Zombie Apocolypse

WRITE SOMETHING. NOW

(p.s. I like how this has just turned into a sassy internal argument between their thoughts, despite neither of them being mind-readers.)

(p.p.s. they are an old married couple and no one can convince me otherwise.)

(P.p.p.s. mandatory gif attachment)

yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeshh
finally
oh god do I have to o the lecture
halp
um

They higher-ups were glaring, that was never a good sign.  Not that they ever smiled, but they were glaring.  What always disturbed him about this place that when you returned, everyone here knew absolutely everything about your outing.  Jay wouldn't be surprised if they'd put cameras in the neighbouring areas, they were weird like that. But why did everyone had to look so reproachfully?  We only lost one newbie, goddammit he thought angrily, and instantly regretted it.  What made him seethe was the fact that although both himself and the higher authorities hated the loss of any infected, it was for completely different reasons.

I really don't want to do a lecture. I'm sorry.  THis is punishment for your absenteeism

I get to write a rant? Awesomesauce. But one at Jay. Urgh. I shall scribe it through my tears.

The very high higher-up - who was neither on drugs nor stood on a stool, but rather high in terms of ranking - stepped forward from amongst the other two attendants, her hands clasped behind her back. She was their most commonly recurring officer, the one who met them after most missions. The only ones she ever left them alone after were the ones that went relatively well. Perhaps it was just paranoia, but Jonathan thought she got especially gleeful whenever they cocked up real bad. She didn't smile exactly, but when they were in deep shit her chin titled a little higher, and she stood with her back a little straighter. Now was one of those times.

"It seems you successfully let another one of our members get killed," she drawled in a flat, condescending tone. Despite their many encounters, Jonathan had never learnt her name. He'd asked once, rather flirtatiously, and had received a day in detention. He knew better by now. "I'm sorry gentlemen, but I'm beginning to get the impression that you're on the Zombies' side. Has the infection affected you so deeply that your brains are already altered?"

Oops. Guess I didn't rant. But I did start it off, so we can write it, together *audience makes the 'aw' noise*.

*Jay gets taken out of glass cabinet among muffled protests*
"It was warm in there and there were no zombies"
"Shh you exams are finished now you get to be yelled at"

"No, ma'am," Jay said with icy cordiality.  Much as he wanted to give a reply that was witty, sarcastic or downright rude, it wouldn't be much good in this situation.  Best just to say as little as possible.
"Much as I'd like to believe you-" which sounded like not very much "-I find the high frequency of your losses...perturbing.  I wonder whether you'd require more incentive to prove your unfaltering loyalty to the human race and maybe make more of an effort to keep at least some of them alive."
"That won't be necessary, ma'am" Jay said hurriedly.  He really didn't want to find out what she classified at incentives, but he could hazard a guess.

LOOK I'VE HARDLY WRITTEN ANYTHING BUT I'M GIVING UP HERE BECAUSE JAY IS PRECIOUS AND NEEDS TO GET USED TO BEING IN MORTAL PERIL AGAIN.

Together?
(Cue hunger games moment from very short reference that could be a reference to anything)

*pokes Jonathan with a stick* Wake up loser, we're going shopping.

Jonathan hoped that the aforementioned 'incentives' might be the promise of more food if they fucked up less, but somehow, even he doubted that to be possible. Knowing Jay was better at handling these people, he remained quiet, pulling a face and mouthing 'ma'am' to the floor, careful not to let the senior officer see.

Naturally, what with him being johnny and his 'careful' mode being about as cautious as frenzied Guerrilla warfare, she spotted it anyway. "Right, you two," she said sharply, her facial features contorting as she glowered at the both of them, her eyes bulging. Jonathan would have laughed if he didn't know that Jay was going to kill him later for messing up. "I'll be putting you both up for review with the board, and don't think that the detention centre is beyond you. We don't tolerate insubordination here, especially not from the likes of you."

Motioning for her minions to come forward, the woman gestured to the two infected boys before her. "See that these two are put to work overtime to make up for the resources they lost when they got one of us killed." She narrowed her eyes at them, and her lips curved in a cold smile. "No doubt I'll be seeing more of you two soon."

With that, the two minions came forth obediently and each took a hold of one of the infected boys. With firm grips, they steered them out of the room and led them outside, silent and stern-faced. Jonathan was mentally praying to any possible deities out there that Jay wouldn't genuinely murder him. Zombies he could handle. Angry rugged elegance, not so much.

Jonathan: You lied. This isn't shopping. This is you getting me in shit with Jay. AGAIN.

