The Last Bastion

Pyros sighed heavily, leaning against the wall next to an antique shop. Quiet zombie groans emanated from inside, but they didn't seem to have noticed him yet. For a trip through an undead-infested mall, his stroll had been pretty uneventful so far.
"I need a weapon, though," Pyros scowled. "I'm sure I could find something in here. Take off a table leg or something."
His mind made up, Pyros yanked off his trench coat and held it in one hand as an impromptu weapon, leaving him looking a lot more normal in jeans and a black t-shirt. Brandishing the heavy milk-carton-laden garment, he advanced into the shop.

Without warning, a pair of clammy hands fastened around his neck from behind. Foetid breath blasted past Pyros's head as the zombie behind him groaned loudly, "BRAAAAAAAAINS!!" Unable to swing the coat at a target behind him, Pyros settled for throwing himself backwards, ramming the zombie into a display of antique chairs, impaling it. The hands released his neck, and he stumbled away from the zombie.
"CHAAAIR ZOMBIEEEE!!" Pyros turned quickly as the creature struggled to its feet, two chair legs sticking clean through its body. Dragging the chair behind it, the zombie advanced on him, laughing, which came out as an ugly rasping noise. "Ha ha ha, chair zombie... CHAIR BRAINS!" The thing was very clearly off its rocker, and not even recognizable as having once been human. It was also, apparently, indestructible, as Pyros found out when a swing of his coat failed to do more than leave a dent in its already deformed head. A tiny drip of milk from a lower pocket told Pyros that at least one carton was damaged, but he didn't have time to deal with that.

Crud, what do I do now? Pyros racked his brain as the zombie drew closer. A wall behind him, and two tall shelves to his sides, left Pyros trapped. Boy, am I screwed.
~Nah. There won't be any screwing going on until I say so.~ Pyros frowned at the odd thought. It's a bad sign when you don't know what your own mind is talking about, right? And the dauntless zombie advancing on him made this a very bad time to have a conversation with himself.
~Oh, don't worry about that, just sit back and let me take over.~ The thought seemed to be a response to his other thought, and Pyros began to notice a difference between the two voices in his head.
Crud, I really am crazy.
~Nah. Now be quiet and let me concentrate.~ Pyros, seeing no better course, obeyed, letting his mind go blank.

A visible shockwave flew out in all directions from Pyros's body, knocking down the shelves to his left and right and covering them with flecks of pale green slime. The zombie ahead of him disappeared back into the wreckage of the chair display, followed by a loud thud as the entire tangled mass struck the wall. The impact dislodged something hanging above the service counter, sending it clattering onto the glass. Pyros, feeling dazed and confused, wandered over to the table and picked it up.
~Ooooohhh....~ Pyros thought to himself... before realizing the thought wasn't at all like him.
What the-? Why 'ooooh?' His gaze went to the long thin scabbard in his right hand, and immediately Pyros brought his left hand to his forehead with a loud smack.
"No," he said firmly, out loud, "I am not going to bring a katana with me as a weapon. That's just stupid."
~But I want it.~ Pyros scowled, shaking the thought away, and tried to put the sheathed sword back on the counter, but his hands wouldn't seem to obey him. Instead he watched, aghast, as they started to thread the swordbelt through the belt loops on his jeans.
"What the hell am I doing?"
~You're doing what I want, because you're a gentleman.~ The voice in his head was followed by a distinctly female giggle. Pyros's eyes bulged as he realized for the first time that he wasn't alone in his skull.
Gentleman, my ass! He thought angrily. Who are you? Pyros could now tell the difference between the two voices, which was something, he supposed.
~Oh, now he finally gets it! Good for you, Pyros, it only took you a day and a bit to notice there was a ghost in your head!~ Applause rang between his ears, and Pyros gritted his teeth. Ghosts were creepy enough without being annoying on top of it.
Well, now that I've noticed, get out! He snapped, all patience gone.
~Nah. I like it here, I think I'll stay. Though it is rather poorly kept.~ Pyros, with mounting alarm, heard the scratching noise of a broom somewhere between his ears. The ghost girl giggled, and began whistling. ~All your mind needs is a woman's touch,~ she told him teasingly. ~You should thank me for the free housekeeping service.~
Out! Pyros was frantic, wondering precisely what it was that this crazy ghost girl was sweeping away. His rational thought? His free will? His milk cravings? That last filled him with horror and fear, which was met with another giggle.
~I was joking. I don't really have a broom up here. Honestly, if you're so easy to tease it's going to stop being fun!~ Suddenly, Pyros felt completely overwhelmed. There was a ghost in his head, an irritating female ghost, and he foresaw no way of getting rid of her short of hiring an exorcist-- which she probably wouldn't let him do, considering that she could apparently take control of his body at will. Pyros slumped to his knees, despairing.
~Oh, cheer up. Since you obviously can't think of fun things to do on your own, I'll help you! Let's visit some restaurants! I've forgotten how food tastes, and all that milk you carry around hasn't helped.~ Pyros sighed and got up. "I suppose I should be glad you're not just taking control and walking me there yourself." He had really disliked the sensation of being unable to control his own limbs.
~Why should I do the work? You're the human here, it's your body.~ He was prepared to argue when he felt the ghost girl's attention shift suddenly. ~Ooh, kitty themed restaurant!~ Pyros's hand rose on its own to point at the large sign proclaiming, 'Kitty Treats... For Humans!' which rested above a sickeningly cute plastic statue of a giant kitten.

