Log:20080618 - Zombie Kisses


Clarke Street: North
Slowly but surely, the shops and random businesses give way to an assortment
of jazz and blues clubs as the street progresses northward. The frenzy of
window shoppers begins to settle down, these blending into a crowd that holds
a more relaxed and usually slightly inebriated nature. The city has put forth
funds to put some charm into the area here, as small trees have been planted
inside bricked off circles in the pavement, these matching the quaint brick
structure of the clubs and social establishments. The towering skyline is
still visible all around, but just helps to add an aura of seclusion to the
north side of Clarke Street, as even further north, things give way to larger
expanses of ground, Graceland Cemetery stretching off towards the east.
The sky is blue and cloudless, the sunlight is bright, and a cool wind blows
from the southeast.



"Shoo! Oh no, shoo! /SHOO!/." Comes the voice of a blonde woman dressed in
mostly black standing at the entrance for the Graceland cemetery. She's got a
tall man that is /obviously/ a zombie crawling toward her. He doesn't have
most left one of his legs. He reaches her curls a hand around her ankle. "No!
Go! I said /go/!"

The soft clicking of heels on concrete, the scrape of shoes on a dusty
sidewalk, comes to a momentary pause. And then it picks up again, only this
time faster, as Ghislain approaches the blond woman. He frowns at something,
his lips pursing inwardly before he approaches. "May I?" he asks, raising his
hands as if to cup his hands around the woman's waist and lift her away.

The blaring radio of 70's hits washes over the screaming, but doesn't stop
Fly-Jim from noticing the zombie and the girl, and subsequently the guy. "Oh
shit! Zombie!" His movie instincts kick in. The plush gold fur gas peddle
gets slamed by a single high top boot, the '55 purple Cadillac going from 5
to 40 in a few meters. THUMP. Torso hits windshield. Tuumbldumdump. Legs hit
undercarage of the Pimp Mobile. The car's hood inch from the pair. The afro
man jumps from his vehicle door, "Oh my god my baby!" He cries, looking at
the hood damage.

"No, let go! Bad zombie! BAD!" Mourning is in the process of shouting at the
zombie when Ghislan shows up. She is distracted from the zombie, how then
tries to crawl up her body, mewling faintly with dead vocal cords. "Huh?
Sure?" She says, and then turns to see the car coming at them and screams
like a little sissy girl, and there is a spike of power that runs through the
air. Cold, like a wind across someone's grave. It seems to spurr the
road-kill-zombie on.

In fact? A block down the road? A cat that was run over a few hours ago gets up
and starts dragging itself toward them.

Ghislain's hands tighten around Mourning's waist, and he plucks her from the
ground as easily as one would lift a coat. His hold is gentle but firm, and
he raises an alarmed brow as the Caddy does its damage. He whips Mourning
back as the car rumbles over the zombie so near both of them, holding her off
the ground until after the car has stopped. He absent-mindedly kicks the head
of the creature crawling towards them before setting Mourning down. "Ma
petite chioux, you're going to have to reign in that energy. Really, dead
cats and crawling corpses."

"Oh god my baby," Fly-Jim repeats, his hands going to his semi-perfect brown
afro. The aviator shades do not block the sight of his sasd eyes. His poor
car. Zombie ick rolls down the hood onto the ground. "Who's going to pay for
my baby's boo boo?!"

"Your baby? /Your/ baby?" Mourning hisses at Fly-Jim, and if Ghislain doesn't
still have a hold of her she'll be diving after the man. Shrieking at him, "You
stupid jerk! What did he ever do to you? Huh? I'll claw your eyes out!"

Unfortunately for Disco Godfather, Ghislain does not have Mourning in his grip
any longer. "Look, people, this is a tasteless display of public emotion.
Let's put on our Reserved Faces and exchange insurance information, alright?"
He says, looking between the two. "Secondly, you're at fault for having run
over something of your own volition, Mister."

"Yeah, bitch, my *baby* is what I'm worried 'bout, cus you sure as hell ant
worth four grand." Fly-Jim spits out, the car still boosting out 70's songs.
Fly-Jim stomps a foot, bites his lip and holds out his hands, "Chiill Fly,
just chiiill." He flips out a pick comb, stabs at his afro a bit, fluffing
it, and then stuffs the comb back into a small leather holster at his waist.
He casually pops open the car door, slides in and closes the door. "Inside my
happy place, my funky place. Groovy."

Mourning huffs at Fly-Jim, pulling her arm back in an almost comical way that
suggests she is going to deck him as hard as she possibly can. Her green eyes
narrowed in anger, even as the roadkill cat continues to drag it's way down
the street.

One arm tightens around Mourning's hook-arm, Ghislain's hand a warning sign.
"Let's not add injury to insult. I'm no lawyer, children, but you /clearly/
chose to run over the zombie… And you /clearly/ need to train this power of
yours. Look, you're raising dead cats and that's just not going to help the
neighborhood. In fact the city council may have something to say about it,
and since this is Chicago, probably already has."

"Huh? A cat? Oh shit." Mourning drops her hand with a glare toward Fly-Jim, she
heaves a sigh and says, "Damnit!" She looks toward Ghislain and asks, "Would
you help me by getting the zombie out from underneath the car?" Said zombie
is mewling now and trying to claw its way out from underneath a hood. "While
I go get the cat, I have to put them both to rest."

"Yes, for a price," Ghislain says. He flashes a brilliant smile, one that
seems to have a bit too many teeth. "A small price, for one so pretty."