*Jay glares.*I was here before you.  You're late.

It was difficult to maintain dignity when being hauled with a lot more force than was, in Jay's opinion, strictly necessary.  After exiting the building, Jay motioned to the guards, attempting to shrug away and raising an eyebrow in surprise when the grip on his arm wasn't relinquished.  "I do know the way back to the barracks, thank you," he said in the politest tones he could manage given the circumstances.
"You're working overtime," the guard holding him said curtly.  "That means you're working now."
Several profanities danced a merry jig through Jay's head.  He gritted his teeth before any of them could come dancing from his tongue and nodded, then allowed himself to be led again and trying not to think how long it was until the end of the day.  Glancing sideways at Johnny, he hissed quietly "No more climbing any fucking buildings."


DANCING WORDS AS YOU CALLED MY WRITING FANCY or something

Danced a merry jig. Excuse me whilst I cry-laugh for a few hours.


Biting back on his tongue for once, Jonathan contemplated whispering back 'it was worth it', but since Jay had used an actual real live swear word [[it'll be totally strange]] he figured that perhaps it was best not to poke the awoken bear. In an attempt to appease him with bad humour instead, Johnny clutched a hand to his chest - or did so as best as was possible when being 'escorted' by the guards - and gave Jay a smile, batting his lashes. "At least we're still together," he simpered. Before Jay could insult him in return, however, the guard dragging him gave him a rough sort of shove and a disgusted glare, his nose twisting as if Jonathan was covered in something unpleasant. "Well excuse you," Jonathan muttered under his breath, for once being careful enough not to let himself be heard. There were some boundaries even he knew not to push. He fell back to silence as the guards pulled them up before their destination.

What do people actually do to work in this place?

I'll assume farming.  Let's do nitrogen fixing!!!! yay

Jay sighed as he saw where there destination lay.  Work could have ranged through anything from repairing mundane everyday items to checking the perimeter fence for weaknesses, but more often than not, Jay and Johnny found themselves assigned to the fields.  To describe them as "Fields" did too much justice to the dry sparse areas of land marked out by half-rotten fence-posts.  Trudging through a gap in said fencing that was generally acknowledged as a gateway, he paused to pick up a hand-plough-thing that vaguely resembled a hoe(Jay hadn't really had much experience with farming even before the whole zombie thing and nobody had cared to tell him the names of farming tools since).

The farming thing is the thing with the long wooden stick with the bent metal end that you swing over your shoulder to cut up soil...?

You've had plenty of time to reply. Jay is sad

I believe hoe is right. Not because I used to be addicted to Harvest Moon Festival or anything... I'm just knowledgeable *strokes chin wisely* and I think sickle is the grass slicey thingy also yay, Nitrogen fixing! Yay, realising I have forgotten everything ever taught to me ever!

"It could be worse," Jonathan said with as much cheer as he could manage. "We could be dead. Or worse, expelled." He himself had also picked up a hoe, as they were currently in the start of the season, and the ground needed to be dug and the seeds sown. It was a cycle carried out on repeat every year, and due to limited space, the marked ground had become rather... infertile. Tragically, they didn't really get their pick of what crops were available to them until someone stumbled across something useful on a raid, so until then they lacked nitrogen-fixing plants. Already, the harvest of each year was decreasing, and with failing crops, people around them got rather irritable and crabby from hunger. On the farm, however, momentary peace was found in working to try and combat the slow encroach of death - which was about as cheerful as it sounded.

"You've been designated three shifts each day until you're called on a raid," one of their escorting officers informed them. "Any further misconducts will result in additional punishment." The officers then gave them a look that could be roughly translated as 'we've got out eyes on you' and then turned, stalking off back to lick their superior's shoes and whatnot.  

Hey.  I'm alive and back in England. Yay.  Also, on a complete aside, did you get a new number when you got a new phone?  If so, prod me.  I wish to have another way in which to bother you. Mewl
Also, I listened to all of night vale available  Old oak doors is beautiful, and yes I cried.

