Welcome to Gaia! ::

It had been a rough week.

On the long list of “s**t That Sucks About Being A Bodiless Zombie”, right beneath not getting to eat people, being bowled down a hill, and not being able to properly reenact Thriller, was the inability to move anywhere. It was no small nuisance, but it was one which Andeon's head had managed to solve after a great deal of dragging himself around with his teeth. He rolled through the hallways on one of the small plastic rollerboards stored away in the gym shed, pushing himself along with half of a yardstick clamped between his teeth.

“Fuffing foopid,” he grumbled around the twelve-inch notch, twisting the half of his neck that he still possessed to scoot himself further down the hall. While Hero was on hawklike watch over the small group, it hadn't been difficult for him to slip out of the gym. After all, what did he have to fear? Being shot? Being maimed? Dying? Andeon laughed through clenched teeth at the very thought, ignoring the sick squick as the yard stick was planted into a disembodied arm. It was difficult to navigate through the halls without running into some kind of limb or vital organ. Still, he was getting pretty damn good at rowing himself along like some sort of ******** up gondolier.

“Rophin', rophin', rophin' on ta ripherrr~”

“HEY. HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING. I WILL BITE YOUR THUMBS OFF AND THUS REVOKE YOUR STATUS AS AN INTELLIGENT MAMMAL.”

Andeon was screaming the second her fingers tangled in his hair, which was now done in a few gorgeous braids thanks to a certain Zodiac princess. He squirmed as much as any head could squirm, which meant that he swayed lightly from the roots of his hair. Eyes were clenched tightly shut, voice echoing through the empty hall.

“I WILL BRING THE MIGHT OF MY MOLARS DOWN UPON YOUR FLEXORS AND-”

Andeon's voice cut off abruptly as those green eyes snapped open wide, locking on the face of his attacker. The eyes staring back at him were familiar, albeit different. Skin that had previously been flush with life was now slightly green, once vibrant eyes now as bloodshot and glazed as his own. There was a terrible hole in the neck that Andeon so often wanted to choke, and a large dent in the skull, just to the side of the forehead that he so often had kissed.

Mackenzie.

The name rang out like an alarm in his mind. Mackenzie. Dead, reanimated, battered, and beaten, but Mackenzie nevertheless! Andeon's face was split by a wide grin.

“You're never going to win the Hottest Dyke competition looking like that.”

“I wouldn't recommend it, my breath probably smells like donkey a** with a side of p-” Andeon did not finish, because Mackenzie was quite suddenly kissing his decapitated head in what might have been the most stomach-churning display to any outsider who might have been unfortunate enough to be viewing it. In fact, if there was an Oscar for Sickest Kiss, then Andeon would finally have a chance to present that speech that he had rehearsed in the mirror so many times. However, this was not the type of kiss that said 'I want to take you out back and ******** you silly.' This was the type of kiss that expressed a flood of relief and gratitude and an overwhelming sense of joy that most people would never, ever understand.

There was just something about living through hell with someone and then shooting them in the head that bound two people together in a very special way. He didn't know why those last few days had brought the two of them so close, but Andeon knew that if it was at all possible, he would never, ever let Mackenzie O'Connell out of his sight ever again.

“Mackie,” he said as she pulled back to stare at him, “I gotta tell you, your breath smells like d**k.” He paused for a moment, for dramatic effect.

“And I have never been that happy to be so close to anything associated with d**k.”

“That is an absurd accusation and I will not tolerate being referred to as such,” Andeon said, forcing himself into a well-practice expression of utmost seriousness. His brows furrowed, the corners of his lips drawing inward as he pursed them into a thin line. This was his serious face, and it looked absolutely absurd with no body attached.

“Yeah, well, when I find the other one I sure as hell don't plan on asking her to braid it,” he said, seriousness replaced by a roll of his eyes and a look of mock terror. Andeon was apparently quite a fan of faking expressions, even if they looked invariably stupid. His stared up at Mackenzie with that stupid look, the expression fading slowly as he took in the sadness of her expression. He could only imagine what the memory of his death had been like from her perspective. For him it had been a quick, painless escape from a much more painful termination. For her, well, he couldn't even begin to relate.

“You did take care of me, you silly cooze,” Andeon gave her a wide grin. He was probably the only zombie whose teeth were stained red with only his own blood. Having no stomach made the trademark zombie hunger a non-issue, and having no body meant that eating people just for the fun of it (a fate which would have befallen Sue if Andeon still had ownership of his legs) an impossibility. “You were strong, Mackadoodle. Stronger than I could have been. You saved me... you know that, don't you?”

“A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy!” Andeon continued the line; it was all too fitting. He stared down at that forced smile, the curve of her lips expressing an emotion that he could not find in those bright green irises. He could see himself reflected there, pale and green and looking nothing at all like the arrogant, attractive young man who had so often terrorized the ladies of Barren Pines. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunken and ringed with an unhealthy shade of greenish-grey.

Andeon Boskovic looked exactly like one might imagine a decapitate zombie head with a gunshot wound to look. Not to mention, all that green clashed terribly with his hair.

