[b]Marcus - Garden District, Baton Rouge - Aubrey

Welcome to Baton Rouge.[/b]

And what a welcome it had been! Though it lacked the grandiose appeal of Chicago, whose streets he had called home for most of his life, Baton Rouge's relative quaintness had a certain charm to it. Culture exuded from its very pores; the indelible impression of ethnic groups and historical time periods were apparent in everything from the architecture to the name of the city itself: the Red Stick. It didn't seem as refined when translated into English, but perhaps that quirkiness was all a part of the city's personality.

Yes, quirkiness. He enjoyed quirky things. The sight of their Capitol Building, for example, amused him deeply. It dominated the underwhelming skyline of the Red Stick, an ugly, Brutalist-looking structure that masqueraded as something supposedly regal. A kindred spirit.

He had only seen it from a distance, of course. It was generally prudent to avoid downtown areas for they were likely swarming with the undead. That reminded him: Baton Rouge benefited from such friendly locals!  While he had not run into anyone like himself yet, he had come into close contact with some walkers. The decrepit, suburban time capsules that he had been traversing through did not contain many packs but every now and then, he could see a lonely, docile walker, placidly roaming until it caught his scent.

The undead were endearing, in a strange way. They had an idiosyncratic cuteness to them. In groups, their vicious and rapacious desire for living flesh could not be ignored, but on their own, they were fairly harmless. When they did attack, it was hard not to smile. They lurched and hissed, flapping their limbs and awkwardly stumbling. With every failed attempt to grab him, Marcus thought they looked rather embarrassed, as if they themselves wondered whether their insipidity had a lower depth. 

He was so enamoured by their hapless nature that it was here, during his stroll through Garden District, that a brilliant idea fulminated in his mind.

“Shhhh,” he whispered soothingly, grasping fistfuls of dry, brittle hair. “We'll be having fun soon, you and I.”

Marcus pressed the walker's snapping mouth onto the curb until its teeth locked into the cement. When he stomped on the back of her head, the melodious sound of teeth clattering against the pavement rang just after the sonorous crack that signaled the tearing asunder of her jaw.
To his dismay, her sibilant hisses were now replaced with the displeasing sound of gurgling and rattling. Assuaging himself with a reminder of that old maxim regarding eggs and omelets, Marcus picked her up and wrapped both of his hands around her forearms, right under the  stumps where her own hands had recently been.

He began a slow waltz with his unwilling partner as a broad smile lit up his gaunt and ghostly face. If his partner was looked at just right, it almost seemed that she was returning his smile. He crooned to her softly,

[centre][i]”I'm making believe
That you're in my arms
Though I know you're so far away
Making believe
I'm talking to you
Wish you could hear what I say

And here in the gloom
Of my lonely room
We're dancing like we used to do
Making believe
Is just another way of dreaming
So 'til my dreams come true”[/i][/centre]

Together, the two danced in the effulgent sunlight of the new world.