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Post by Tybalt on Jan 11, 2009 18:10:02 GMT -5
Cursing, he sheathed the sword again and gave chase still gripping his dagger tightly.
"Mercutio, you blasted idiot- get back here," he snapped, shoving away one of the creatures. The street was getting more crowded with them by the minute.
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Post by Mercutio on Jan 11, 2009 18:18:42 GMT -5
"Hmmm?" Mercutio climbed over the little fence again, an ironwrought chair balanced on his head with one hand. "What do you want? I can't have sex with you right now, Tybalt, I'm busy."
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Post by Tybalt on Jan 11, 2009 18:35:02 GMT -5
"Oh, shut up- What do you think you're doing?"
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Post by Mercutio on Jan 11, 2009 18:45:26 GMT -5
"What d'you think? I'm going to hit them. With a chair."
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Post by Tybalt on Jan 11, 2009 18:51:25 GMT -5
"There's no need- if you'd just run-" he stopped, noting the snails pace that they shuffled at. "Walk in that direction, there's a clear shot-"
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Post by Mercutio on Jan 11, 2009 19:01:55 GMT -5
Mercutio gave him a withering look from under the chair on his head. "Don't be a puss."
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Post by Tybalt on Jan 11, 2009 20:49:33 GMT -5
"Better that than an idiot- A dead idiot at that!"
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Post by Mercutio on Jan 12, 2009 15:18:05 GMT -5
Mercutio swung the chair down and into a conveniently close zombie. The momentum of the downward movement and the weight of the chair hit the thing rather hard and sent it off its feet, much to Mercutio's delight. Then he paused, leaning now on the chair and waving a dismissive hand. "Tybalt, there is no better cause than the protection of one's country. Men have died over the years, fought over the years, for nothing less; men have been troubled and worked and shot at for the glory and value of their cause. They slave and sweat, and the perspiration of the damned is used to sting the consciences of those who care not; blood fuels ignite at the offense of a figurehead and surprise, surprise, when the country is prodded to join in. You yourself, why, you noble Prince of Cats- I've never seen you to retreat before. Aren't you known for it, for your slashing blade, for your temper, when taunted or once given even imagined offense? Mmm, I've been that fellow, and what a scramble you inspire. And now..." Mercutio kicked a zombie who'd taken advantage of his little lull, as though forgetting he also had a chair. "You are advocating peace, Tybalt? Peace, peace- what a boring word. Worse yet than that is cowardice, a sin even the angels won't forgive."
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Post by Tybalt on Jan 13, 2009 17:20:04 GMT -5
Mercutio's little speech did nothing to stir any noble place in his heart. A brawl on the street, a duel between two equally matched swordsmen, a battle defending the honor of himself of his family; these he valued, and knew that they had very little to do with beating the shambling undead with chairs with Mercutio for sport. But the small implication of cowardice had stung, though he knew it was nonsense to let the other man's meaningless prattle affect him. He voiced none of these thoughts.
"This isn't my country," he snapped instead, and in one swift movement, knelt and stabbed through creature on the ground's neck, hardly expecting any effect. But his blade had severed the chord to it's brain, and the life went out of it's decaying limbs. He pulled the dagger free with a disgusted look on his face.
"The head-"
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Post by Mercutio on Jan 13, 2009 17:42:14 GMT -5
Mercutio gave him a dazzling but utterly meaningless smile, his eyes idly tracking the lunge of Tybalt's blade. "Although as it is the country we're currently inhabiting, isn't it better for us if it's not overrun with these malicious monsters?" His nose wrinkled at Tybalt's words; now he was really regretting the lack of a bat or his own sword, which was back in his room. He'd barely worn it since he'd come to Paris- in the absence of the feud, he hadn't had to.
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Post by Tybalt on Jan 13, 2009 17:48:24 GMT -5
"You don't have a proper weapon," he pointed out, his voice nearly shouting as he kicked away another zombie. His patience was worn very thin.
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Post by Mercutio on Jan 13, 2009 18:03:46 GMT -5
"Tybalt." Mercutio spread his hands, forgetting to pay attention to his surroundings in favor of that same smile now turning sweet and utterly innocent. "I have a chair. And a, er, pigsticker." He gestured vaguely at his belt, where he'd tucked the knife from earlier, then gave a huge jolt as a zombie he hadn't noticed grabbed the back of his shirt. Flailing away, he kicked it in the kneecap, and it went down.
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Post by Tybalt on Jan 13, 2009 18:12:43 GMT -5
At a loss for a way to talk him out of this idiocy, Tybalt grabbed Mercutio's arm to drag him from the fray.
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Post by Mercutio on Jan 18, 2009 14:17:24 GMT -5
Mercutio snatched it back, giving Tybalt such a dark glare it could have been the precursor to a fight, were they not otherwise occupied with the zombies around them.
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Post by Lavinia on Jan 19, 2009 21:09:45 GMT -5
((...*thread crashes*...))
It just so happened that not all of the sensible cowards had run, though generally they had managed to keep off the street. Lavinia had only just begun to nurse her drink at the bar inside of the cafe when the streets had started to fill, and had climbed over the bar to cower. Then again, by most definitions, she was not a sensible coward to begin with, being both rather proud and valiant in her own way - at times - and generally senseless, so perhaps that made sense. For some time now she had been in total fearful agony, not knowing what was going on outside the cafe, and not knowing whether or not the undead in the streets would shuffle into the cafe and add Lavinia to their list of victims. At the same time, she was too fearful to peek, lest, in seeing, she be seen.
When outside, Mercutio had jumped over the fence and grabbed a chair, it had made enough noise to turn what was already enough tension in Lavinia's mind into mindless panic - she was convinced she would hear that moaning grow louder in nearer proximity to her, and looked around for a place to hide, and found none.
She sat up against the side of the bar and bit the end of her stump to silence herself, forcing herself to think as well as she could, if for no other reason than survival. It did not take her long to realize that there was relatively normal conversation occurring outside the cafe, against the backdrop of the groaning. It did not seem at all unpleasant, really, and that there was no screaming was both curious and comforting. Lavinia felt a stab of hope and leapt on it, creeping around to the other side of the bar. What if the situation was not as serious as she had assumed? And that instead of quailing and kneeling in the cafe, she could just walk away from this and head back to Maria and everything would be all right?
Lavinia moved swiftly and nervously to the door before fear kicked in and sent her scurrying back - and she pushed against the glass pane with her back and stepped out, where she took in the scene in a matter of seconds without giving herself the time to process it - not that she had time. Only aware that she'd made a grave mistake and that she - and the two who were apparently caught up in this as well - needed to get away, Lavinia hurried over with an anxious face - then, a few steps away, just as she'd silently climbed over the fence, shrieked enormously loudly and reached anxiously for one of them in an effort to get away from a zombie she'd not noticed that had just reached for her.
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