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Who: Anthony Janvier and OPEN on the 23rd; Harper Sutherland, Reilanin Bainbridge, and Angeline Strauss on the 23rd and 24th.
Where: Around Locke, rounding a park and ending at one grocery store on the 23rd; the library and Angeline's place of work on the 24th.
When: Backdated to Jan. 23rd to Jan. 24th; midday to evening.
What: The resident zombie is, courtesy of Master Nine-Lived Detective, perfectly alive again for a few days. What better way to spend them than outside a bit, running a few errands?

By the time he has split off from Alex, he's already out and well-out and underprepared for it. No tasks lined up, nothing on hand except for a bit of cash, but that's well and good - he hadn't known what to do with this time in the first place, and he's got another day, at least, in all likelihood - this is hitting the ground running.

And running, he can do! Heads quickly down a few blocks in a store-lined zone, remembering his way around and enjoying it - open space without any need for a hiding spot, not that he feels coming on. Occasional bump or near-bump on his blind side, but open, nonetheless, and the sun's no bother and he can properly feel the wind. Both facts are the winter weather aside.

Meanders into the park for maximum effect of outside-ness within a few hours. He flatly drops into a bench. Brings out the sheet of paper he's got pocketed to check up on the network, unfolds it. Proceeds with the checking to his left, in case - not even thinking to compensate for incomplete view of the right.

And with that similarly cursory check done with he can resolve to get at least one minor thing taken care of - he expects he's actually going to need to sleep today, after all.

Fetching what it surely was that at least some of the money he's got on hand was meant or implicitly encouraged to be used for, it is.

He's at the store picking backing ingredients off a shelf and of all things he's forgotten how to do this without actively thinking. He didn't take a basket on the way over here - and obviously whatever he's going to pick is going to be bagged, but then he's going to need to carry those bags by hand on the way home...

Has his arms a bit full scanning shelves for more manageable shapes, if not sizes, turning a bit - doesn't need to be everything at once, just what he'll need to fill in gaps in or re-supply anything there's an obvious shortage of. He can and should come up with a proper plan tomorrow.

-----

He does set out with a proper plan today. Doesn't leave too early, seeing as technically he should be in school now, and has a backpack on him, which may or may not allow him to stand out a little less in addition to serving its utilitarian purpose.

Firm note to drop by the library, which he does - pushes the door open and promptly slips off into an aisle at semi-random just in case by some chance anyone might be present who might recognize him, ask where on earth he's been or pass on word to certain parties to who might be interested.

Either the layout's a hint different, it's occurring to him, or he's misremembering - he supposes either the earthquake forced some reorganization thinking back to Ms. Bainbridge's network message or he's just a bit out of touch. Goes to wandering back around, peering around and into the aisles to at least clue himself into a quick re-mapping-out.

At the store by the time the sun's started going down, however, he knows just where to go. Has made a proper list, weaved in and out of and picked from the aisles, and is at the front. Makes it to the register, hands over cash, responds to a well-meant inquiry about the patch over his eye with a sheepishly-laughing "Oh - it's -- surgery," stuffs the change back into his pocket and takes the bags with a thanks and a duck of the head.

He slows down towards the door stalling on whether to set down his bags and try to fit the shopping bags into the backpack with the books before or after he walks through it.

Catches a glimpse, as he does so, of what looks rather like long blue hair with streaks back inside.

Does a double-take and freezes to the spot. Partly blocking the doorway. That does look rather like who he thinks it does.

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Angeline, meanwhile, looks utterly clueless as she turns her eyes on Anthony. A low, awkward 'uhhh' drags out as she tries to place Anthony's face.

"Are you sure?" asks Marcie. "It's so dark and slippery outside. I don't mind."

Awkward grin intensifies, his visual attention whips between Mrs. Barrow and who-he-thinks-is-Mr.-Barrow and Angeline and over and out of order, pipes " - Yes - ! Um. -- I'll be fine, um. Thank you, ma'am -- "

And on one of the glances landing on Angeline blurts out a "Ss - sorry for before, by the way - ..."

That said with a head bowing and aversion of his eye in case that makes it any easier to call the figurative case closed and now he was right, somehow letting slip a sorry did make the move a touch less awkward.

...

...

...

Ding.

Angeline takes a half step back in surprise. "Zombie Boy?!"

Head jerks straight up.

She hadn't recognized him.

She hadn't recognized him until he'd gone and caused her to recognize him by keeping on talking and now with this, if this run in was unwanted, he's gone and dug both of their graves.

And now it is too late to attempt to refute it. "Umm."

Expression goes from blank to a not-smile, tight at the corners and lips thinning. " - That's uh -- " Quick glance over the elderly couple again how are they going to react to "Zombie Boy" and back. " - That's right - "

And it only occurs to him then that all that and they've not caught each other's names but now is really not the time or place...

Clapping her hands together, large beaded bracelets clunking against each other with the motion, Marcie says, "Oh my, that sounds like a story over dinner. Would you like to join us, Zombie Boy?"

