kol: (Dance!)
[personal profile] kol
I've had this work in progress for a while and decided to throw caution to the wind and post the damned thing. It still needs work but, meh. Basically, Dee = doubting Thomas; it takes her a while to really believe the whole Angel thing. She's not the smartest kettle of fish out there, what can I say. XD
"Research"
A WIP ANCD Fanfic, staring DEE!

The air carried an unseasonable chill as Dee wandered, feet aching after kilometers of travel, her stride no longer firm with purpose, but wobbling about the sidewalk. Loose hips were the wobbling’s cause, and threatened to knock unsuspecting fellow pedestrians into the streets or shop walls.

Or at least they would, if any other pedestrians were on the walk tonight. She was very much alone, save for the occasional lorry speeding down the way; she looked on as one gave chase to its own grave, in a bloody hurry to get themselves killed; she saw all bones and brains splattered about the gray pavement and winced, not for human sympathy, but for the mess.

It wasn’t something Dee really could call a comforting sight, even if she only saw it in her head.

Her hands itched to be tucked into pockets, but her form fitting tights offered no comfort for that habitual craving. She wished she smoked; her fingers would have something to do then, and smoking always seemed dramatic. A smoker cared about nothing-- his health, people around him, global warming. She envied that, but the last time she’d picked up a fag, she’d gone and embarrassed herself, hacking the rest of the night and feeling the biggest idiot this side of Kent.

So, Dee walked, finding no comfort in the action, her hips rolling her frustration and general fear she’d up and gone stark raving bonkers. One didn’t simply imagine one had wings and a bloody useless lantern, after all, and that grimy key was clutched in her small hand; it was barely a thing, but loaded down that arm with the weight of the world.

She was going mad. Midterms, perhaps. A raving madness caused by excessive trips in the Tube. Too much curry. No, one could never have too much curry-- madness was a better culprit. Her mum had begged her that morning to stay at Hobbs House, claiming there was an unnatural air about Dee that could only be solved by biscuits and tea, but Dee had passed, catching a ride back to campus from the only Hobbs with a car, all for the price of a hug.

She didn’t trust public transportation yet. Which was why she was walking.

The thin cast of the flickering streetlights-- odd that electric lights should flicker so-- might have been comforting a week past. But after last night, she found herself searching deep into the dimness, pulling dead and rotting faces out of thin air, and dancing fairy puppets hovering in midair.

Yes. Absolutely raving mad. But she had finally arrived. The small store was brightly lit-- no doubt to turn the pervy sort away, although they had nothing to fear, really, for there was a rather large adult store not but two storefronts away. Splashes of color adorned the windows, proclaiming this store had all the newest, greatest flicks, but Dee ignored their siren ways and made her way inside the video store.

She had her mind for a spot of research. If she wasn’t going bad and zombies really did exist, well, it would pay to actually know methods of disposing of them. Assuming she didn’t clear out and run away as she had done last night.

The teenager manning the store barely gave her the glance over; she was a pick-marked girl, face more grease than skin, and an odd stench seemed to emanate from her. It was either the girl or the two years past their expiration date gummy worms. Or both. She was reading a thin paperback, one of those silly cartoon books Dee was sure, and gave every indication that Dee was free to find whatever she needed provided DeeDee left the girl alone.

But Dee was never one for following unspoken expectations. “Zombies.”

The girl looked up, startled. “What did you say?”

“Zombies,” Dee repeated, barely controlling the need to roll her eyes at the girl. “I need your best Zombie movies. All of them.”

The girl relaxed, setting her book on the counter and contorting her body in a tight stretch. The grease parted to allow a wry, knowing smile that only a know-it-all teen could possess. “In the mood for a little gore, eh?”

“No, just Zombies,” She paused, brow wrinkling. The key was all but burning in her hand now; it apparently liked the word a little too much for her liking. “Settling a bet,” She added lamely.

“Ah, a bet! Well, we’ve got a good collection; don’t sell too many Zombie flicks this time of the year. Do you have a preferance in your kind of zombie?”

“There are different kinds?” Dee asked suspiciously, taking in the girl with a wary eye. Was this another one of those loonies? And if she wasn’t hallucinating last night, that meant she was one of the loonies too. Better find a new name for the likes of them, then. Winged Raving Lunatics didn’t have a ring of a healthy mindset.

“Oh, there are lots of kinds of zombies! The best zombies are the originals, the Voodoo creatures, but you don’t see them in most movies. Less dramatic, I suppose, because a sorcerer guy is in control and the zombies really aren’t after a person’s brains. The more typical zombie is the slow moving, brain obsessed, rabid creature in horror flicks-- the Americans have some good ones, but you know those Americans. Obsessed with violence and gore.”

Dee had a feeling this clerk had a bit of American in her, too. It was unnatural how much her eyes lit up as she talked about the undead.

“A lot of directors use zombies as tools for social commentary, but-”

“Where are the zombie movies?” Dee cut off. She didn’t need a primer course of the zombie in popular culture.

Twenty minutes later, Dee left the video store with heaps of research materials. The girl had piled one movie after another until Dee was almost lost under the stack. She took them all, and a few hours later had finished the first movie (she made judicious use of the FF option on her remote; no need to daddle over the obligatory gory parts; when you see one zombie tearing into a person’s arm, you get a good idea to keep well away from those nasty teeth).

She still wasn’t sure she believed herself to be totally sane, but the key was still there, and she was beginning to remember things, things that were, frankly, too vivid for her poor imagination to come up with on whim. And there was one face, burly but handsome in a paternal sort of way, that Dee knew she’d never seen before, but kept popping into her head at the damnest moments.

With a sigh, she accepted, for the moment anyway, that she wasn’t crazy. That zombies existed. That she apparently had a secret set of wings. And that there were, more importantly, other freaks out there like her. At least that made her feel slightly better. She had been rather lonely at Uni, after all. Not too many plushie freaks around, and she was more fond of wandering the streets or popping in for a quick brew at a pub than hitting the larger parties.

Right then. Tomorrow, she’d try and catch another winged freak like herself. She had a feeling there were a lot more hidden in plain sight, but she had nothing to go on but vague memories and that one face.

And at least now she had a better idea of how to kill a zombie if she ran into it.


But she wondered if buying a gun and using that to fight zombies would be kosher; a lantern just wasn’t a proper zombie killing weapon.

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