Mourning eyes Ghislain intently looking at him as she starts to make her way
down the street, not watching where she is going, "What kind of a price?"

"For you? A kiss," Ghislain says. "And no biting."

Mourning eyes Ghislain for a moment as she leans down and scoops up the
zombie-cat. She stands back up and walks back to him. A slight nod is given
and she says, "Alright, one kiss. No tongue."

Ghislain affects a pout, but nods in agreement. He bends down to work on the
zombie, hauling the creature out from under the car by its shoulders. He
attempts to set it up aright, but it doesn't seem to want to agree. It
flashes around a little, but Ghislain simply sets it against the car and lets
it fend for itself beyond that.

"Thank you. You'll get your kiss once I've put these back down." She walks
forward and wraps an arm around the zombie, apparently not bothered by the
way it then slobbers on her, and gets rot all of her clothing. The blonde
animator says and starts to drag the zombie back into the graveyard.

Ghislain folds his arms and awaits his payment, watching the back of the
Animator as she walks away.

Ghislain follows behind, and his voice rings out musically as if amplified by
the grass and trees of the cemetary: "I'll carry and even reshovel if you
agree to modify our agreement to include tongue."

Mourning turns to eye Ghislain intently for several long minutes. She lets go
of the big zombie and she says, "Alright, but only for a few seconds. Five at

Ghislain accepts the zombie and hauls it over his shoulder with ease. "Fair
deal," he says, his smile wide. "Just no biting, that would be rude. Let's
find where our good man is buried. I'll even carry the cat at no extra cost."

Mourning eyes Ghislain intently for several long moment and says, "Alright. And
/only/ a kiss. If you want to touch any part of me that isn't my lips you
have to provide your blood for me to put them down." She then starts looking
about in the graveyard only to sigh as a ghoul staggers into the area.
"Damnit! /SHOO!/" She shouts at it, and apparently scares it enough that it
runs off.

You shoo the ghoul away.
Ghoul heads towards the Eastside section of the cemetery.
Ghoul has left.

"Your banishment, your blood," Ghislain says simply. "I'll keep my hands to
myself. Now, where is this poor thing to be buried?"

"Good." Mourning states and then looks about once more finally finding an open
grave. "There." She makes her way forward and points to it. "Put him in
there." She then sets the zombie cat down into it as well. A knife is
retrieve from her pocket to cut open her wrist.

Ghislain carefully lays the corpse into the hole, and sets the cat on top of
it. After a moment's thought, he folds the arms one over the other, over the
cat, and stands back. "I'd say a few words," He murmurs, "But I'm not

Mourning starts to make a circle around the grave, giving a faint sigh, as her
blood drips down onto the ground. Once the circle of blood is complete she
turns back to the grave and reads off the name intently, and then wince and
says, "And cat… I put you into the ground, and I send you to your final
resting place."

Ghislain clears his throat respectfully, and bows his head… still stepping
back so that the blood doesn't harm his clothing. Zombie slime is bad enough.

There is a surge of power, and finally the man goes limp and so does the cat.
Wow that was simple. She then steps out of the circle and says, "There.
Should be done." Her shirt is ripped and wrapped around her arm.

"And would you like your kiss now, or perhaps later when you are more suitably
attired?" Ghislain asks, ever the gentleman ready to take advantage. "The
choice is yours, I am not rude."

Mourning eyes Ghislain and states, "This is fine." The tear is then covered up
by her hooded sweat shirt. She moves forward ward him and tilts her head back
and puckers her lips, making a fishy face.

"Ah ah AAaah," Ghislain says, putting a single finger to Mourning's lips.
"There is more delicacy to the art of kissing than any romance of goldfish
dreamt of in all of the theatre of history. You go into a kiss with a smile."
So saying, Ghislain smiles as he leans down. With his mouth almost on top of
Mourning's, he adds, "And like a waltz, you follow the man's lead."

Mourning frowns at Ghislain and rolls her eyes a moment, she lets out a smile
and gives him a bright smile and stays where she is. Saying through her
teeth, "Lead then."

Ghislain smiles even brighter, but brings his lips together to press against
Mourning's— at first a light, gentle touch, a half-smile as he finds a
better form, and then his lips cover hers. He presses hard for a moment, as
if to give his own lips a light and tingly sensation, but relents as his
tongue brushes against Mourning's upper lip and into her mouth. He tastes
like peppermint toothpaste, of all absurd things. His five seconds is counted
down and it seems as if the man were going to take advantage of every last
one. He tightens his lips again, making the stereotypical "pucker" sound as
he stands up straight.

Mourning stands passive through out it all, obligingly opening her mouth when
his tongue seeks access. Her eyes however close faintly, and when he pulls
away she gives a faint sigh. "Decent enough. I'm sure I've had better
though." The animator states.

"It isn't my policy to talk back to women, but you seem out of practice,"
Ghislain responds, in a tone lacking invective. "What a bubbly surface, yes,
effervescent even, but perhaps you ought to go clubbing more often? I speak
only as a concerned citizen. Do take care, madam. Would you like to be
escorted out of the cemetery? Or do you need a cab?"

Mourning flicks her tongue along her lower lip and she says, "Oh, you never
said I had to kiss you back." She then breezes past him- or tries to.

Ghislain laughs abruptly, that long smile back on his face. "No, I didn't," he
responds. He doesn't stop her from moving away. "I still got what I wanted."
He doesn't move to follow her.

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