![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
littleredchucks.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
booshslashhavenTitle: The Mighty Boosh Halloween Special of Doom, Chapter 3
Summary: The Board of Shamen are summoned, and things get confusing
Characters: Vince, zombies, bad guy
Rating: PG-13 possibly slightly higher for gore and scariness
Warnings: zombies being zombies and descriptions of zombies.
Length: 2,290 words/
Disclaimer: I don't know what I'm doing! I'm just pushing buttons and watching stuff blow up. (And I don't know if the cut is going to work, I'm rubbish with computers.)
Notes: I'm sorry if this is rubbish or going in the wrong direction. No seriously, I'm really nervous about posting this. Thank you all for including me in this though, it was fun to do my bit. So without further ado, I present to you:
The Mighty Boosh Halloween Special of Doom, Chapter 3
Vince stared at the unsettling pink of the inside of his eyelids and tried to concentrate on breathing as if he wasn’t, in fact, breathing. It was difficult, but not impossible, and Vince reminded himself that he had had plenty of practice. All those Saturday nights/Sunday mornings when he’d pretended to pass out on the sofa after a night out just so Howard would come and pull his boots off for him and tuck a blanket over him were coming in handy for something. He’d just never imagined it would be for something like this.
Naboo had caught him at it once (the mind-reading bastard) and told him it was well creepy but Vince couldn’t help it. Howard never touched him when he knew Vince was awake and, all things considered, it wasn’t the creepiest thing Vince had done when desperate for physical affection. Naboo had still insisted it was too creepy and that Vince had to stop.
When he really thought about it (and he was thinking about it now), this was all Naboo’s fault. He wouldn’t have needed to go on an emergency trip to Topshop if the lisping git hadn’t given him the stupid ultimatum:
“Admit your feelings to Howard by the end of the month or we’ll do it for you - in the form of a public letter in Cheekbone Magazine.”
Vince had bought nearly a dozen costumes over the last month but when his deadline actually came none of them had seemed right and he needed his outfit to be perfect if he was going to admit that he, Vince Noir, Mayor of Camden and local fashion icon, was head over sparkly heels in love with Howard Moon. He’d just found what could have been THE blouse in Topshop when the screams had started in the streets and everything had gone to shit.
Speaking of which...
Vince resisted the urge to breathe through his mouth to avoid the stench, but only just. The zombies (were they actually zombies? VInce didn’t really want to know) stank, stank worse than the Crack Fox’s den, and it was hard not to gag. Vince hadn’t watched many zombie films, they gave him the heebie-jeebies, but the few he had seen hadn’t mentioned anything about the smell. It was thick and humid like the alleyways he’d searched when Howard had turned bin-man and it stuck in his throat like accidentally inhaled hairspray. It was probably the worst part of the whole experience. Except for the sounds, they were pretty bad too. Every zombie he’d encountered so far had the signature lurch down pat and the sound of paper thin skin and rotting flesh scraping along the ground as the army dragged its feet slowly forward had Vince’s fingers itching for some good quality skin cream. The sound of their skin scraping was nothing compared to the feel of it though. Vince was being carried by four of the things, each with an arm or a leg like he was some sort of sacrifice, and the sheer deadness of their hands against his body made him was to scream.
He didn’t want to be a sacrifice, even if it included a fancy headdress. Sure it was trendy to die young and all that but Vince wasn’t ready to die. He had stuff to do, like kissing Howard again and customising that new hat he found last week. He couldn’t die, not like this with his clothes all torn and and his hair a mess.
He was bleeding too. He could feel it oozing sluggishly through his hair, hot and strange and not quite real. None of this felt real, and Howard was supposed to come and save him, which was the biggest problem in the piece. Howard was rubbish at rescues but right now he was all Vince had.
He had tried to fend them off. He’d run to the top floor and made slingshots out of wire coat hangers and spandex leggings, firing off stiletto heel shots from behind a handbag display and he’d taken out a few of them but it had been no good in the end. They’d managed to creep up behind him and when he’d tried to run one of them had grabbed his hair, pushing their yellowed finger nails into his scalp and then pulling hard enough to rip out a significant chunk of Vince’s crowning glory.