'Zombie Boy' might hear a short-lived, high-pitched noise coming from the back of Angeline's throat.

It is not a story that can be told over dinner, is it - flings a grins back over at Angeline, says, " -- Oh, it's -- my name's Anthony - " Indeed mostly directed at her - has no idea if it is the time and place after all, but in case throwing in such a detail is a minor distraction or stall.

"And um. -- You and her - " And again between Angeline (whose name he himself still hasn't gotten!) and Mrs. Barrow. "... -- you mean - ?" It floats up into a high head voice and then to an edge - it's clarifying curiosity, and who knows to what end it is - if he pursues it himself it's yet another bid at please, please, tell me to leave and I'll make myself scarce.

Edited 2014-01-27 09:37 (UTC)

Before Marcie can reply, Angeline stiffly says, "Yes, she's inviting you, and--"

"--we'd love to have you over," finishes Marcie, over Angeline's attempt to dissuade him from accepting. Angeline takes on the look of one who's swallowed a bug as the older woman continues. "You see, my husband and I have been staying at her parents' bed and breakfast for, oh gosh, it seems like forever now. You know the earthquake? We lost our condo in that. But anyway," a dismissive wave of her hand, a jingle of the bands on that wrist, "it's like a vacation, really. We're the only ones there, though..."

Angeline stiffens under the direct look Marcie is giving her. Oh. Oh. The only ones there-- the only business the B&B has right now.

Can't piss off customers. (INTERNAL WHINING.)

She puts on another smile. "Yyyyeah," she says, touching the strap of her purse (not the one that was stolen). "We can totally fit another person. My mom used to be the sous chef for Poirier so... yeah. She's a good cook."

Edited 2014-01-27 09:53 (UTC)

Helplessly looking again between Angeline and Mrs. Barrow.

It is abundantly obvious that the former would like to say no. Opens his mouth a hint and aborts whatever he meant by biting his lower lip, which, absurdly, actually feels somewhat nice, and closes it. Discards any variant of "are you sure", guesses at the reception it was get - and makes a mental grab out at an excuse, mutters " -- Oh, if I uhm - "

...Who'll be concerned if he's delayed in coming home as far as he can relay, his parents? He expects he can write a heads-up to John via network, if need be, if need be...

Face and voice both slacken loose to resignation. Resignation either way. Resumes the looking between the two women. " -- If you're sure, um."

Withholds the thanks (it'll be polite for a confirmation and perhaps relieved for a change of plans) until the course is made final.

"Very well, then!" Marcie adjusts her scarf (floral pattern) and walks out of the store. As soon as her back is to them, Angeline's smile drops, but she obediently follows.

Assuming Anthony does the same, she says, in a lowered voice so that Marcie won't overhear, "You're not going to get in trouble for this, are you?"

He does - takes Angeline's following along as his cue, in fact, caught too late to give the thank-you after all then and there - save it for when they've arrived then.

He sparks up some alertness when Angeline speaks - looks at her as if expecting to re-read what she just asked someplace on or around her. "With -- "

Not a question he anticipated - wrangles his voice to a tone to approximate hers. " - I won't, um." Most likely, anyway. " -- You don't mind -- ?"

A quaver high and thin out of surprise rather than hope - she minds, he figures she minds, he figures that was a bit of an embarrassment and now he was apparently invited along to spend who-knows-how-long-it'll-amount-to in her vicinity, but again, that was not a question he was expecting!

She makes a drawn out sound, almost a whine. "No, it's fine. I mean, like... Just, you know, the stuff with the Numbers and, like..."

Angeline, where are you going with this? No matter, it seems like she's realized she's not going anywhere with his, either. With a sigh, she shrugs and lifts her hands behind her head, untying her pony tail. "So yours wore off, too, huh?"

Blinks at her. "Hmnh -- ? Nuh - oh - no... - actually...!" He tosses a glance - up and around a moment of all places. "It's just uh -- this is just temporary - someone - else - umm."

And focus finally lands back on her. " -- helped - ! You, er - " Unsure on his own end why he's bumbling on to such a quick change. " - 'v been all right? -- Completely, since - uh. - Since then - ?"

She casts a curious glance his way. "Yeah," she says, distracted by his answer. 'Temporary'? The only 'temporary' state Angeline has experienced since receiving her Numbers is the zombification, so she's inclined to extend that train of thought to Anthony's de-zombification -- an Echo.

Never he mind that questionable memories gifted by Echoes are not, according to Angeline, completely all right.

"Keeping my head low, just doing what I was doing..." Her strides drop in speed as Marcie reaches the car. Alvin is already in the driver's seat, glancing at them both before turning to face his wife, speaking to her as she climbs into the passenger's seat.

"I work here," she finishes, opening the back door as Marcine pleasantly calls, "It's open."

She climbs inside and scoots all the way over, then holds her hands out to take Anthony's bags so he can get in, too.

An obligatory mumbled, short "I see" before they're at the car.

