The Restless Dead Want YOU To Fight Necromancy

You probably should go deal with the zombies first, even after taking a minute to think about it. They've obviously been causing trouble.

You open your bedroom door and a happily shrieking small child rides by on a giant dog – or at least they were riding by, until you open your door.

The irish wolfhound, a handsome girl with curly grey fur, growls at you, deep in her throat.

Ah. Vampire hunter dog.

Joyce, the four year old riding the dog, is a very cute, very creepy little brunette, with a mop of curls. She's watching you as if you're going to eat her.

It's probably beneath you to hate a four year old just because she reminds you of a creepy doll.

"Joyce, could you go fetch your mother, please?"

You don't really want to do anything aggressive to Bruce's dog – or his daughter. For one thing, there's nothing quite like making small children cry to make one feel like a heel. For another, little girls are surprisingly fierce, and you do not want to deal with one as your nemesis (again).

Joyce scrambles down off the back of the dog, and runs away down the hall on purple sock feet.

Your standoff with the dog has only been going on for a minute when Kathy comes racing up the stairs, catching herself against a side table. Everyone's in a hurry tonight.

"Morgan! You can do a spell to fix mom like you fixed dad, right? You're doing one tonight?"

"I'm- I'm sorry, Kathy, your mother was bitten?"

"We went shopping and it was a total disaster, but we got you all your stuff so you could fix her. You can fix her, right?"

"Certainly I can," you agree, already turning over the math in your head. One more victim takes you to nine in the circle, which is a terrible number. You need to find more – thirteen, maybe, that's a strong number – but maybe the hospital has accumulated some over the course of the day? "I'm not sure exactly what I'll need, but certainly bloodstone, candles – you did get candles? – garlic, sage, ah… rose. Yes, I'll want to rose petals and my clippings of yew from my room downstairs as well."

"I'll get them!"

And she's off again. It'll keep her busy for the moment, at least.

"Good dog," you try.

The wolfhound growls at you. You're beginning to wonder if you shouldn't just mind control the dog and be done with it, even if the family does breed them resistant. It's not impossible, just unusually difficult.

"Nera," says a woman with a faint German accent. "Stand down."

Nera does stand down, wandering over to the squarely built black-haired woman in khaki pants and a denim jacket for ear rubs. So, this is Claudia.

Nera whines at her mistress.

"I know, dear, but needs must," Claudia tells the dog.

"I'm Morgan."

"I know. I'm Claudia, which you know. Kathy told you what happened? I wanted to apologize."

"What do you have to do with it?"

"I got here this afternoon and they were going out, and I went along. I should have protected them. I thought – in any case, it's my responsibility."

[]"I find it simpler to blame the necromancer, personally. What happened today?"
[]"Mrs. Henderson will be fine. We've got too much to do for you to beat yourself up about it."
[]"That's all well and good, but it seems like we have a zombie problem on our front lawn to deal with before we get into dividing blame. I don't suppose you picked me up a machete?"
[]"I'll head over to the hospital first thing and make sure she'll be fine."
[]Write-in

I figured I'd put this up, but the vote for the day plan is still open. We've mostly got consensus, but we have 1:45 still not decided. Here are the top choices:

[][Intrigue]Find a box. Your zombie head probably isn't spying on you, but you can't quite get the idea out of your mind. It could use a secure container. Maybe a safe? ½ hour.
[][Magic]More zombie research.
[][Personal]Relaxation time. Listen to music, read a book, go walk in the woods and look at the creek. 1 hour, regenerates willpower.
[][Write-in]

"I find it simpler to blame the necromancer, personally. What happened today?"

"The short version? Six zombies here, and nine spread between Agway and Wegmans."

"Let me interrupt – this seems like a story to tell downstairs over wine, not standing in the hallway restraining your dog."

Yes, you can see that her hand on her dog's collar is not casual. You're not blind.

Claudia snorts, and gestures you to precede her. You smile, and gesture her to precede you.

You stare at each other for a moment – or rather, you stare at her face, a round German sort of face with a strong nose and faded blue eyes with laugh lines at the corners, and she stares at your left ear.

"I'm not armed," she says, even as you say, "I don't even need eye contact-"

Somehow, you both laugh, and then you link your arm with hers and walk her down the stairs, dog bringing up the rear, faint growl accompanying the click of her nails on your nice oak floors. You are going to have to get someone to clip that dog's claws – or, no, they'd be useful against zombies. Drat. Your poor floors.