Jay glared at the retreating officer's back before propping the hoe-thing on his shoulder and trudging over to a group of infected working on an unfinished line of ploughed earth.
"We'll started the other end, meet you in the middle," Jay called in their general direction.
"Yeah, sure, whatever [sound familiar?]" one of the infected said tonelessly, giving them a sideways glance.  None of the others looked up from their work, half-heartedly poking at the soil with tools.
Jay looked over the work the group had already done and shook his head.  "You're going to have to do the job better than that - you'll get sent to the office [that building needed a name, okay?] if you leave it like that"
This time the whole group paused their meagre work to glare collectively at him.  "And what would you care?" the first one said.  "You sucking up to them now?  Want to save your pretty face from more work, do you?"
Jay had had quite enough pissing off for one day.  "I'm so glad you asked," he said scathingly.  "Maybe it's because this particular field's crops goes to the infected's grand banquet halls, and much as I'm sick of potatoes, I'm less keen on starving to death.  Doing some decent work now will make it easier for the next lot of infected to actually plant our beloved potatoes and results in less punishment all round.  Rather surprisingly I actually still care about other people."  He turned, gripping the handle (thing) of the hoe (thing) tightly and stalked off to the other corner of the field.

Jay arched an eyebrow at Johnny's psychotic killer comment, mostly to convey a demeanor of relaxed complacency but patly to mask a wince as an over-sensitive, paranoid part of his subconsciousness acknowledged the statement to be true.and took offense. "Look, my intent wasn't to insult you," he said in a placating tone "all I wanted to say is that the high-ups won't let that qualuty of work pass them by. And although I could claim to be a conscientious soul, we'd get the stick for it too, and Johnny and myself aren't in particularly good books so far. So can we just take this as a brief misunderstanding and retain our heads." Both literally and metaphorically.

ehehehehehehege you can tell im bored pls let us make this a thing again???? i have really missed this pair..

"Yeah," Jay said sourly, "I wonder whether we were born with it or it was just something we picked up along the way". He slowly turned towards the row of earth that they were meant to be ploughing (seriously though, Jay was pretty sure that there used to be machinery that could do that) and forced himself to loosen his grip on the hoe-thing. Stepping a few paces from Johnny (he didn't really want to be responsible for causing a head injury, he was half-sure that Johnny's brain cells were becoming a rarity from all his antics), he raised the hoe-thing over his shoulder and swung it at the ground, sending dirt spraying up. (Like I'm pretty sure that's what you do?) It wouldn't set a good precedent to tell some other people to get on with work then stand idly about. "Odd thing," he said, raising the tool again, "I think they're sending in more non-infected than they used to. That's a fair big group there - d'you think they're giving us charming infected a bit of a break?"

&(replyling on mobile so unable to do fancy fonts soz bro)

Jay winced in an over exaggerated fashion at Johnny's slaughtering of Shakespeare, who would no doubt be turning in his grave. He may have even turned in his grave, Jay wasn't entirely sure whether there was and zombie mania in other countries or any assortment of supernatral beings. If there had been a place which got unicorns and fairies, that was where he was planning his next vacation.
"I'm statues of various heroic infected would go down really well with the non-infected crew. I bet that one we saw in the diciplinary centre earlier would kiss it she'd be so overoyed to see the representation of our good and honest work."
Tilling the soil was pretty therapeutic, after a fashion, and Jay found himself lulled into the repetative motions. It wasn't particularly rewarding to look back and observed the work they'd done aleeady, looking at slightly churned up dirt wasn't particularly interesting, so it was better to focus just on the bit you were working on at that very second. Picture a zombie there, on the ground. Whump, celebrations, you goT it fair and square, now move a bit to the left and get the next one. Considering zombie slaying was pretty much a regular occupation, it probably wasn't healthy to picture more of the same when doing mebial tasks. Back before the whole zombie thing it would be considered as "taking your work home with you".

Fancy fonts are over-rated.


"Whey," Johnny said lamely, mutilating the ground with the hoe, "representation." He laughed at his own appalling joke, then at how sassy and cynical near life-threatening confrontations made Jay. Given the situation they were in, that would explain why Jay was almost always sassy and cynical... And prone to mentally insulting Johnny. He thought he didn't know, but by now Johnny had learned - oh yes - that Jay had a face. It was somewhere between a frown and a pout and it always invariably meant he was, deep inside that pretty little head of his, dragging Johnny's good name through the mud. Admittedly, Johnny was more proud than anything to have a whole Jay-facial-expression dedicated just to him, but he should probably at least pretend to be hurt or something.

Since Jay seemed to have slipped into some strange trance, watching the hoe and only the hoe, and seeming far, far too satisfied when it hit the ground, Johnny kept to himself as well. He kept getting this weird feeling like an incredibly, disastrously long period of time had passed - like, seven months of something - but chalked it up to just being the slow, repetitious strain of hoeing the earth. Like Jay had found, Johnny soon discovered it was easy to get lost in the task, and only looked up from the earth they were turning upon the eruption of a scream somewhere in the distance.

//


Johnneee turned 2 Jay and said OMG. Listen! I hear a plot point!

OMG