[b]Characters: [color=steelblue]Werner[/color] and [color=sienna]Masilalt[/color][/b]

[hider=Werner and Masilalt]
It was offensive to be called a costume; for a moment Masilalt showed it, before regaining his composure. [i]He must have been buried for awhile, he doesn't know any better.[/i] [color=sienna]"I don't have the slightest clue of what you're talking about." [/color] Was it a pop culture reference? He was always awful at paying attention to that. In the past, a lover had convinced him to sit still long enough to make it through a movie or two, but that interest died with them.

The zombie grabbed a hold of his fur, and he was reminiscent of a curious child, except instead of a bright eyed kid eager to learned the world he was faced with a scared corpse looking for answers. And while the man looked to have around 20 years of experience living, Masilaltabhrata would see no difference between the two.


[i]Welcome to the world, you poor bastard.[/i]

The hairy humanoid didn’t take Werner’s words too well, though he had a difficult time getting a read on the creature. A face covered in fur acted as an excellent mask, but the body language was still there; a slight recoil, with a stiffer stance. [i]Great job Werner, you just pissed off the biggest thing in town.[/i] The creature quickly loosened up though, and for that Werner was grateful. It seemed to look at him with a sort of pity through its red eyes, like looking at a child who couldn’t find his parents. [i]God, those eyes really wig me out.[/i] Werner slowly calmed down, realizing the tall hooved beast before him didn’t hold any malicious intent for him. [i]Well, for the moment anyway.[/i]

[color=sienna]"Either you're very new, or very old. I'm guessing the latter."[/color] The demon grinned in amusement, canines flashing, [color=sienna]"I'm an Alp."[/color] He had never ran into many people who knew just what an alp was, but with all the questions they looked to have small details were the least of his problems. [color=sienna]"My name is Masilatabhrata; Masilalt is fine. Would you like to sit down and talk? My house is right there."[/color] He had a feeling that if this was all a shock to the boy, he would [i]definitely[/i] want to be sitting down for what came next. Maybe he knew already, and was just denying it. Or maybe he truly thought he was a living soul in some kind of fever dream. 

Very new? Werner? The young man had spent the first 18 years of his life in Diehlstadt, and returned every summer since. Surely the town couldn’t have turned into a monster bash in the short amount of time he spent in the grave. But then again, the town did feel… Different. He saw a couple cars pass down the street, and his red eyes tracked them until they fell over the horizon, his mouth open wide. He recognized only the circular blue and white BMW badge on the back of the car, and that was it. Gone were the boxy bodies and sharp lines of the 80’s he’d come to know and love, in all their flashy glory. Now the road was dominated by bigger, sleeker metal beasts, their edges buffed out and engines silent. The Pantera sitting on the side of the road looked like a dinosaur among them, and Werner could relate. But still, he didn’t [i]feel[/i] old, and he hoped to god he didn’t look it. Maybe the filthy clothes and dirt-caked skin made him look older? [i]If that was the case, teenagers would be rolling in the mud and running to the bars.[/i] Frankly, he didn’t know what the hell this thing was talking about. [color=steelblue]”Old? I’m only 23 man,”[/color] Werner replied, his voice falling short on the last word. How did he know this thing was a guy? It [i]seemed[/i] masculine, but that didn’t mean anything. Werner didn’t want to get ripped in half by a female Chewbacca because he used the wrong pronoun, even if it was just a discourse particle. Thankfully, Chewbacca didn’t shed him to ribbons, just introduced himself. [i]Alp? Like the Alps in Europe?[/i] Although the Alp specified his species, the name didn’t mean much to Werner, who simply nodded dumbly. [color=steelblue]”Mahhsi-selahlt,”[/color] Werner fumbled on the name. It felt foreign and strange on his tongue, like a mixture of Arabic and German, the latter of which he spoke some. [color=steelblue]”I’ll, uh, have to work on that…”[/color] he added shyly. The Alp invited him to his home, just down the street, an odd offer, but one Werner felt he could not turn down. Masilalt seemed like an altruistic creature who just wanted to help someone down on their luck, which Werner was sure he looked like. Besides, it would be a good opportunity to rest for a moment and take everything in, though he didn’t feel tired. He did just wake up from a long dirt nap, but then he dug his way out of six feet of hard-packed soil, no easy task even for the most physically fit. Werner cleared the thoughts from his mind. [color=steelblue]”Yeah, sure, if its no trouble, thanks,”[/color] Werner said, mustering a weak smile. 


[color=sienna]"Hah, don't worry. You're not the only one that has trouble with my name."[/color] Humans always had trouble matching otherworldly languages, and his name was no different. Many times, children especially would shorten his name to Masi, and he was wondering if that would be easier for them. Maybe later he would tell them, if they couldn't get his name right. As Masilalt glanced back to his house, he just now noticed his bag was on the ground. [color=sienna]"Damn."[/color] He muttered, and the sound of his steel horseshoes against the pavement was in stark contrast to the rarely ceasing foot traffic, and this was one of the few times he noticed it. His next steps were absolutely soundless but somehow still casual as ever, the alp trying to not scare off the zombie. He picked up the bag and opened the door, looking at them and nodding his head towards the inside.