More than a dozen people gathered in your living room just makes the place look lived in, not crowded. You do like crowds. DeeDee Henderson takes up one couch, with her son sitting on the floor next to her, holding her hand. Her leg is propped up on the other couch arm, a tidy white bandage wrapping her ankle. The rest of the crowd is mostly Hendersons, ranging from the darkest skin of Zoya to the tan of Will, both of whom you remember from the college students list. Will catches your eye, because she is definitely a she and definitely, aggressively – the word that comes to mind is 'butch' - in flannel and a boy's haircut. You are oddly cheered not to be alone in a room of aggressively straight people, even if you're alone in a room full of humans. Lisa, Grace, and Claudia are the only non-Hendersons besides you.

The room smells of fear, pain, and human blood. That will not do.

"Anyone have a problem with drinks?" you ask.

You get no complaints, so you press drinks on everyone, mostly wine. Darnell-call-me-River, a Henderson cousin, does refuse his glass, which you claim for yourself. You have a lot of wine.

You hesitate over the fourteen year old.

"Unless customs have changed, young miss, I'm afraid I can only offer you pop."

"That's fine," she says. She's sitting at the edge of the kitchen island, foot tapping nervously.

Grace matches her sister Abby, with light brown hair and greenish eyes, though her hair is straight.

"I feel like I should be informing someone I've ended up with a stray teenager."

"It's not like they'll care."

A brush against her surface thoughts finds bitterness but no falsehood.

It takes a certain sort of parent to make a child feel more at home in the house of a vampire. You disapprove.

"I can hardly send you out into the night," you conclude. "But maybe you should call your parents?"

"Can't. Phones are busted."

Damn it. You like phones.

"They work if you have the patience to sit by the phone trying them over and over," Claudia comments, her wine half-gone and the lines of her body less inclined towards 'it's going to eat me.' Good. Well, not what she said. What she said is deathly inconvenient. But dealing with people is hard enough without dealing with terrified people.

You take an unoccupied armchair, and gesture Claudia with your wineglass to talk.

"I'd like everyone to hear the story – is this everyone?"

"Everyone who's arrived so far except Joyce," says Claudia. "She doesn't need to hear it."

You nod.

"It started with Deedee this morning," Claudia reports. "I'd almost wonder if she was cursed. She ran right into a zombie on the street as she was driving here, and only lost it when she got past the property line. I shot it when I got here, a few hours later."

"Which we are very grateful for," comments Bob – you can't really think of him as Henderson in an entire room full of Hendersons.

"It took a little bit, but the stream of zombies attracted to the noise tapered off. We decided Bob drew the short straw, so he stayed to watch the dogs and Joyce. I took Kathy and Deedee out for the shopping run – I only gave them the shotguns as a precaution, but the first store we hit was empty except for us and the zombies. We, ah, made a list of what we took, so we can go back later and pay for it all, once things settle down. I made the mistake of treating it as a good time for them to get some shooting in. One of them attacked Deedee while I was distracted."

"You mean I panicked like a moron, dropped the ammo, and hit Kathy with my shotgun when she came to help," comments Deedee from the couch by the window. You don't look at her directly, though you do slide into mage sight long enough to confirm she's not cursed – at least not more than zombie bite counts.

"I'm going to take a good suggestion and blame it all on the necromancer," says Claudia, pouring herself more wine. "We filled up two cars full of loot and aside from a panicked young shopkeeper who I had to talk down off the metaphorical ceiling, it went fine after that. Blue skies with a chance of zombies, not a rainstorm. Questions?"

"I have a question for Morgan," asks Kathy from the stairs. "Why're you ignoring my mom? She's hurt."

You salute her with your wine glass.

"I'm ignoring your mom because she's hurt. I'll help her, of course, but that doesn't mean I need to get close to her right now."

Before breakfast, that is.

"Okay, but are we actually entertaining that this white d-" starts Zoya.

She is interrupted by her father putting his hand over her mouth.

"Morgan is a vampire, yes. As I told you," says Ezra.

The entire room pauses apprehensively. You don't react that badly to people mistaking your gender.

You react with exactly the level of force appropriate.

"How was traffic?" you ask, sipping your wine.

