Somehow, one way or another, Mortimer had nodded off. Not sleep, no, as the undead had no real need to. No, this zombie had been off daydreaming again one his many idle fantasies - those that were fueled by whatever entertainment media he had recently occupied himself with, along with a mixture of his own created alter egos. For a few minutes he was trotting about the human world as a sandman reaper, giving the sleeping fleshies terrible nightmares whose FEAR sent pleasurable tingles down his spine -

- and then he snapped back to reality, looked down, and noticed his hands had been mindlessly sewing while his mind had been away. Mindlessly sewing his finger to his pants.

Adlskhfldkhflsdknflksd. ;AAA; It didn't hurt per se, but . . . how embarassing.

"Yes yes, want to help!" Mort chimed in as he tried as surreptitiously as possible to undo the stitching; and with very little success, mind. "B-But, um, not sure how can help." He didn't have any particular talents besides . . . well, besides things involving tech.

Hmm.