( open ) our ag wing's back and you're gonna be in trouble (hey now! hey now! our ag wing's back)

[initiates]

Date & Time: October 31st, 3313, 11:59PM - November 3rd, 3313, ????
Location: Agriculture Wing, Moon Base to start. Cafeteria, warehouse, docking bay, VR rooms, Transport Pad, or Observatory later on.
Characters: Any & all!
Summary: Space Zombies are allowed out of the Agriculture Wing, slowly revving up their systems to try and infect and absorb as many of the Transports (or 12 Initiative Members) as possible.
Warnings: Log will be locked for potentially graphic violence. Please warn in threads should the violence or gore become graphic.
Notes: Specify a date and location in your top comment. You may specify multiple dates/locations. Specify a time if you wish as well.

Everything is a success at first, from the cool rush of air out of the Agriculture Wing once the doors are fully unlocked, to the heady sense of accomplishment for finally moving forward on something good for the long-term usability of the Moon Base. It's intended to remain a resource, after all, but not be a permanent home. Fraying tempers and the sense of cabin fever descending on Transports continues to showcase how important it is to get back down on Earth to regain some breathing room.

There's little enough dust between all the unmoving, unlit structures, many even supporting the barest dried husks of what once grew there. Upon the lightest touch, they disintegrate, turning into a dust that falls to the ground. The silent rows will be reclaimed and turned into functioning units, based on Transport efforts, and Transport time invested in the project.

There's just one problem. Something stirs in the reclaimed wing, among tangles of hosing and wiring. Skitterings and movements that make no sense for a long abandoned Moon Base. The further in Transports go, relying on magic or technology to generate light past the bare minimum maintained by the base, the more disturbing sights they may run into.

Of course, the most disturbing of all might be lying just around the far corner -- but don't worry, it's only a flesh wound. Try not to get surprised in the machinery, caught suffering from not looking up or caught making out with anything unsavory this holiday season, Transports. We need all of you to stay alive!

We can't bring you back right now!

Comments

[senseandcecilbility]

[Kevin is about to help Mister Gilbert close the oven full of zombie bits when he realizes there is something more urgent to do than saving themselves from the undead. That said, he is mad enough that Mister Gilbert might notice that the oven has heated even faster.]

MISTER BREAK, WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU!

[With over billions of years of aim practice to guide him, he throws one of his shoes at Break's head. The insufferable man should be grateful it is not the frypan.

[maddeninghatter]

[ Break is in the act of tipping a very lovely apple-rhubarb berry pie into his gaping maw when Kevin's shoe comes twirling through the air and clocks him in the forehead. He staggers. For a moment, it looks like our hero has been felled by footwear, until — ]

That really hurt!

[ He straightens up and rubs his forehead, indignantly. ]

I'm going to have a lump there, you idiot! Who throws a shoe? Honestlyyyy~!

[retraced]

[Is this seriously happening.

Gilbert remains with his shoulder braced against the oven door, watching this extremely mature argument with a look of confused bewilderment on his face. He feels himself start to sweat as well being this close to the overheating oven. Tone it down a bit, Kevin!]

[senseandcecilbility]

[Kevin puts his remaining shoe on and huffs in a most dignified manner.]

Be glad it was not the frypan, sir. And if you attempt to insert anything else into your mouth, we shall have words.

[He graciously skips off the table and goes help Mister Gilbert. It takes him a few seconds to realize why the poor man is sweating.]

My apologies, sir. [He mutters under his breath, while helping him keep the door closed with both gloved hands.]

1/3

[maddeninghatter]

[ It occurs to him at this point, that all the pie has likely been slimed by the abundance of zombie goo, either directly dripped on or splashed from all his hacking. This is, he grudgingly admits to himself, probably the principal reason Kevin got so exercised at his trying to eat it...

Still. Hit with a shoe, how insulting!

So here he is, standing next to a stack of pies which he apparently isn't allowed to eat... ]

2/3

[maddeninghatter]

[ ... ]

[maddeninghatter]

Fine, Mister Cecil~! Have it your waaaay~!

[ INCOMING! ]

[retraced]

[Gilbert turns towards Kevin, ready to thank him for his help, except just at that moment, one of the zombies inside groans loudly as his face begins to melt off, and Gil turns to look through the little oven window just as it occurs. It distracts him enough to ignore whatever it is that Break is doing.]

Ugh...

[senseandcecilbility]

[Bloody hell, is that a pie flying in his direction?]

Mister Break, what are you..?

[But he was trying to save his life!

He attempts to dodge at the last moment. Whether the pie favors his or Mister Gilbert's face is a matter of Newtonian mechanics and inescapable fate.]

[maddeninghatter]

[ Presumably Kevin's ANGEL!REFLEXES allow him to dodge...

However.

Bad luck is the only thing that clings to Gilbert Nightray more tightly than Vincent. Hence the pie is inexorably drawn to the back of his head, as he gapes at the face-melting zombies.

