[b]Ricky - Old Jefferson, Suburbs - Chae, Miguel, Moksha[/b]

Ricky was a bit confused when his saviour reminisced about a pack of corgis attacking her, but the woman showed off a scar to prove it, and he nodded appreciatively. It looked freshly healed though, which meant they'd gotten here from Florida with some kind of haste. Then again, there were a lot of ways to get places that didn't mean he'd get any benefit from it. He gave up on that notion and chuckled as the woman suggested that only the big dogs survived. That wasn't according to the nature documentary he had watched a while ago. Then again, that documentary hadn't been based on actual experiences, only extrapolation based on facts they had available. And the discovery channel couldn't possibly calculate zombies into the mix. So rather than argue the point, he focused on getting to his feet slowly, and without being too threatening.

before he could, though, he was invited to join them, and introduced to his real saviour, Moksha, the kitten. He smiled at the tiny beast as it was suggested that it probably didn't actually care to save him. Either way, he was still alive, and he was grateful. Then he found himself being interrupted before he could even open his mouth to speak. Having been about to try an introduction or something, he found the third human in their group was now vocal. It seemed the man that had been so impatient before, was now at his breaking point. And that was fair. After so many gunshots, any nearby zombies would be on top of them soon. And indeed, they were already in sight, working on swarming in that most unpleasant fashion they clung to. 

Then the chef found himself being offered a hand up, and a question, he accepted the former as he rose to his feet, and nodded at the latter. "I took on six once. It was pretty good." he chuckled as a thought occurred to him, but he kept it to himself. "Oh fuck, there's a lot of them, eh?" he realized, taking a closer look at the horde that was working on descending on them. He popped open his revolver and made a face at the fact that it was nearly empty. He locked it back up and tucked it away in its holster, before drawing the larger of his two knives once more. "So what's the plan, Stan?" he asked, looking like he was ready to take on the entire shambling mass if it was necessary. And idea like that wasn't pleasant, but he figured it wouldn't be much different than one of those really bad hockey fights, where both teams just mob the ice and wail away on each other. Except he wouldn't have a team beside him...