“Are you calling me a dog, Mackenzie O'Connell, because them be fightin' words.” Andeon said, wiggling his head from side to side to replace the preferred (but impossible) gesture of circling his fists and bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Give yourself some credit, you dumb b***h,” he said, pausing for a moment for a well-placed roll of his eyes, “On my list of 'Ways I'd Like to Die,' being shot in the head is miles above getting ripped into pieces. I mean, granted, it's not the preferred death of suffocating between a sandwich of Angelina Jolie and Natalie Portman, but it's definitely better than the available alternatives.”

“'Let's get one thing straight here,” Andeon began as they zoomed off down the hall. There was something oddly...normal about the experience, despite the fact that they were wheeling down a hallway slick with blood and littered with bits and pieces of human bodies, “I may be a p***k, a whore, a slut, a skank, a t**t, a twit, and a b*****d, but I am in no way a b***h or a d**k.” If Andeon could tick these names off on his finger as he'd listed them, he would. Instead, he continued on, “I have a d**k.”

Pause.

“Well, had. I still do, somewhere around here. Unless a zombie's eaten it...” his voice trailed off, momentarily replaced only by the scraping of the rollerboard wheels against the linoleum. When it returned, it was at least an octave higher and thick with fear. “Oh dear God, Mackenzie.” The severity of the situation was told by his use of her actual name, “What if a zombie has eaten it? What if a zombie has eaten my d**k?” He wheezed through the last word, as though on the verge of hyperventilating. “What if the coast guard saves us and we all survive and we come back and I get brought back dickless. Life just isn't worth living without a d**k. I would be.. Captain Dickless.

Dickless McNoNuts.

A d**k-free sandwich on whole-wheat p***y bread.

I would.. I would be... Captain Testicless!”

By this point, Andeon was practically hyperventilating. He twisted around on the stub of his neck, nudging at her thigh with his nose.

“Turn around, woman. We have to go find my d**k.”

“SO HELP ME GOD MACKENZIE O'CONNELL I WILL BRING THE WRATH OF PERCY JACKSON AND ALL OF THE OLYMPIANS DOWN UPON THEE!” Andeon shouted, doing his best to sound threatening. Of course, it was a difficult feat when you were struggling just to get your voice to stop breaking like a boy going through puberty.

Then again, it was impressive to sound like a boy going through puberty when you didn't have a d**k.

Under an onslaught of sarcasm and innuendo, Andeon found it difficult to stay mad. Or even frantic, really. One thing that Andeon could always count on was that Mackenzie could always find a way to make things feel alright. Even when they were leagues away from being so. Whether than involved puking on his socks, shooting him in the head, or just cracking jokes about the fact that his p***s might have been forever devoured by some kind of p***s-chomping undead, Mackenzie made things better. He regretted that they hadn't come to know one another until after the school had claimed the lives of those they'd loved, driving them to the point of forced contact.

If there was anything to be thankful for, anything at all to act as some ******** up silver lining, it was Mackenzie.

Andeon took a moment to go down his mental list of the students he suspected of being gay, comparing them to the list of known zombies. Ultimately, he concluded that it must have been Benny. Surely if anyone was both dead and gay and likely to eat Andeon's p***s, it was Benny. Benny was too fruity, and Andeon had seen the way he'd looked at him during lunch. He had seen those sideways glances in English class, those lustful stares as he passed in the hall! All those years of lusting after Andeon's sausage links...

He briefly regretted not shooting him a few more times when he'd had the chance.

“The last place I saw it was in your mother,” Andeon muttered, resting his cheek against her leg. “Where I died. With the rest of my body. Let's go.”

If Andeon had a stomach, he would have puked.

The world spun around him at dizzying speed, until the motion of the rollerboard flung his head away like a kid on a too-fast merry-go-round. With a sickly squick, the flesh of his neck peeled off of the plastic, and Andeon became nothing but a pink-braided blur. It bounced hard off of the wall, rolled back towards his own body, and landed face-down in the most convenient of places; his very own crotch.

“I founf mah fick,” Andeon's muffled voice came from the body, his head wedged uncomfortably between his cold, dead legs. With a face full of Transformers boxers, it took him a moment to realize what was going on. He hears Mackenzie shouting, and then heard a very familiar, desperate screeeeee!.

If Andeon's heart was not already cold and still, it would have stopped. It would have stopped, and then abruptly exploded with joy.

“SNUFFLETH! MAPHENPHIE NOPH!” Came a joyous, muffled shout. The little headcrab, who had reared up onto his back four legs, the rest waving about in the air in a defensive stance, suddenly fell to all... dozen or so legs. That voice.. that pink hair! It was his Andeon! His Andeon was awake! Awake at last! Snuzzles gave a tiny hop, scampering over the body it had so dutifully guarded. It scampered down over a bloody stomach and wedged two legs under the head, heaving it up with strength that the tiny frame did not appear to possess.

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Snuzzles latched onto Andeon's face, wrapping his dozens of legs around the pink-braided head and clicking happily, hugging as though he would never, ever let go. Meanwhile, likely to Mackenzie's surprise, Andeon was laughing.