The Universe's Mixer

Elizabeth didn't want anything to do with what had been happening on land. SHe'd certainly heard people screaming and saw what looked like a ton of drunk pirates. Drunk half dead pirates. It reminded her vividly of what Barbosa and the crew of the Pearl had been like before they'd returned all the gold to the chest. Well, only with a bit more flesh and about 400 times scarier. She kept herself holed up in her cabin within the pearl.

There wasn't a ton o do in there by herself. She'd polished her swords more than once. She'd checked the powder a few times as well. But if they were going to try and get her, well, she'd be putting up one hell of a fight, that was for sure.

The only problem with this plan was that she was alone. Elizabeth hated to be alone. Not only did it leave her at a disadvantage in this situation, it also left her alone in her thoughts. Enough so that she started to consider why it was she was here in the first place. To reunite with Jack without Will around? To show her what life might have been? Elizabeth paced her cabin, jabbing her sword back into it's loop on her belt. She stuck her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

And what about Dean?

Why was it that she always had the most complicated time when it came to men?

She finally couldn't stand it, she pulled the door open and took a step onto the deck. She could hear them now. The low moan, the groan of those not dead things. They must have been on the pier.

This completely was not good.

The metal of the rolling tray was pressed into her belly. The other end of it was pressed against the door. The meat had left. The meat had gone away. Taking with it the incredible warmth that told her if she devoured it, she would stop being hungry, at least for a little while. She needed to get to it. It was out there somewhere.

Other meats were out there, too.

But try as she might, she couldn't master the rolling tray. Frustration rose in her because of that part of her deep deep down that knew what it was, that was trying to tell her how to fix this problem. She wanted to listen to that part very much. She did. She just couldn't. She couldn't hear what it was trying to say to her.

Using her body, she pushed. Pushed as hard as she could. Occasionally the wheels would turn and the tray would slip, letting her surge forward a couple of inches. But then it would be the same thing again. Tray against door, tray against belly. Jennifer going nowhere.

The growling had long ago ceased and become more like a whimper.

Meat. Warmth. That's all she wanted. She had seen it go out of here. She could remember that much at least. What her life had been before this, what had happened to her, none of that stuck in what was left of her mind. Just that once upon a time she'd had meat next to her, and then it had run out that door.

The tray slipped again to the side, a small crunch of one of the wheels bending off center accompanied it. Her extended arm felt the door briefly, and it renewed her passions to get out. Jennifer pushed harder against the tray, which pushed against the door in a different way now due to the broken wheel.

Anger filled her again. That frustration boiling over into it's cousin and giving her the energy and strength to push on. The sheet still tangled around her legs, Jennifer pushed. She pushed hard. The metal biting into her stomach. If she'd felt any sort of pain at all, it would have stopped her. If she'd had any kind of blood flow in her body anymore, the floor would have been slick with it.

In a moment of pure dumb luck, the tray slipped away from her, moving off to the side, taking with it the handle of the door, popping the meat's escape route wide open. Jennifer paused. The door was open. She was free. Free to find the meat!

She shuffled forward. The sheet wrapping around the bottom of the rolling tray as she left the room. The meat smell out here was fading. But there was the sense of it just around the next corner. A lot of it. She went in that direction, eager to have that which would quell her needs.

Dragging the sheet.

Dragging the tray with it's broken wheel.

Squeaka

Indiana Jones had survived.

River Tam had not.

When the dozen zombies fell on their hiding place, River took out 7 without blinking. Seven because she didn't have any rounds beyond that. Seven because that was all she could do, without getting in close. After knocking one in the head with the butt end of the shotgun in her hand, River had kicked one in the gut, across the room and into Indy's range. So fell eight.

But nine, ten, eleven and twelve all fell on Dr. Jones at about the same time, and River starting kicking. Two fell down. Indy shot another, and the last one whirled on her and bit into her arm, just above the elbow, ripping a chunk of her with its teeth before Indy could shoot it.

He'd looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, and River had shaken her head, stood slowly, and laughed just once.

"Hide," she said. "Don't let me find you."

She'd left the hotel and hidden, herself. Until, that is, it was over. Until it was over and she was gone. One of them. Worse than them-- an undead weapon with a dormant trigger capable of more damage than a 'normal' zombie. Incredibly strong, incredibly fast...

... and capable of reading minds.

River was hungry, and even now, the similarity to the Reavers did not occur to her. Why would it? All she was now was motor skills. Arms, legs, walking, moving...

... going right to the person, the thing, that could make her even more dangerous. Not even realizing, because her consciousness was gone.

When she found him, she stopped in front of him, head tilted, hair hanging forward.

Waiting.

Lestat sat perched atop a fire escape, sitting like a gargoyle in a frock coat, blond hair shining in the moonlight and purple eyes glittering.

This. Was. Fun.

He was watching the carnage. Precious little he could do about it... he was scanning minds for Karen, but more and more there were no actual minds to scan and he was getting nowhere. Here and there, he'd knock zombies out of the way or twist their heads off, but mostly he was watching the progress of one particular pirate... because he simply could not believe it was possible.

Captain Jack Sparrow, when all the talk of zombies began, could think of nothing better to do about the problem then get lit. So he had. He half wished he had that piece of gold again, or his stupid undead monkey... Jack feared death. He really, really did. But he could handle zombies. If he could handle immortal pirates that were partly skeletal, he could handle zombies.

And so, with unbelieveable luck, he was now winding his way through the streets, bottle in one hand, sword in the other. Anything that bothered him got its head lopped off. And as he went, Jack muttered to himself...

"'s'not even original, y'know," he said, slicing through tthe neck of a growling, shambling foe. "'s'been DONE. AND! AND! There's not even any proper treasure involved, ay!"

God, was he disappointed.

Lestat loved him. Instantly. And wanted to applaud him.

Because the captain was not, for a second, losing ground.

"Today is the day," Lestat whispered, "that you will always remember, dear undead festering piles of flesh, as the day you almost bit Captain Jack Sparrow."

The vampire started to laugh.