Vince didn’t remember much after that. He’d honestly thought that he was about to die and had slipped out of consciousness wishing he’d been just a bit nicer about Howard’s wardrobe during his life. Most of it was awful but Howard did look good in browns and greens. And then there was that burnt ocelot jumper, which was actually quite nice when not paired with a socks and sandals combo, although Vince mostly liked it because it was soft. Now it was too late and he was going to die and not even have the chance to leave behind a good looking corpse.
That’s what he had thought anyway, so coming to while being carried through the streets of London had been a bit of a shock. Trying to figure out whether he was still himself or whether he had been transformed into a zombie as well was tricky but he soon realised that the hands grasping him were very cold and very dead whereas his were sweating profusely. He could also feel his heart beating fit to burst and was aware that his bladder was starting to get rather full as well. He’d never thought that needing to wee would be a welcome thing but today had been full of surprises.
Vince didn’t know why he was still alive but he did know that he didn’t want to be taking any chances, so he played dead, listening to the sound of hundreds of no-longer-entirely-dead bodies stagger through the streets.
Occasionally the group who had captured him encountered someone unfortunate enough to be still out in the open and Vince had to endure the sounds of the undead feasting. He tried to go to his happy place - the Rousseau style jungle with a Gary Numan soundtrack where he and Howard were free to have satsuma fights and look after the animals and crimp whenever they felt like it - but it was hard and the longer the journey continued the more Vince was certain he was going to throw up.
And then something in the air, the atmosphere of the city, seemed to change. Vince was pretty good at reading a crowd, it was what had made his Electro Circus such a success over the last year, and there was a definite buzz in the air. There also seemed to be even more footsteps, though the sound had changed, was softer, almost like they were walking... on grass.
Vince opened one eye, trying to imitate Howard and only open it the tiniest bit, and tried to get some idea of where they were. It took him a moment but then he realised that they were at the Heath. Hampstead Heath. They’d come out here last winter, him and Howard, to go sledging, but it looked very different now. There were strange, wonky sort of stage made out of doors and fence posts and any other wood the zombies had been able to find, set up by a stand of trees and Vince felt the panic rising even higher in his throat. It seemed very unlikely that the dead had risen from their graves and terrorized the city in order to bring him to Hampstead Heath for a concert. He’d made an impression in Monkey Hell for sure with his styling skills and tasty beats but that had been a while ago and he was fairly sure that he wasn’t here to do some sort of charity gig.
When they were close to the stage his zombie escort let go of his limbs and he hit the ground with a thud and rolled to his side uncomfortably as his numb limbs began to prickle, unable to play dead any longer. But the zombies, and there were several hundred now, didn’t lunge for him. They didn’t do anything except shuffle their feet and stare vaguely from Vince to the empty stage and back again.
Even if they weren’t attacking it wasn’t a pleasant situation and Vince tried to push down the panic attack that wanted to come screaming from his mouth. Getting hysterical wouldn’t get him anywhere and there was no point in having a breakdown when his hair was already as bad as it could possibly get. What he needed to do right now was think - and that was not his strong suit.
What would Howard do? he tried to ask himself, but the little Howard voice in the back of his head just begged not to be killed because it had so much to give until his brain cell locked it back in the cupboard for it’s own safety.
Howard would probably try to reason with them, he thought, but shook his head at the idea when he looked back up at the grey, peeling faces. Their mouths were bloody and most were fairly well on the way to decomposition. Vince wondered at that for a moment, at why the zombies were all old corpses and why none of their victims had been turned into zombies as well. If Naboo were here he’d know, Howard would somehow formulate a plan, Bollo would have a bad feeling, and then Vince would miraculously pull of the move that would save the day. That was how it was supposed to work but Vince was pretty sure he couldn’t do it on his own. He needed his friends and he’d quite like Howard’s hand to hold right now as well.
He closed his eyes against the sea of faces and tried to make himself as small as he could, bringing his knees up to his chest and pulling his arms tightly around himself. He held his thumb against his lips and rubbed his finger against his nose, trying to soothe himself, humming the tune of Cars and wishing he could be safely locked away right now instead of exposed out on the Heath surrounded by the legions of the undead with no way to let anyone know where he was.
He was startled back to the reality of the situation when a voice boomed out from the dark stage behind him.
“Well. Well. Well. Look at all of you.”