He doesn't reprise it for "I work here"l that gets a lighter " -- Oh - !" with his brows elevating. Then it wasn't strictly bad luck to run into her here - plain surprise on lack of knowledge, on his part.

And a blink when she's holding out her hands.

Takes a moment for his brain in the immediate to catch up with him. Looks across the car to her - across an empty seat, that is, actively crossed and left clear - and the gesture.

He bends over a little and casts a quick inexplicably cowering look into the driver's and passenger seats and back at Angeline's seat, mumbles "Thank you - !" directed at no one consciously in particular and gets in as well, sits down and gathers himself aside, passes the bags in one arm to the other and attempts to get them stable at his feet - Angeline's gesture perhaps not entirely taken for what it is - and...

Another look back at her, and back at Mr. Barrow and at Mrs. Barrow, and, yes, he was invited this far, he was seated, this was happening and if it wasn't they'd have changed their minds and shooed him off by now!

Sets a hand on the side of the door and shuts it with a jerk.

And a flinch, was that too hard, distracts himself buckling in.

Another "Umm. -- Thank you," this one a bit more consciously directed. If not any more specifically.

There's a strange sort of comfort in knowing there's someone more awkward than herself. That is, she gives him a funny look when he cowers at the front of the car, though she quickly smooths it over when he directs the look towards her. Her hands fall to her thighs, offer apparently ignored or misunderstood, odd look resurfacing as he arranges his bags.

This guy is so strange. Like a kicked puppy.

Horror crosses her features. Was he abused?????

"You're welcome, Anthony," says Marcie, oblivious. His fate, however, is sealed. He's doomed to small talk for the rest of the ride.

His first inclination on that look of hers is, by the way, a look of horror in kind - immediate assumption of something's wrong, under which is a little less-consequential bite of a thought that it's because she's in a car with a zombie, what if she thinks I'm going to change back?

What if he does change back? What'll be will be, perhaps, it'll be abundantly obvious if he is going to change back, or so he assumed, as it hasn't been done out of something like this before, but, fates are sealed, indeed, apparently - hopefully not in some actually ominous sense. Consign himself to small talk, he'll do with some appreciation.

She snaps her head in the other direction as soon as he returns her horrified look. Marcie's small talk seems to hold the bulk of Anthony's attention, for which Angeline is thankful.

Arrival at the B&B results in two more introductions -- Henry and Henrietta Strauss -- though only briefly, as both are retiring for the night, leaving Angeline stranded in a not-so-ideal situation. Nevertheless, she endures dinner with the Barrows and Anthony, and is not so subtle in offering to refill their wine glasses in the hopes they retire to their room sooner. Conversation booms, particularly on Alvin's part, as it seems he's a flower that blossoms when food and drink are in his company.

Once dinner is over, the Barrows retire to their room. As Angeline and Anthony washing dishes, Angeline chances a glance at him and double-takes.

Is he turning back into a zombie now?

Oh she'd not even need to ask if he was - though with that implanted fretting point hanging over his head dinner was a little of a something to endure on his part as well. Any booming in the conversation elicited flinching, and now washing dishes is almost meditative, he thinks.

Productive, focused, and only the two of them.

He chances a glance at her likewise. Considers making a comment, either an apology for if that was a bit of a pain of a surprise (which it clearly was) or a thanks not for making much of it if it was - but let's get this done first.

She can look again when they're nearly done. perhaps a couple last things left to clean between them when -

A burn lights up under Anthony's skin.

An intense, familiar burn that feels no different when he's dead.

He freezes at once with his elbows locking and then wobbling as he leans on the counter, and his heart gives one last good, strong thump as what this means blasts into and flares up in his brain - and the sensation, likewise, flares and spreads with yellow light.

She recoils away from him, grip on a plate with suds rolling off of it white-knuckled. Her first inclination isn't to help, but stare in wide-eyed wariness.

"Anthony?"

He doesn't respond answer - the light flares up over him and burns, sparks, and buzzes, and he doubles further into the sink and he screams. Braces against the edge of the sink as everything internal flash-freezes while everything outside sears, his head's filled with a yellow glow, intensifying hot to white -

And then gray.

He slumps. Still bent into the sink.

He's out cold. And cooling. Heat ebbing out and off of him in steam and a couple more continuing sparks of yellow.

His hair's been burnt patchy. His head's downturned but one of his hands has slipped back off the counter edge to dangling. It has gone green-gray.

She literally jumps away from him in fear when he screams, letting out her own high-pitched squeak. Holy crap, holy crap, what the hell, is this really happening--

The sounds of feet running upstairs, down the stairs, their owners calling, "Angie! Angie, are you okay?!"

Angeline is not okay. Anthony is way more not okay. THIS IS NOT OKAY.

Adrenaline kicked into full gear, she drops her plate in the sink and grabs Anthony by the hand. "Anthony!" she hisses, tugging with little result. She finds better success in hooking her arms underneath his armpits and dragging him towards the kitchen door. "Anthony, wake up!" Grunt. "Wake up!"

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