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The Dead Will Come 13
The Dead Will Come
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: The pilots. 1x2, 3x4
Summary: A batch of abandoned toxic waste turns a town into a living cemetery.
Warnings: Zombies, death (not the pilots), gore, language, violence and everything you would expect of a bad B movie. Also humor, hopefully.
Notes: This was inspired by Robert Rodriquez and Quentin Tarantino's "Grindhouse" so if you saw that then you know what to expect. If you haven't, then think of bad 80's zombie movies and you'll get the picture.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28
Quatre Winner turned around when he heard the door of Howard's room open, not at all surprised to find Trowa standing at the threshold.
"Found any clothes yet?" Trowa didn't quite smile but there was a warm expression on his face. Quatre had been looking at the movie star and noticed that Trowa was really quite different than what his movies showed him to be. He wasn't cocky but actually a little shy, soft spoken and very attentive. Quatre liked this version better than the action hero.
"Not really." Quatre made a face and held out a blue, orange and green flowered shirt. "Just Hawaiian shirts here."
"Duo said there was a box of his old stuff in the back." Trowa moved for the closet and crouched down. Moments later he dragged an old box out. He produced a pair of jeans from the box, ones even more ripped than the ones he was wearing.
"Is there anything else?" Quatre asked, eying the jeans.
"These," Trowa took out another pair of jeans, just as ripped but with oil stains all over them, "and lots of t-shirts. Kiss or Nirvana?"
Quatre blinked. "What?"
"There's a Metallica one too and a Led Zeppelin one." Trowa produced a bunch of shirts, all in black with the bands' logos on the front.
Quatre took the Led Zeppelin one and quickly stripped from his t-shirt. Then he lowered his sweatpants and put on the jeans. He smiled when he felt Trowa's eyes on him. Trowa Barton from Kill with a Vengeance was looking at him.
"I need shoes," Quatre said. "Running around barefoot really isn't as much fun."
"I know what you mean." Trowa gave him a small smile. "These might fit you." He placed a pair of black sneakers on the floor.
"Thanks." Quatre sat down and put them on. "So, have you made any movies in the last year? I've been a bit out of the loop."
"I don't like my movies," Trowa replied with a scowl.
"They are entertaining. But I like you more than any of your roles. You should smile more, though. Like you did right now, not the fake one you use on the movies." Trowa didn't reply but Quatre hadn't expected him too. "We should go down, help the others load the car and get some weapons."
"Do you know how to use a gun?"
"I had lessons before I ran away from home. I'm a pretty decent marksman."
"Good," Trowa said and his tone was pleased. He paused for a moment and then said, "What did you do?… before they took you."
"Musician." Quatre ran a hand through his hair. "I was hired to play studio, mostly but I did the odd live gig if someone needed an extra guitar or something."
"What do you play?"
"Violin, piano, base and guitar, mostly." Quatre had missed playing, missed it as much or more than being able to be outside. Having been deprived of both music and his empathy had been hell. Even with the zombies running around and the very good chance that he would be eaten of at least infected by them Quatre was happier than he had been in a year. He was free. The zombies were really just a minor inconvenience and in a weird way he had to thank them for allowing him to meet Trowa.
"I play the flute," Trowa admitted. "My publicist said I should keep it hidden, that it didn't go with my image."
"You should fire him," Quatre suggested.
Trowa shrugged. "He's a zombie now. Tried to eat me when I ran from the set; he was mumbling something about popularity rates."
Quatre laughed. "He sounds very dedicated." He moved for the door and paused on the threshold to wait for Trowa. "Maybe we can play sometime?"
Trowa smiled. "When there are no zombies around."
"Yes," Quatre agreed. "That would be better."
* * *
TBC
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: The pilots. 1x2, 3x4
Summary: A batch of abandoned toxic waste turns a town into a living cemetery.
Warnings: Zombies, death (not the pilots), gore, language, violence and everything you would expect of a bad B movie. Also humor, hopefully.
Notes: This was inspired by Robert Rodriquez and Quentin Tarantino's "Grindhouse" so if you saw that then you know what to expect. If you haven't, then think of bad 80's zombie movies and you'll get the picture.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28
Quatre Winner turned around when he heard the door of Howard's room open, not at all surprised to find Trowa standing at the threshold.
"Found any clothes yet?" Trowa didn't quite smile but there was a warm expression on his face. Quatre had been looking at the movie star and noticed that Trowa was really quite different than what his movies showed him to be. He wasn't cocky but actually a little shy, soft spoken and very attentive. Quatre liked this version better than the action hero.
"Not really." Quatre made a face and held out a blue, orange and green flowered shirt. "Just Hawaiian shirts here."
"Duo said there was a box of his old stuff in the back." Trowa moved for the closet and crouched down. Moments later he dragged an old box out. He produced a pair of jeans from the box, ones even more ripped than the ones he was wearing.
"Is there anything else?" Quatre asked, eying the jeans.
"These," Trowa took out another pair of jeans, just as ripped but with oil stains all over them, "and lots of t-shirts. Kiss or Nirvana?"
Quatre blinked. "What?"
"There's a Metallica one too and a Led Zeppelin one." Trowa produced a bunch of shirts, all in black with the bands' logos on the front.
Quatre took the Led Zeppelin one and quickly stripped from his t-shirt. Then he lowered his sweatpants and put on the jeans. He smiled when he felt Trowa's eyes on him. Trowa Barton from Kill with a Vengeance was looking at him.
"I need shoes," Quatre said. "Running around barefoot really isn't as much fun."
"I know what you mean." Trowa gave him a small smile. "These might fit you." He placed a pair of black sneakers on the floor.
"Thanks." Quatre sat down and put them on. "So, have you made any movies in the last year? I've been a bit out of the loop."
"I don't like my movies," Trowa replied with a scowl.
"They are entertaining. But I like you more than any of your roles. You should smile more, though. Like you did right now, not the fake one you use on the movies." Trowa didn't reply but Quatre hadn't expected him too. "We should go down, help the others load the car and get some weapons."
"Do you know how to use a gun?"
"I had lessons before I ran away from home. I'm a pretty decent marksman."
"Good," Trowa said and his tone was pleased. He paused for a moment and then said, "What did you do?… before they took you."
"Musician." Quatre ran a hand through his hair. "I was hired to play studio, mostly but I did the odd live gig if someone needed an extra guitar or something."
"What do you play?"
"Violin, piano, base and guitar, mostly." Quatre had missed playing, missed it as much or more than being able to be outside. Having been deprived of both music and his empathy had been hell. Even with the zombies running around and the very good chance that he would be eaten of at least infected by them Quatre was happier than he had been in a year. He was free. The zombies were really just a minor inconvenience and in a weird way he had to thank them for allowing him to meet Trowa.
"I play the flute," Trowa admitted. "My publicist said I should keep it hidden, that it didn't go with my image."
"You should fire him," Quatre suggested.
Trowa shrugged. "He's a zombie now. Tried to eat me when I ran from the set; he was mumbling something about popularity rates."
Quatre laughed. "He sounds very dedicated." He moved for the door and paused on the threshold to wait for Trowa. "Maybe we can play sometime?"
Trowa smiled. "When there are no zombies around."
"Yes," Quatre agreed. "That would be better."
* * *
TBC
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Uh...yeah. Whatever you say, Quatre.
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*happy* Now just kiss each other already....
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And the note about the publicist? HEHEHEHHEEE!
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