The voice was dark and dry. It was the sort of voice that grinned out of the darkness when you thought you were alone in your bedroom, and that strange shape was supposed to be a pile of washing really wasn’t. It was a nightmare voice, the sort that are never supposed to exist, just the kind of thing your brain conjures up when you’re overtired and and alone and don’t want to sleep because Howard’s not home from Jazz Club yet and sleeping just doesn’t happen unless you can hear the comforting sound of Howard’s snoring vibrating through the wall. It was that kind of voice and Vince did not want to look at whatever owned that voice.
“Look at all of you,” the voice continued, eliciting a murmur from the zombie crowd. “ Look at all your eyes looking at my two eyes! All them eyes... Mm, delicious. I’d like to suck all your heads like blood flavoured chup-a-chup lollies! But maybe another time.”
Vince heard the sound of heavy boots walking down to the front of the stage and tried to squeeze himself even tighter. What he needed right now was a cape to cover him right up but all he had was a ripped blouse and he suddenly felt very exposed and very cold.
The boots stopped at the very edge of the stage and Vince could feel the figure looking down at him, like a starving runway model eyeing off a stuffed olive.
“For tonight, on this most evil of nights, I have summoned you and sent you forth, my minions, in search of one thing. Yes, just one thing: A human unlike any other, who will join with me as my lawfully wedded, undead bride! Would you like that, my mouldering little kittens? Hmm? A queen for your king?”
The murmur grew louder as the zombies began to groan and grunt, trying to raise their voices even though there was no air in their lungs to make it happen. The man/person/creature on the stage laughed in response, and jumped from the stage landing next to Vince with a whoosh of his large, blood red coat.
“So let me see who you have brought for me? Hmm? Who is considered the fairest in the land and worthy of the Zombie King?”
He grabbed Vince’s face and forced him around until he was kneeling before the king trying not to gag at the smell of blood that clung to the man and his clothes. He wasn’t unhandsome but his black hair was greasy under his red top hat and his eyes were black and empty. He grasped Vince’s face harder, his long, black nails digging into Vince’s cheeks as his face was turned from side to side, the king examining him like a dog he intended to buy for his hunting pack.
He grinned suddenly and Vince closed his eyes against the mouth of yellow and brown teeth.
“Pray tell me,” the Zombie King purred, lowering his face until it was an inch away from Vince’s own. “Exactly who and what are you? Hmm, little prince? Who. Are. You?”
Summary: The Board of Shamen are summoned, and things get confusing
Characters: Vince, zombies, bad guy
Rating: PG-13 possibly slightly higher for gore and scariness
Warnings: zombies being zombies and descriptions of zombies.
Length: 2,290 words/
Disclaimer: I don't know what I'm doing! I'm just pushing buttons and watching stuff blow up. (And I don't know if the cut is going to work, I'm rubbish with computers.)
Notes: I'm sorry if this is rubbish or going in the wrong direction. No seriously, I'm really nervous about posting this. Thank you all for including me in this though, it was fun to do my bit. So without further ado, I present to you:
The Mighty Boosh Halloween Special of Doom, Chapter 3
Vince stared at the unsettling pink of the inside of his eyelids and tried to concentrate on breathing as if he wasn’t, in fact, breathing. It was difficult, but not impossible, and Vince reminded himself that he had had plenty of practice. All those Saturday nights/Sunday mornings when he’d pretended to pass out on the sofa after a night out just so Howard would come and pull his boots off for him and tuck a blanket over him were coming in handy for something. He’d just never imagined it would be for something like this.
Naboo had caught him at it once (the mind-reading bastard) and told him it was well creepy but Vince couldn’t help it. Howard never touched him when he knew Vince was awake and, all things considered, it wasn’t the creepiest thing Vince had done when desperate for physical affection. Naboo had still insisted it was too creepy and that Vince had to stop.
When he really thought about it (and he was thinking about it now), this was all Naboo’s fault. He wouldn’t have needed to go on an emergency trip to Topshop if the lisping git hadn’t given him the stupid ultimatum:
“Admit your feelings to Howard by the end of the month or we’ll do it for you - in the form of a public letter in Cheekbone Magazine.”
Vince had bought nearly a dozen costumes over the last month but when his deadline actually came none of them had seemed right and he needed his outfit to be perfect if he was going to admit that he, Vince Noir, Mayor of Camden and local fashion icon, was head over sparkly heels in love with Howard Moon. He’d just found what could have been THE blouse in Topshop when the screams had started in the streets and everything had gone to shit.
