieved yet jealous at the same time. Which was why he had gotten up again that morning determined he was going to do it again... while also crossing his fingers he'd have gotten something normal for once.

At first it had tasted normal. A little tinge of something that was different from the day before, but still somewhat normal.

That was until he started hearing things. He was in the middle of walking through the upstairs hall hearing the whispers of someone talking. Thinking his zombie son had left the radio on in his room he walked in and pulled the plug though the voices still kept going. Very slowly the Hunter backed out of the room with the radio in hand not entirely sure how exactly that was happening.

[Action 2 | 1666 Nelson St | Afternoon]

If someone was missing a dog it's a good idea that it's possibly not coming home now. Things had gotten worse, the voices, King swearing things were moving about in the house or doing their own things, driving him outside to look for work. What he hadn't expected was to be working in the shed when he swore a ghastly figure had started to attack him. With an axe nearby he had defended himself only to find the stricken figure was someones dog who had snuck in.

With the axe in hand he stepped out in to the sunlit day covered in head to two in blood with the wildest of eyes and set stern expression. Approach at your own risk.

[Action 3 | 1666 Nelson St | Evening]

Things had gotten worse. There was a voice in his head telling him to kill the residents of the house because they were unfit to be there. None of them deserved to live. He just had to take that axe and just... finish it. With face pale and hands shaking the man sat at the kitchen table holding a cup of cold coffee from that morning between his stained fingers. Even his right foot tapped its heel against the floor as if he were nervous about something. No one seemed to believe him about what he was hearing.

Why couldn't they just listen to him?

Raising the cup he took a drink of the cold coffee keeping his eyes locked on spot on the table in front of him. It was better than looking up and seeing the shadows for people that weren't there.
By eight in the morning Hannibal was already pacing the kitchen. It wasn't hard to miss the events that were going on outside between the random killings and people over the phones talking about other events. All those signs as well as the radio announcements about the Milkman being the police chief now? Yeah. There was a reason that Hannibal was eying the bottles of milk that were currently sitting on the kitchen table very warily. With his arms crossed he circled the table studying the bottles carefully. The pamphlet that Jordan hat let him read had said not to drink the milk and what did they have to do now? Drink the fucking milk.

Carolyn and the others were still upstairs while King was supposed to be getting breakfast together. What they didn't know, he figured, was that he was trying to psych himself up to open one of those bottles and, well, chug it down. Maybe him just drinking one bottle would be enough to keep anything from happening to the people upstairs. Reaching out he picked up one of the bottles at random having to force himself to take one deep breath feeling the cool glass under his fingers. He could do this. All he had to do was pop the top and just... Taking a few more deep breaths his hands were moving before his mind could talk him out of it, twisting the top off and upturning the rim of the bottle against his lips.

It tasted awful. That mix between soured milk and something else that left a tartness in an after taste. Hannibal thought once he was going to choke as he forced himself to keep drinking breathing through his nose knowing if he stopped he'd never pick it back up again. When the last drop was drained it was all the Hunter could do to keep from throwing it all back up. He coughed, gagged, and felt like he had been hit by a train. Bent over the table he tossed the empty bottle on to it resting his palms against the cool wooden surface. All he had to do was hold it down right? Just... hold it down and wait.

By the time that he heard footsteps on the stairwell, Hannibal had spilled himself in to a chair at the table feeling like shit. More so than that actually, it hadn't taken long at all after drinking the bottle that the feeling of being run over intensified. His body ached and he swore it was the worst feeling ever considering he hadn't been sick in years. Food poisoning or whatever this sucked and every time he shifted just a hair he thought he was going to throw up. How many more days of this was he going to have to do again?