Quixjote Nova ~ Still Alive!

You know the drill girls.....the rules are have fun and don't kill without the character's permission ;)

We start our story with a small monkey sitting on a beach. His entire body is covered in a black suite made of unidentified material. Dark glasses cover his eyes and the only movement is the speed of his fingers as they run across the keys on the laptop perched on a rock near him. Bleeps chime in time with the waves as each new file is loaded to his hard-drive. The little pirate giggled with glee as he stoled from the "government" in his peaceful manner......


your turn :P

Wrong spot. Moving thread.

thanks, wasn't sure where to put it :o

Off in the distance, the sounds of moaning, shuffling feet, and disco music can be heard.

Matsumoto, the samurai, gripped his katana.  The sounds of moaning, shuffling feet, and disco music could only mean trouble.

Matsumoto sits by the fire, eating rice and drinking sake.  A day passes. The anticipated zombies never appear. He becomes annoyed and goes off in search of a mythical computer monkey.  The monkey's noisy giggling makes him easy to find. Mats draws his katana...

((Dusty, your monkey is about to lose his head.  Your call.))

The monkey and the samurai once again hear the sounds of disco music, shuffling feet, and moaning. Suddenly, a horde of zombies wearing bell-bottoms and afros comes out of the bushes. The three zombies nearest to the monkey and the samurai attempt to bite both of them while sizing them up for funky shirts and bell-bottoms.

The pirate monkey calmly slides his laptop into the black pack on his back, ducks the sword slicing the air above his head and runs off down the beach, knowing full well the disco zombies will follow. *Giggles*

Unfortunately, with his head turned to watch the zombie's chosen path, the monkey runs headlong into a passerby.  The diminutive man he'd run into tucked into a roll and stood up again in one seamless motion, before offering the monkey his assistance.

Before the monkey makes his escape, Matsumoto dumps the last of his sake on the monkey's tail as his katana shortens a few afros. He chases after the monkey, with a few funky shirts in his pack. 

The disco zombie horde starts slowly following the monkey and the samurai. If you listen closely, you can hear them moaning words like "groovy" and some strange form of "Stayin' Alive."

Matsumoto liked the Bee Gees.  He decided it was time to get down and groove.  He glued I love Nixon mini-posters on the zombies' funky shirts while throwing rice balls at the diminutive man.

The disco zombies continue dancing, this time to "It's raining men." A zombie Hubert Humphrey slowly shuffles around, taking away all of the Nixon posters while a zombie George Wallace slowly, yet angrily shuffles towards the samurai.

Almost as if taking a cue from the zombies, the vertically challenged wanderer began a gracefully ballet (synchronized to the zombie's staggering dance).  One by one, the starchy projectiles flew harmlessly by, occasionally being popped skyward where they would explode like miniature white fireworks.

Five of the zombies take offense at being mimicked, and they turn and vomit on the stranger before attempting to devour him. A sixth zombie slowly shuffles towards the others while dragging a clothing rack full of disco shirts and bell-bottoms to dress the stranger in.

The midget calmly explains to the zombies (quite eloquently, and in their native tongue) that his intent was not offense but flattery, and that imitation is commonly viewed as the highest form thereof.  As a form of apology, he offers to entertain them with a juggling routine (making use of the few still-intact rice balls).

His impromptu shtick finished, he regards the rack-laden zombie with his most sincere gratitude for the offered change of clothing, but they are ultimately unable to find anything in his size.  Again he voices his regrets, and moseys down to the waterfront to bathe away the vomit.

The zombies, having no native language except for moans and groans, misinterpret the stranger's actions as further mockery. Five more join the group that is trying to eat him. The zombie outfitter, undeterred by the inability to find a shirt in the man's size, continues to try and find a shirt in his size.

Watching the zombies slow, trudging approach, the tiny annoyance moves further away from the shoreline (since it's a well-known fact that zombies will drown in the pursuit of their prey, being both stupid and mostly sponge-like in their dessication).  Matsumoto, who has been carefully watching this situation, notices tear tracks running down the small man's cheeks, as the zombies shuffle towards their more-than-a-little-timely, bloated demise.

[Something had better distract them, or we're going to have a fairly upset dwarf out here...]

Matsumoto steals a few shirts to dress the monkey in and accidentally knocks over the entire rack on the George Wallace zombie.  He ties the dwarf's hair into a top knot in hopes the crying will stop.

The George Wallace zombie moans some racial slur about the samurai's ancestry (for some reason, he retains the ability so speak coherently only when being racist).

The group of zombies following the dwarf are undeterred in their advance, and continue to close in on the dwarf.

The racial slur causes Matsumoto to lose his temper.  He mumbles something about those Confederate bigots from Alabama and raises his katana to slice heads in one swift blow.

The petite man, genuinely concerned for the zombies collective safety, races forward into the fray, inadvertedly splashing water in Matsumoto's face, and causing him to drop his weapon into the water.

Matsumoto picks up his sword.  He asks the dwarf, "Why do you like zombies?  Do you want to be one of the undead?"

Weaving deftly through the zombies, repeatedly and consistently evading their grasp, the homonculus shouts back to Matsumoto:


"The dead, undead, and dead again,
from each to each we travel,
but I care not for journey's end
which is arrived through battle."


Dancing off a few paces up the shore, he stands off from the zombie mob.  Each of the ten aggressors find themselves struggling to follow, as each leg has been tied to the leg of another.

Offering Matsumoto, the zombie fashionista and the pirate monkey a deep bow, he continues up the beach at a leisurely saunter.

The zombies pull against each other so hard that they each lose a leg. They proceed to hop after the dwarf.

The monkey, feeling overwhelmed by the recent events, steels himself from the grief of the little person and acts. He pulls the hood of his black suite over his head, displaying plastic filled holes for optimum visibility and an advanced breathing apparatus. His hand reaches in the bag on his back and pulls what looks like a remote. He quickly types in a code and whips out a grenade, pulls the pin and throws it into the Zombie conglomerate. Then disappears into the water......

Maintaining a safe distance from the grenade, Matsumoto watches as hundreds of decayed body parts fall to the beach.  He enters a nearby telephone booth and changes into Matsumoto the Shadow Warrior.

The zombies make no attempt to avoid the grenade, as they are too busy dancing and trying to catch the dwarf. One of the zombies accidentally catches the grenade in his mouth and swallows it, and it explodes in his stomach. Everyone within a 150-foot radius is sprayed with zombie guts.

Fortunately, Matsumoto was in the phone booth while everyone else was sprayed with zombie guts. 

The miniature man, far enough in the distance to remain untainted by the gory spray, stopped walking as the sounds of the now-destroyed homo mortuus fell in pieces to the ground.

He stood for a moment, as if deep in contemplation, before unceremoniously planting his face firmly into the sandy beach.

Planting one's face into the sand meant only one thing in Matsumoto's culture.  The little man had lost his honor.  The Shadow Warrior stood over him ceremoniously; ready to cut off his head. 

Matsumoto saw clearly from that distance that the Lilliputian was not only unconscious, but unbreathing.

Seeing as the little man had already taken care of dishonor unaided, Matsumoto made preparations for cremation, as was the custom in his homeland.

((Pvande, you are about to be burned to death.))

Know the spreading of zombie gut will have been finished by this time, the pirate monkey named jack emerged from the water driving a pearl white submarine. He waved to the still living from the windows on the nose of the sub.