Speaking of which...
Vince resisted the urge to breathe through his mouth to avoid the stench, but only just. The zombies (were they actually zombies? VInce didn’t really want to know) stank, stank worse than the Crack Fox’s den, and it was hard not to gag. Vince hadn’t watched many zombie films, they gave him the heebie-jeebies, but the few he had seen hadn’t mentioned anything about the smell. It was thick and humid like the alleyways he’d searched when Howard had turned bin-man and it stuck in his throat like accidentally inhaled hairspray. It was probably the worst part of the whole experience. Except for the sounds, they were pretty bad too. Every zombie he’d encountered so far had the signature lurch down pat and the sound of paper thin skin and rotting flesh scraping along the ground as the army dragged its feet slowly forward had Vince’s fingers itching for some good quality skin cream. The sound of their skin scraping was nothing compared to the feel of it though. Vince was being carried by four of the things, each with an arm or a leg like he was some sort of sacrifice, and the sheer deadness of their hands against his body made him was to scream.
He didn’t want to be a sacrifice, even if it included a fancy headdress. Sure it was trendy to die young and all that but Vince wasn’t ready to die. He had stuff to do, like kissing Howard again and customising that new hat he found last week. He couldn’t die, not like this with his clothes all torn and and his hair a mess.
He was bleeding too. He could feel it oozing sluggishly through his hair, hot and strange and not quite real. None of this felt real, and Howard was supposed to come and save him, which was the biggest problem in the piece. Howard was rubbish at rescues but right now he was all Vince had.
He had tried to fend them off. He’d run to the top floor and made slingshots out of wire coat hangers and spandex leggings, firing off stiletto heel shots from behind a handbag display and he’d taken out a few of them but it had been no good in the end. They’d managed to creep up behind him and when he’d tried to run one of them had grabbed his hair, pushing their yellowed finger nails into his scalp and then pulling hard enough to rip out a significant chunk of Vince’s crowning glory.
Vince didn’t remember much after that. He’d honestly thought that he was about to die and had slipped out of consciousness wishing he’d been just a bit nicer about Howard’s wardrobe during his life. Most of it was awful but Howard did look good in browns and greens. And then there was that burnt ocelot jumper, which was actually quite nice when not paired with a socks and sandals combo, although Vince mostly liked it because it was soft. Now it was too late and he was going to die and not even have the chance to leave behind a good looking corpse.
That’s what he had thought anyway, so coming to while being carried through the streets of London had been a bit of a shock. Trying to figure out whether he was still himself or whether he had been transformed into a zombie as well was tricky but he soon realised that the hands grasping him were very cold and very dead whereas his were sweating profusely. He could also feel his heart beating fit to burst and was aware that his bladder was starting to get rather full as well. He’d never thought that needing to wee would be a welcome thing but today had been full of surprises.
Vince didn’t know why he was still alive but he did know that he didn’t want to be taking any chances, so he played dead, listening to the sound of hundreds of no-longer-entirely-dead bodies stagger through the streets.
Occasionally the group who had captured him encountered someone unfortunate enough to be still out in the open and Vince had to endure the sounds of the undead feasting. He tried to go to his happy place - the Rousseau style jungle with a Gary Numan soundtrack where he and Howard were free to have satsuma fights and look after the animals and crimp whenever they felt like it - but it was hard and the longer the journey continued the more Vince was certain he was going to throw up.
And then something in the air, the atmosphere of the city, seemed to change. Vince was pretty good at reading a crowd, it was what had made his Electro Circus such a success over the last year, and there was a definite buzz in the air. There also seemed to be even more footsteps, though the sound had changed, was softer, almost like they were walking... on grass.
Vince opened one eye, trying to imitate Howard and only open it the tiniest bit, and tried to get some idea of where they were. It took him a moment but then he realised that they were at the Heath. Hampstead Heath. They’d come out here last winter, him and Howard, to go sledging, but it looked very different now. There were strange, wonky sort of stage made out of doors and fence posts and any other wood the zombies had been able to find, set up by a stand of trees and Vince felt the panic rising even higher in his throat. It seemed very unlikely that the dead had risen from their graves and terrorized the city in order to bring him to Hampstead Heath for a concert. He’d made an impression in Monkey Hell for sure with his styling skills and tasty beats but that had been a while ago and he was fairly sure that he wasn’t here to do some sort of charity gig.