Pyros sighed again and changed course to make for the restaurant. He just hoped that neither actual cats nor his brains were on the menu. Are you sure we have to go there? He asked the ghost pleadingly.
~Absolutely,~ was the stubborn reply. ~I like cats.~
"I'm allergic." Pyros said, stifling his third sigh in as many minutes, and searched for a change of subject. "Hey... you never told me your name. I can't just keep calling you 'ghost girl,' now can I?"
~Oh, right. I forgot you can't read my mind like I can read yours.~ Her tone indicated that she hadn't, in fact, forgotten, and was just taking the opportunity to rub it in. ~I'm Ciara.~
I'd be lying if I said, 'pleased to meet you,' Pyros grumbled inwardly. His only response was the distinct feeling that Ciara was grinning at him. Muttering about rude ghosts who just barged in and made themselves at home in your brain, Pyros walked into the Kitty Treats Restaurant.

[[My first REAL post on this forum. Yeah...Hope I do good.]]

"Wow...These guys...Fail..." Arkanin mumbled. Arkanin was wearing a black sweatshirt, with the Guitar Hero logo colored orange. She wore a dark orange shirt underneath, but it was barely visible. She had on a pair of black, baggy jeans and a pair of black and orange converse. Her hair was short and spiked down, colored black. Her eyes were dark orange. Arkanin was perched on a railing on the second floor. She gave off the distinct smell of vinegar.

She had just been staring at everyone, wondering when and how to intervene. She noticed a lot was going on down there and was actually waiting for some sort of horrific accident to happen that would kill them all off. Then she could get out of this teenaged body and drink all of the blood. She was starving, and had to resort to killing and entering the body of a 15 year old. How annoying!

A zombie attempted to attack Arkanin from behind, but she just moved a foot away and the zombie stumbled over the railing. Suddenly, a sudden urge went through Arkanin, as she smiled evily. She had just recalled that there was an Alp in the building. She had lost sight of him, but had a very immature idea go through her mind. And hey, maybe this idea could get her a snack?

"Oh, man!" Arkanin said, loudly enough so that nearly anyone around could, "Anyone mind drinking the rest of this!? I can't stand milk...At all!" Arkanin had grabbed a cup with milk in it, and then without anyone being able to notice, she poured lemon juice into it. Now, she perched herself back onto the railing, hoping that the Alp would hear her and wouldn't resist.

Taron suddenly stopped, an eye twitching in a very strange manner. He took a shallow, panicky breath before shouting, “My Alp senses are tingling! Someone is wasting milk!” He proceeded to dash off down the hallway, finding a teenage girl perched upon a railing, a cup in her hand. Wafts of the sweet smell of milk drifted down from the cup, flooding his senses. There was something else rather rank in the area… Something more, sour, if you will, but he shoved it aside. There was milk to be had! He gasped as he saw the girl almost pour it out.