"It was okay on the drive up from the city," Ezra replies, taking the out. He's thinner than his brother, with long grey-streaked black hair, thick glasses, and a beard. He's sitting with his girlfriend Hannah, a fat woman with long, intricate braids, and daughter Zoya the theatre major on the couch opposite the kitchen. He takes his hand away, to his daughter' s glare.

"I got all the way out to Albany before hitting a roadblock and realizing I'd be camping in my car on the side of the road at the pace traffic was moving, so I turned around and headed back," said Lisa. "It was rush hour the whole way, both ways. Everyone's on the move – and tying up the phones."

You're not quite sure how you feel about Lisa fleeing all the way to Albany, aside from distracted. Bruce and Abby come in around then, or at least Abby comes in and you check her mind to confirm Bruce's presence. Bruce in her mind is savior-mentor-warrior. He sounds so nice, put that way. They lurk in the hallway. What is with people lurking in the hallway?

Kathy's been talking and you weren't listening, oops.

"-and what's in that weird red bag?" she asks.

"Ah. A zombie head. You didn't open it, did you? It's still capable of biting."

"No, but I could've! What the hell, why do you – gross."

"I need it for a ceremony tonight."

"Oh."

Bob comments, "Somehow I thought the legendary family vampire turning up would involve somewhat less severed heads."

Is he drunk? He's drunk. That was fast work, you're impressed.

"I'll find a box for it or something."

In your copious free time. You do have a few other things to do!

"Morgan?" asks Bruce from the hallway. "A moment of your time?"

You can't think of a reason why not, though why everyone wants to talk to you in hallways…. You get up and take your wine with you.

He and Abby are absolutely filthy. They're lucky zombie blood isn't contagious. They look grey and awful, and if you couldn't hear their heartbeats you'd think they were dead.

"It seems everyone has had an awful day," you comment. "I'm glad I missed it."

He scowls at you. Too honest? Too honest.

"We didn't want to track stuff all over your house," says Abby. "Sorry."

"It's fine, it's fine. Your sister arrived safely. I think… we'd better hose you down outside? Then you can have a bath and get to bed, you look awful."

"Thanks," growls Bruce.

Too honest again.

"Come on, vampire hunter," you say, and herd the two of them outside to the hose by the terrace, where cold water is had by all. You help Abby first, who swears copiously, and then she trots inside to find that promised hot bath. Bruce lingers.

"I did actually want to talk to you."

"So talk and clean up. I do have other things to do tonight."

"Been working on your manners in your old age?" he asks.

Ugh.

"I'm sorry. What can I do for you, Bruce?"

"You don't have any blood bonded."

"I – no. I just woke up yesterday."

"But you do like having them," he plows on. "There's a vacancy."

"Bruce."

"Claudia and I discussed it. We can't – we have to do what's best for Joyce, and that's making sure she's safe. Making sure."

"I'm not going to hurt your daughter, Bruce."

"No. But you've got a lot of people to divide your time and attention – and your rooms – between. I need to be sure. I need to know one bite isn't going to leave my daughter without a father."

"A blood bond is serious, Bruce."

Bruce is shivering. You do him the favor of assuming it's being damp, out here in the cold. It's a warm night, but it's still night.

"It's reversible up to a point, isn't it? If the situation resolves, we can end it. If it doesn't… it doesn't."

"Or if we find we can't stand each other."

"Or if we find out we can't stand each other. So, what do you say?"

Will wonders never cease. Two adult, informed, consenting volunteers for a blood bond. You can't count a wish for protection against consent, that's what a blood bond is. They match all the basic criteria. Healthy, apparently sane, not overtly creepy. Attractive, too. The pocked scar down the side of Bruce's face and the silver in his hair don't detract from his appearance but add to it – it makes him look distinguished, and definitely not a child. Claudia is pleasantly solid, pretty but unpretentious about it. And, not to put too fine a point on this, it must be said that her breasts are amazing. If you wanted to pursue something romantic, a pair makes for interesting possibilities. If you didn't, they're married, it would honestly be a refreshing lack of romantic drama.

On the other hand, they're vampire hunters you've known for half an hour each. You don't know what Bruce is really thinking. You'll never know what Bruce is really thinking.

[]"It would be my honor, yes."
[]"Ah… perhaps after we've come to know each other a little better."
[]"Perhaps we should start more slowly. I should not like to start and find you hate the sensation... how do you feel about a trial run?"
[]"No. No, I don't think so."