When they were close to the stage his zombie escort let go of his limbs and he hit the ground with a thud and rolled to his side uncomfortably as his numb limbs began to prickle, unable to play dead any longer. But the zombies, and there were several hundred now, didn’t lunge for him. They didn’t do anything except shuffle their feet and stare vaguely from Vince to the empty stage and back again.
Even if they weren’t attacking it wasn’t a pleasant situation and Vince tried to push down the panic attack that wanted to come screaming from his mouth. Getting hysterical wouldn’t get him anywhere and there was no point in having a breakdown when his hair was already as bad as it could possibly get. What he needed to do right now was think - and that was not his strong suit.
What would Howard do? he tried to ask himself, but the little Howard voice in the back of his head just begged not to be killed because it had so much to give until his brain cell locked it back in the cupboard for it’s own safety.
Howard would probably try to reason with them, he thought, but shook his head at the idea when he looked back up at the grey, peeling faces. Their mouths were bloody and most were fairly well on the way to decomposition. Vince wondered at that for a moment, at why the zombies were all old corpses and why none of their victims had been turned into zombies as well. If Naboo were here he’d know, Howard would somehow formulate a plan, Bollo would have a bad feeling, and then Vince would miraculously pull of the move that would save the day. That was how it was supposed to work but Vince was pretty sure he couldn’t do it on his own. He needed his friends and he’d quite like Howard’s hand to hold right now as well.
He closed his eyes against the sea of faces and tried to make himself as small as he could, bringing his knees up to his chest and pulling his arms tightly around himself. He held his thumb against his lips and rubbed his finger against his nose, trying to soothe himself, humming the tune of Cars and wishing he could be safely locked away right now instead of exposed out on the Heath surrounded by the legions of the undead with no way to let anyone know where he was.
He was startled back to the reality of the situation when a voice boomed out from the dark stage behind him.
“Well. Well. Well. Look at all of you.”
The voice was dark and dry. It was the sort of voice that grinned out of the darkness when you thought you were alone in your bedroom, and that strange shape was supposed to be a pile of washing really wasn’t. It was a nightmare voice, the sort that are never supposed to exist, just the kind of thing your brain conjures up when you’re overtired and and alone and don’t want to sleep because Howard’s not home from Jazz Club yet and sleeping just doesn’t happen unless you can hear the comforting sound of Howard’s snoring vibrating through the wall. It was that kind of voice and Vince did not want to look at whatever owned that voice.
“Look at all of you,” the voice continued, eliciting a murmur from the zombie crowd. “ Look at all your eyes looking at my two eyes! All them eyes... Mm, delicious. I’d like to suck all your heads like blood flavoured chup-a-chup lollies! But maybe another time.”
Vince heard the sound of heavy boots walking down to the front of the stage and tried to squeeze himself even tighter. What he needed right now was a cape to cover him right up but all he had was a ripped blouse and he suddenly felt very exposed and very cold.
The boots stopped at the very edge of the stage and Vince could feel the figure looking down at him, like a starving runway model eyeing off a stuffed olive.
“For tonight, on this most evil of nights, I have summoned you and sent you forth, my minions, in search of one thing. Yes, just one thing: A human unlike any other, who will join with me as my lawfully wedded, undead bride! Would you like that, my mouldering little kittens? Hmm? A queen for your king?”
The murmur grew louder as the zombies began to groan and grunt, trying to raise their voices even though there was no air in their lungs to make it happen. The man/person/creature on the stage laughed in response, and jumped from the stage landing next to Vince with a whoosh of his large, blood red coat.
“So let me see who you have brought for me? Hmm? Who is considered the fairest in the land and worthy of the Zombie King?”
He grabbed Vince’s face and forced him around until he was kneeling before the king trying not to gag at the smell of blood that clung to the man and his clothes. He wasn’t unhandsome but his black hair was greasy under his red top hat and his eyes were black and empty. He grasped Vince’s face harder, his long, black nails digging into Vince’s cheeks as his face was turned from side to side, the king examining him like a dog he intended to buy for his hunting pack.
He grinned suddenly and Vince closed his eyes against the mouth of yellow and brown teeth.