He rushed towards her, grabbing the cup out of her hands and downing it all in one gulp. Suddenly, a jolt of pain rammed his body like a giant hammer, and he fell on the ground, limbs flailing. The taste of lemon, a Nightmare’s worst nightmare, was heavy within his mouth. It felt his strange fail him. He collapsed on the floor, pitifully, his tongue hanging out and his eyes closed. When he got the strength to get up, someone was going to die.

The Cat flicked its whiskers forward in a feline smile and jumped on the counter, between the short vampire and the frightened costumed human. "I wouldn't eat you, even if you were mouse sized. Well, maybe then, but I have no inclination now. I like your taste in fashion. Quite excellent for a human. The Egyptians worshiped cats, you know. Very wise sorts." It occurred to him that the vampire might be hungry, as well as the zombie. And the human had earned Cat's good graces due to his exceptional taste in clothing. Cat didn't want to see the human eaten. "Ah, they probably have meat in the kitchen. Maybe some liver or heart meat you could wring out?" He suggested and then licked his lips. That sounded good. So he hopped off the counter and leaving the human to his fate, whatever that was, sauntered towards the kitchen where they would have excellent food in the refrigerator and in cans. Perhaps even Cheeseburgers. Then he stopped for a minute. Cans and refrigerators required thumbs to open. And while he had a polydactyl great grandmother, that didn't really count. Curses. "Ah, you may accompany me if you wish. There is surely enough to share." He said, almost as close as a cat could come to asking for help.

Cat's eyes then lit up at the new person who walked in. He was carrying cartons and cartons of milk in a large coat. What excellent fashion sense! If it was part of the Undead invasion, they had to arrange invasions more often! "Hello! I see that one of your cartons is dripping. If you will please come back here, I can assist, so that it isn't wasted." He said, purr evident in his voice.

**************************************************************

"Oh, that's so sad, an innocent little baby." Beatrice exclaimed on hearing of Taron's demise. "But you've grown since then! You're much taller and don't need a stroller!" She called after him to cheer him up as he rushed down the hall.

Tristan looked that way and sighed. "Splitting up's always a bad idea in the movies. Guess we better go after him. We can see your cat restaurant later, okay?" He suggested, looking at Mr. Dog and Beatrice. Beatrice nodded.

He walked that way, Beatrice floating nearby, and soon saw the Alp down and out, and a teenage girl, clearly prepared for Halloween next to him.

Beatrice gasped dramatically, floated over and attempted to cradle Taron's head. Too frazzled to handle matter, her hands passed through his head several times till she gave up. "Did you see what happened to him?" She asked the girl.

"What the... Hey, are you okay? It's getting kind of dangerous around here, you have to be careful." Tristan informed the girl. She seemed unarmed. And totally fearless. "Want a pretzel? It has garlic so you can chase off vampires, or eat it if you're hungry." He offered, pulling out a pretzel.

Pyros was beyond being surprised by things like talking felines... And he'd always been a cat person anyways, despite his allergies. Snagging an empty saucer off of a hastily abandoned table-- ~I suppose sudden zombie attacks tend to ruin people's appetites,~ Ciara put in-- He filled it with milk from the leaking carton. Not wanting anyone to see his soft spot for cats, and not wanting to spend the next twenty minutes sneezing uncontrollably, he quickly straightened and walked away... straight into Lance.

Stumbling backwards, he raised his hands threateningly. "Don't take another step! I have ghost powers, and I'm not afraid to use them!"
~You don't know how to use them, either.~ Ciara giggled.
I was going to let you take care of that part, Pyros told her.
~Funny how a ghost is an only an annoyance until you get in trouble.~
He ignored her. He could handle this without coating the restaurant in ectoplasm, but it'd be stupid not to use the threat, since he had it at his disposal.

Taron managed to spit out some of the lemon-juice, mixed with the tasty goodness of milk. Darn the villainous villainess who had given him this deadly mixture! So good, yet so terrible! Taron spasmed for another few minutes then collapsed on the floor. He appeared completely dead, considering the fact that Undead don't need to breathe. He raised a hand, yelling into the floor. "I'm okay! S'all good!" He slowly stood, using his hands to try to gain balance. He coughed, then tried to look as dignified as possible. Needless to say, the dribble from his seizure that was stuck to his shirt completely negated the effect.