The Restless Dead Want YOU To Fight Necromancy

In the end, it's not a very important decision. You take the larger machete, which seems handy, and the gun, and a belt to go with them. The blade goes on your left side, the gun on your right, and Claudia demonstrates unholstering it, reloading it, and how to aim.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

"I'm going to track the zombies cluttering the front lawn back to whatever nest they came from."

"Track… that reminds me."

Claudia gestures you to follow, and you end up in your ritual room across the hall, where your zombie head has been joined by a big blue plastic bin stuffed full of all sorts of interesting things. Your fingers itch with the urge to sort it. Later, Morgan.

Claudia digs through it haphazardly, before emerging with a soft cry of triumph and a small plastic bag. She hands it over, revealing a faceted jet pendulum the size of your little finger on a narrow gold chain.

"This seemed like it would suit you."

"Oh," you say, and extract it, holding it up so you can see it more clearly. Nice quality, the sort of black that eats light. You may try to keep a little color in your life, but you can't deny that black works. The chain makes a nice weight in your hand. "I can work with this."

You put it on like a necklace, and inspect the way the stone hangs. Does it draw too much attention to your chest? Does that really matter? It probably doesn't matter.

You glance at Claudia.

"How do I look?"

"Like you stole Bruce's jacket."

"Hey, it was a gift." You grin. "Not that I'm giving it back, admittedly."

"I did pick up some extras today."

"Mhmmm."

"Go away," she orders.

Is that a hint of amusement you detect? It is. Good.

"Will you be up later? I want to talk over projects."

"I'll be up, though you'll miss some people."

"I'll need Deedee to come with me to the hospital, you and Bruce to talk over zombie sightings and supplies, and Bob for input about the house, at minimum. I'm not going to keep people from sleeping."

"Do your people usually keep a nocturnal schedule?"

It seems like no time at all since you had people, and also like forever.

"A late schedule, not nocturnal. Sleep through the morning, up for the afternoon and evening."

"It's good we got candles, then."

"You think the power will go out?"

"If it goes the way the phones have been, I wouldn't be surprised. Town gets blackouts pretty regularly when there isn't a war on."

Despite you being shooed away, you end up walking upstairs together. You split off with a few words and end up in your room, inspecting your new weapons and bringing the machete to the best edge it will hold. You should find time to ward it against damage.

Bruce knocks lightly, and comes in. He's wearing a spare black dressing gown and house slippers, short dark hair damp. He's not wearing the charms that dampen his scent and heartbeat from your senses. For the first time, you have access to the information about him that you have about everyone. He's a healthy adult male, with some bruises and at least one scrape. There's a faint hint of fear, an even fainter trace of lust.

You don't make a joke about not eating him, you just put your weapons aside and go and meet him. No need to make this complicated. You kiss his cheek in greeting, and take his hand. Pulse a little fast, but not panicked.

"Ever done this before?"

"Not voluntarily."

You lead him to the windowseat and sit, leaving him a clean line of escape towards the door. If he gets upset, you'd rather he ran than tried to fight. You are taking this slow, so you drink lightly.

It's so warm.

You don't want to stop, but you stop anyway. Control, Morgan.

He'll be here tomorrow, Morgan. You have an agreement.

You lean your head against his shoulder, not ready to pull away yet.

"How was that?"

"It didn't really feel like anything."

You sit with him for a while, stroking his hand, until his pulse quiets. Then you get him a glass of water.

"How are you?"

"I could have sworn there was supposed to be euphoria involved."

"Mmm… only to balance the pain. I'm not trying to overwhelm you."

"You are being very courteous," he says flatly.

"Bruce. You can leave if you like. I won't hold it against you or your family."

"I've fought bonded before. I didn't think I'd be tempted enough to want that sort of speed or strength, but today was… we were doing alright, until it got dark and it turned out there was a whole two dozen of them hiding in the church. Doesn't seem quite right, that they can enter churches."

"You got out, though. Did you get them in the end?"

"No, we just made our escape. Thanks to Abby, actually. At least they're in the middle of nowhere, not in the middle of town."

"Abby's a crack shot, then?"

"That and she's the genuine article. True faith."

"Ouch."

He laughs.

"Oh, it wouldn't be fun for you to piss her off, no. Her gun was glowing."

"How positively dangerous."

And potentially useful.

"She's a good kid."

"I don't disagree."

You stretch.

"Alright. I have zombies to put down and things to do, and you should eat something. Say, do you know anything about the local werewolf pack?"

"Just that they exist and don't cause trouble. This town's been quiet," he adds wistfully.

You want to ask more, spend more time, but he needs time, not you hovering asking over and over again whether or not he's okay. Either he is or he isn't, you can't change it. Usually that comment is a stern reminder to yourself not to change it, but with Bruce it's very literal. You can't change his mind. Where everyone else is mutable, he is solid. It could, perhaps, be a good thing.

You leave Bruce to his thoughts, his dinner, and his wife, and finally head out into the night. It's getting cloudy, but it's not raining yet. The zombies, college boys all, tell a tale of a party gone very awry. Their scent is distinctive, alcohol-soaked male layered with black magic and death. You could cast a tracking spell, but it wouldn't be worth it. You trot along the trail, along the road south and then east, following your nose. It takes only minutes for you to arrive at the house, a tall pink building with two towers that used to be beautiful before it became a dormitory.

You still, watching it. You can see a zombie shuffling inside, but this confirms your daylight worries – the zombies have no minds for you to influence. You will have to come up with specialized tactics, just for them. Aren't they lucky.

You can hear dozens of shuffling noises from inside, though a quick circle of the building confirms that the doors are closed. One upstairs window is broken – did the zombies that ambled towards your house fall out? How absurd.

You'll try out each of your available weapons, of course, but what are you trying to practice?

[]Elegance. They won't touch you, and every motion will be beautiful and seemingly effortless.
[]Speed. Nothing matters but getting it done. Fight dirty.
[]Economy. Every movement should have a purpose, and every drop of power matters.
[]Precision. You need to strike the head to put them down, but which part? How lightly?
[]Write-in