“Pray tell me,” the Zombie King purred, lowering his face until it was an inch away from Vince’s own. “Exactly who and what are you? Hmm, little prince? Who. Are. You?”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ZOMBIE KING!!!!
Date: 2014-10-20 01:31 pm (UTC)I've been a zombie fan for ever, since watching a film with my Dad as a kid. For some reason zombies have never really scared me. I can't watch horror stuff as a rule, but zombie movies I find more fascinating than anything. I love them. I think it's my love for all things disutopian and apocalyptic really.
And now Vince has turned up - and he's hurt and scared and dishevelled. Oh gawd - you know I'm an angst nut don't you Chuckster!
Fav bits? Love the nods to episodes like Crack Fox, and to real life like the sledging on the heath. The nose rub! The trying to open his eyes small like Howard. "...made slingshots out of wire coat hangers and spandex leggings, firing off stiletto heel shots from behind a handbag display..." Sweet!
I'm not sure how I'm going to proceed yet - I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to straight away as this needs rereading and digesting for a bit. I'll try not to take too long guys, and I can't promise I won't 'play' with Vince a bit more, but I will try and have something down by the weekend.
A hard act to follow Chucks but thank you Sir! - that was all kinds of brilliant. x
Re: ZOMBIE KING!!!!
Date: 2014-10-21 05:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-20 03:27 pm (UTC)Thank you for this, I second what worriedeye said, it's all kinds of brilliant and full of wondrously funny lines in between the genuine horror and repulsiveness of the zombies! I laughed and laughed when I realised that Naboo had given Vince the same ultimatum as Howard but, of course, hadn't seen fit to tell either of them that the other was feeling the same way... and this line is another absolute gem:
'...the little Howard voice in the back of his head just begged not to be killed because it had so much to give until his brain cell locked it back in the cupboard for it’s own safety.'
I do love the way you write Vince's point of view, you have got so convincingly inside his mind and his thought processes and the whole way the world looks through his eyes.
Can't wait to see where this story goes next, you've set the stage for a climactic cliffhanger of a scene and no mistake!
no subject
Date: 2014-10-21 06:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-20 04:32 pm (UTC)Your Vince is such a perfect balance between terrified and still slightly irritable (and thinking about Howard at a time of crisis classic Vince). And the ocelot jumper made a comeback which made me grin and grin. And Naboo giving Vince the same ultimatum YOU BOYS you're such morons!!
I love this and you are wonderful. Can't wait for the update.
no subject
Date: 2014-10-21 06:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-20 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-21 06:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-21 04:12 am (UTC)I am so happy that you brought Vince back into it and did a bit from his perspective, because you really understand him and the way he thinks, and the voice here is so perfectly in character. (Plus, I must agree with
I was also delighted to see that Naboo issued the same ultimatum to Vince, re: his feelings for Howard, because that is an idea I've had in mind from the very first chapter! (It's just so like Naboo to be forcing them to resolve their own problem, when he already knows it'll work out and he's just keeping that under his turban.) And the inclusion of the Zombie King and references to I Spit On Your Rave! That is genius. The description of him as "not unhandsome" made me smile, because that sly in-joke is so very Booshy. (In fact, I loved all the knowing in-jokes and callbacks, from the burnt ocelot jumper to the reference to Howard and Vince sledging on the Heath.)
Now, I have to worry about where this will be headed next! It's no secret that Vince is the fairest in the land, which is surely why the zombies spared him and brought him to the King. But how will Howard and Na/Saboo and Bollo save him from being turned into the Bride of Zombie King?!?
On edit: I forgot to mention my love for Vince's healthy irritation at how messed up his hair is by the whole thing, and how that figures into his rationale for not having a breakdown. He's terrified, too, but that doesn't dampen his annoyance at having his look ruined!
no subject
Date: 2014-10-21 06:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-21 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-21 05:55 am (UTC)The twist about the Zombie King is perfect! Now I'm super curious how he and Vince will interact.
no subject
Date: 2014-10-21 06:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-22 04:08 pm (UTC)-forestcasual
no subject
Date: 2014-10-23 03:29 am (UTC)http://youtu.be/WL5YwLoMbQ4
But thank you all the same. :-)
no subject
Date: 2014-10-23 02:55 pm (UTC)