The edge of the pie tin happens to clank against the button that converts this stove from conventional heat to microwave. The melting zombies begin to rotate, slowly. ]

[retraced]

[Smack goes the pie right into the back of his head. So now he's got pie crust and delicious filling dripping down his hair and onto his neck and shoulders, another mess to clean up, and now he's watching that melting zombie begin to rotate.

There are few ways that this scenario could get any more embarrassing.]

Break...! [His shoulders tremble as he bends over slightly, hands still grasping the oven door, and fights to keep from turning around and punching the man right in the face. He's definitely saving it for later, though.]

Stop messing around for just one minute-!

[senseandcecilbility]

Mister Bre--!

[Okay, maybe, just maybe, he has been around the wrong company for too long. And the truth is he has come from a time when people getting hit on their heads by pies was considered hilarious.

There is also something terribly silly about rotating zombies. And...and the most effective way to induce laughter is trying to prevent oneself from laughing.

Still holding the oven door closed, he ducks his head between his arms, his shoulders shaking hard with repressed mirth.]

[maddeninghatter]

[ There are more pies



and Break has two hands. Even if his aim isn't the best, Kevin and Gilbert are more or less stuck in the same place, so eventually by the law of averages...

(unless there is some divine retribution or something) ]

Heh heh heh heh heh heh!

[retraced]

[Yeah, you two laugh it up. Gilbert is just going to shake a little and hold himself back from turning around and punching Break in his stupid face. You can throw as many pies as you want but you'll never take his dignity! Because it's been gone for years now.

Meanwhile, those zombies look like they're getting ready to explode. Got a good grip on the oven, Kevin?]

1/2

[senseandcecilbility]

[It is a testament to Kevin's willpower and stubbornness that he is still holding the oven closed even after the pie hits the back of his head (he is holy, not pie proof). Besides, he doesn't want to disappoint Mister Gilbert, which is why...]

[senseandcecilbility]

[...While the other man is distracted with the rotating and - unknown to him - about to explode zombies, he very maturely uses his crystal shield to catapult a couple of pies towards Break's direction.]

1/2

[maddeninghatter]

[ He honestly doesn't know how many of his projectiles have reached their targets. All that matters is that he is throwing pie on the moon in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, and life can't get much weirder or nonsensical or — ]

GAH!

[maddeninghatter]

[ — or sticky. Chocolate peanut butter pie, by the smell of it, and he can't resist licking his lips. ]

Delicious!

[ The sad thing is, he's running out of pie. ]

[retraced]

[--Hey, where did those pies come from?! Gilbert can't even appreciate the humor or satisfaction behind any of it because he's too busy looking around the room and trying to figure out where those came from.]

Huh-?

[senseandcecilbility]

[Kevin is about to repeat his warning about not eating the infected food, and even throw his remaining shoe if necessary, when something glimpsed in his peripheral vision makes him scream like a girl.

Never mind the pies, Mister Gilbert. From inside the oven, comes the sickening sound of zombie skulls popping. ]

WHAT SORT OF OVEN IS THAT?

[maddeninghatter]

[ In one bound, Break is at the oven, aghast. That scream, Kevin, and the sound of bones breaking... ]

What's the matter, what's going on!

[ There's a sword in one hand; and balanced in the other is the very last pie, a perfect lemon meringue. ]

[retraced]

[No time to question pies now! There are exploding zombies and for the first time since all of this started, even Gilbert is starting to look a little green. Every man has his limits.]

I think...these things just exploded.

[Very cautiously, Gilbert steps away from the oven and then reaches up to turn it off. They probably don't need to keep it on anymore. The small of rotting - grossness that they were comprised of is starting to get stronger, no need to let it burn on top of that.]

[senseandcecilbility]

[Feeling rather sick himself, gives Mister Gilbert's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. Do not faint, pal. Otherwise, who is going to clean this mess?]

It...is like...what happened to London! W-why, why would the Initiative turn the oven into a weapon?!

[He has made pies there. He had showed it love. Why is it a terrible weapon now? Why does technology betray them?]

[maddeninghatter]

[ Point one: Gilbert and Kevin are uninjured. Point two: the zombies have exploded.

...everybody wins. He exhales, and sheathes his sword.

He would wonder why the two of them are fretting about this, except the answer is obvious: they're always fretting. Also, wow, that smell. He wrinkles his nose. ]

I say, did you two burn the zombies? Tch! And you fancy yourselves being able to cook!

[retraced]

[Gilbert is glad for the comfort, and also the fact that Kevin seems as distressed by the whole thing as he does. It's a stark contrast to the nonchalant look on Break's stupid face at the moment. Gil stands up a little straighter and half-covers his nose against the gross, dead-flesh stench.]

Stop joking around! How many more of these things are there?!

[And do they have enough ovens to take care of them all?]