milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The manufactured weather at Milliways is still cold enough that the seats by the fire are prime nap locations. Shaun is taking full advantage of this by sprawling across the entire sofa.

He'll move if you poke him hard enough.

[ooc: not in the best headspace right now but wanted to play anyway. Warning for probable slowtime.]

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... Tom gives him a Look that is partially contempt for not recognizing the sarcasm, and partially annoyance for perfectly good sarcasm going to waste.

The expression on Shaun's face seems to indicate that he's just gotten the joke.

"Whatever. He's not here."

"I honestly cannot believe you keep it around."

He bristles a bit at the pronoun, but lets it go unremarked on.

"Don't believe it all you want, it won't make him go away."

Tom eyerolls. "As long as he stays away, I could care less."

He shrugs as best he can without actually sitting up.

"I won't promise he'll never show up here again."

"Oh great. Can't you control him? Oh, no, wait -- obviously you can't."

Or else Tom wouldn't have had to stop himself from shooting him in the head.

"I kept him from treating the place like an all-you-can-eat buffet. That not good enough for you?"

Long pause.

"'S worth something."

It's grudging -- very grudging -- but true.

"One trained zombie's nothing, I've seen what a group of 'em can do to a bar."

He pauses to go off on a tangent.

"I wonder what you call a group of zombies."

"A shamble," promptly, if a little absently.

"You mean you're not the only one who's kept one?"

Oooh, that's a good one.

"I meant... untrained ones. But no I'm not."

"Oh. Yeah, well, I've seen what a group of 'em can do to a shopping mall."

Brief pause for the resurfacing of memories and the emphatic reburial of them.

He winces.

"Yeah... Sorry."

For what, we may never know.

"Huh."

Another pause.

A longish one.

"Thanks."

... Aaaaawkward.

The silence is broken only by a slight sniff.

... It's really not going to get any less awkward.

Edited 2008-03-14 06:32 (UTC)

"Why the hell do y-- people keep them?"

Apparently, if it's not going to get any less awkward, it may as well get more awkward.

It's like a Shambling Thriller Dance of Uncomfortableness.

"The government came up with a sedative that keeps 'em docile. They use 'em for cheap labor."

'They' in this case emphatically does not mean 'we.'

"--You can sedate them?"

He's suddenly sitting up straighter.

"But that wasn't what you spraying on yours, right?"

"Yeah. It's really hard to get hold of, that's why I don't use it on Ed."

He does keep some on hand in case of emergency... but for some reason he's reluctant to mention that little detail.

He slumps a little, sighing. "Yeah? Ah, well."

He shoots a quick, not-very-happy look at the front door as he speaks.

Dammit.

".. Could probably get some for you if you really needed it. Probably wouldn't last long against a lot of 'em, though."

Now Tom's got him thinking.

"Plus you'd have to get close enough to use it. Mostly they just drug their food."

"Probably wouldn't even work on the one's we've got. Different world, different -- chemical makeup or something, I dunno. Thanks for the offer, though."

He rakes a hand through his hair. "Probably be better off with a couple boxes of bullets."

He perks up a bit at that.

"Oh, that I can get you easy."

"--Wait, seriously?"