not so ancient.

And just like that, it stopped.

The zombies paused with their teeth buried into their neighbors' arms, dazed and unaware of what exactly had happened. The sky stopped raining meatballs and pancakes. A man in a bright red leather jacket stopped moonwalking across the stage, while another felt his canines retract into his mouth. Film in theaters across the city regained their pictures. People began to clean up the mess.

For now, it seemed, things were back to normal.

( ooc. )

“Good evening, Athena.”

Athena had locked that door. She knew she'd locked that door. But there he was, hands folded behind his back, hair slicked down, face grim. She got up hastily from the oils and herbs she'd been poring over for the past week, the clues and spells she'd been desperately searching in for some reversal. He shifted lazily from foot to foot, but she could see the line of tension in his shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” she asked sharply. She was nowhere near his height, but had learned in their years together that she needed to cut an imposing figure. Imposing, but not defiant.

( That seems to me a stupid question. )

Sylvie Blake was not acting like herself. Everything was aggravating her to the point of wrathful outbursts and curse words she would never dream of using. After the pain in her stomach had gotten so bad that seemed to be reaching out tendrils all through her body she had dumped her phone, not caring that it landed on the bed once, bounced and skittered under the bed next to hers, and lurched off into the hallways. Frankly the hospital was a madhouse; doctors and nurses were flying this way and that and injured people were slumped against the walls or the floor, some bleeding profusely others seemed to be the victims of hit and runs, most were groaning in low voices, on the verge of passing out. Sylvie pushed her way through the crowds, looking for an exit or for something to fucking eat at the very least, dodging people or else telling them in no uncertain terms to move out of her way as she went.

Someone bumped into her coming out of one of the curtained areas and Sylvie shoved him away instinctively, her expression a mixture of disgust and anger. "Get your hands off me," she snapped roughly.

Shaking his head the man stammered an apology and then proceeded to pin her to the wall accidentally when a gurney went by housing a patient who was writhing and screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. Sylvie’s eyes focused in on the throbbing line in his throat just inches away from her, she began to salivate, swallowing down thickly as the man tried to move past her. Then it was all too much; the scent of sweat and fear and panic enveloped her senses and she grabbed him by the shoulders, lunging in as if to kiss him only to open her jaws at the last moment and plunger her teeth into the soft, warm flesh of his throat. Blood gushed over her tongue, the sweet flavour of human flesh covered her taste buds. Screaming in gurgled agony he lost his footing under the unexpected weight of the petite blonde jumping him and fell onto his back. Sobs broke through his screams, chaos erupted anew all around and he grabbed a fistful of her thick hair, pulling her head up and away from the mess that had been his throat moments ago. Snarling now, blood painting her chin and staining her teeth Sylvie grabbed his hand and wrenched it away, holding it in a tight little fist as she sank her teeth into his trachea, effectively cutting off his air supply and ending his struggle.

Wolfing down mouthfuls of bloody tissue she realised that she had just discovered the only way to sate that aching in her gut.

[ narrative ]

FROM KOMO NEWS, SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

"... partly cloudy with sunny spells and a high of fifty-five degrees with temperatures dropping into the low forties overnight. Please be advised that with the nights drawing in and the ongoing chaos we are advising you to stay indoors and off the roads. Back to the s-- what? There’s what behind me? Is that a waffle? I-- No keep rolling. Uh, it appears to be raining food..."

“...reports of domestic disturbance in downtown Seattle today. Local high school student Jeremy Hills has reported a disturbing and violent change in his stepfather—more shockingly, he states that it seems to be in accordance with the recent string of 'zombie' attacks...”

“...have Trisha Takanawa in the field with Lupe Moreno, a local bar owner, who reports seeing someone with fangs and an apparent taste for blood in her bar. According to Ms. Moreno, the man was trying to warn them of something called a 'vampanese'...”

“...the feud between local carpenter Todd Woods and engineer Harry Busman, employees of Titan Construction Company known for their competitive animosity, reached new heights today, when the men came to blows on site. Busman reportedly followed up the fight by telling his team to craft him a pair of wings...”

“...dance students taking to the streets in song...”

“...in lighter news, a Michael Jackson impersonator is holding an impromptu concert at the Paramount Theatre...”

“...an interview today with a man calling himself a 'zombie hunter,' giving our viewing audience a few tips on how to deal with the new faux human menace. The man, who goes by only Puget Sound, says it's his mission in life to kill zombies and find the last twinkie. One wonders if he's gone to too many Zombieland screenings--although with the current climate, who could blame him..."

[backdated to last night]

“Goran?” Nikki knocked hesitantly on the door to her brother's bedroom. He hadn't come out since last night, and then only briefly—he had needed water, and more aspirin for his head. The ER must have bandaged him wrong, he said; his arm was itching non-stop, he felt dizzy and nauseous. Maybe the person who'd bit him was sick or something. She knocked again. “Goran? How are you feeling? We're—you haven't been out in a while, and we're worried.”

No reply.

Nikki leaned against the doorpane and crossed her arms. She could hear Maggie flipping through an astronomy book in the other room and made her voice sharp. Half his size she may have been, but Goran knew better than to attempt to provoke his sister when she was cross. “Come on, this is ridiculous. You didn't mope around this much when you had pneumonia. Come out, let's have a look at that bite.”

( There was a groan on the other side of the door. )

When all hell had broken loose Sylvie had been in line to get a coffee on her way home from work, something she had been looking forward to all day. Suddenly things had gone from normal to crazy and the people around her were all flying off into a rage, and panic had set in before she could really think straight. Coffee had hit the air and someone had shoved her between her shoulder blades before she could react as they tried to grab the young barister over the counter. Barely able to gasp for breath, Sylvie had backed away from the maddening little crowd, all aggression and strength and speed. They were between her and the door to the outside world. They wheeled on her as a group, two had scrabbled over the counter and torn the redheaded woman down to the floor where she was writhing and squealing. Heart thumping nine to the dozen, Sylvie turned and ran for the ladies room, all but toppling in through the doorway to the accompanying sound of footsteps in pursuit. The cart with the cleaning supplies was in the ladies room and she used the mop to keep the door closed, backing away with eyes wide as the whole thing shuddered and shook in its frame, the people on the other side were trying to get in and underneath their moans she could hear the scream of the barister. Eventually it died away but the banging didn’t.

Frantic, Sylvie fumbled through her bag for her cell phone. There was battery, but no signal. Biting her lip to stop herself from crying, she turned around on the spot, searching in that fruitless way people did for a signal that wasn’t there. Frustrated she slammed one of the stall doors open with the palm of her hand and then raked her blonde hair from her face. Next plan was the window a few minutes later, it took her a while to un-jam it and even then it wouldn’t open all the way, just far enough to reach her hand out but nothing more. Sylvie spent the next hour shouting into the dark before her voice gave out and she sank to the floor, exhausted. Sleep didn’t come, but she slipped into a shocked and tired daze, make-up a mess and hair in disarray. Eventually, hours later she shoved her phone out the crack to see if she could get signal that way. One bar. Just enough if she was lucky. It took another few hours for anything to get through, she got countless unsent message errors but kept trying and finally managed to reach out to the network.

It was just as well. Things started to dissolve from there.

First the mop started to splinter. Then it broke entirely and door caved in. Sylvie screamed. Only not the kind of waifish squeal that was so often expected of her; the pitch shot up and the volume stretched well beyond the reach of normal people. Three mem shoved their way into the room, their fingers clawing through the air and she kept screaming as she backed away. The window shattered, the mirrors cracked. Their ears started to bleed and she kept screaming, it was her only defence mechanism.

[ Luther! ]