InsaneJournal

Who: The Tenth Doctor & OTA.
What: Zombies don't sleep.
Where: From the carnival to the museum.
When: Day 22. 1:37AM.
Rating: PG-13 (for now) for mild gore.
Status: Active.


The Doctor did not have a very good day.

He had been so close to having a delicious snack of brains and human flesh -- well, it would have been mutant flesh but zombies weren't picky -- and then Remy had to go and pull the trigger. The shotgun shell did quite a number on his thigh. Practically took the whole leg off, actually. But those were the dangers of firing a shotgun at almost point-blank range, kiddies. There had been no pain for the undead Doctor to feel, but he did discover that standing was even more of a difficulty than it had been before.

Near impossible, in fact, as splintered bones and torn flesh offered no support at all. He now had a leg that was basically a dead weight, attached only by a few pieces of skin and muscle, on top of two hands that barely worked properly. How ever was he supposed to satisfy his craving for brains now?

But, come nighttime (not that anyone could really tell the difference) the Doctor had become quite adept at a sort of modified crawl. His clothes were damp and even dirtier than they were earlier, the blood on him nearly obscured by all the dirt and muck from dragging his body along the ground for hours in the drizzle. A few times he had managed onto his good leg and tried to sort of hop along, but the uneven weight of what remained of his left leg constantly threw him off balance and back to the ground. It had been a very trying day for the zombie, and he was quite hungry.

That hunger had driven the Doctor to drag himself clear out to the carnival following the trail of sweet human flesh, only to discover the owner of such scent long gone. Or long dead. There was no difference in the zombie's mind. And now that hunger had him working his way back toward the area of the museum. An area practically saturated with the smell of life.

Hope no one happened to be sleeping, as there was likely soon to be a very disheveled and bloody Doctor bang, bang, banging on the first door or window he crawled up to.