[color=sienna]"What are you called?"[/color]

[i]What are you called?[/i] The question was normal enough, but the phrasing struck him as a little archaic perhaps, like an old Shakespearean play. Then again, he’d been in Massachusetts for the past 5 years, and was used to,”Hay, whahtsya name?” so perhaps he was just unaccustomed to someone not butchering the English language. [color=steelblue]”I’m Werner Kleist, nice to meetcha,”[/color] Werner said, walking at the Alp’s side. He noticed the red Pantera slowly rolling behind them, trailing along. He hoped Masilalt didn’t ask about it, because Werner didn’t have any answers. If he was lucky, maybe Masilalt knew more than him. The Alp’s footsteps were heavy at first, accompanied by the clanging of metal, but he quickly corrected them. He looked down at his feet. [i]Jesus, he’s got hooves. Don’t wig out. Don’t say anything. Just be cool. Be cool like the Fonz.[/i] Normally, Werner was a sociable and smooth guy, but recent events had him more than a little frazzled. [color=steelblue]”Those shoes can’t be too comfortable, eh?”[/color] Werner tried making a joke as the two walked into Masilalt’s home. [i]Oh, that was bad.[/i]

Masilalt noticed there was a short, red car moving slowly behind the duo, and looked to Werner before back to the car, and to Werner once more. There wasn't a driver in that car. Masilalt hated cars at a fundamental level - they were practically breaking the earth. That hatred had led him to ignore them, but he knew the absolute basics, such as someone needed to be in it for it to work. [color=sienna]"How interesting." [/color]The zombie still had absolutely no idea what was going on, and he guessed they wouldn't have much to say for that. But Werner did seem in a god awful condition, and that car was just following him...That wasn't a good conversation starter, however, so he left it be at that. [color=sienna]"They're fine, for me. Not everyone's a human, ya?"[/color] He smiled at the man even with their failed attempt at humor.

Werner saw the Alp’s red eyes track the tailing car, and felt his stomach drop. [i]Oh great, now he probably thinks I’m some kind of freak.[/i] The irony of this thought was not lost on Werner, but he couldn’t find any humor in it. He was reminded of the old movie [i]Planet of the Apes[/i], where a group of astronauts return to Earth after many years to find that they were no longer the dominant species. Surely this wasn’t the case here; Diehlstadt looked about the same as it once was, even the street names remained. Still, Werner wasn’t sure just how long he’d been planted in the ground. A few hours? Days? Weeks? He couldn’t have survived that long without severe brain damage at the very least. [i]Oh god, it all makes sense.[/i] The way Masilalt  looked at him with pity. The unfamiliarity of the town. The nightmarish people walking around. He wasn’t right in the head. Werner quickly did some calculus problems in his head, derriving, and found he had no problem with them. Well, at least, he thought they were right. [color=steelblue]”Heh, yeah… Human…”[/color] Werner vacantly repeated, barely processing the words. 

The kitchen was the first room in the small home, with the staircase off to the side. [color=sienna]"Please, sit down." [/color]Masilalt ran his fingers across the small table as he passed it to set his bag on the counter, proceeding to move some mason jars aside and taking out the herbs, laying them in a nice order. [color=sienna]"Do you want anything to eat or drink, Kleist?" [/color]Considering their state, he assumed the answer was no, but he wasn't about to be a bad host. After all, his manners were part of the reason he had good business. He took off some of the vanilla beans and cinnamon hanging from strings on the ceiling and put them down with the others, quickly tying them together and hanging them back up. He would do the same to more plants, later, when he wasn't explaining an entirely new world to a confused corpse.

Werner barely noticed he’d stumbled into the Alp’s house, taking one last look at the Pantera before the door shut. He felt like he’d just left a part of himself behind, like saying goodbye to a loved one. Odd, considering how little love he felt for the car. He took a look around the house as he followed his host to the kitchen table. It was refreshingly rustic, even by 1980’s standards. No TV, microwave oven, or anything of the like. Werner took a seat at the table, noting the various plants hanging by the ceiling to dry. It was a familiar sight, but as to why, he didn’t know. The memory escaped him, as they often seemed to do recently. [color=steelblue]”Nice place you have here, Masilalt,”[/color] Werner said as his glowing red eyes panned the room. He felt slightly guilty for his inconsiderate behavior lately; he’d always been the polite type, but his recent confusion hasn’t contributed to this admirable trait. As if to exemplify his own impeccable manners, Masilalt graciously asked if his guest needed anything. [color=steelblue]”A glass of water’d be nice, thanks.”[/color] He didn’t feel thirsty, but Werner figured he needed to hydrate after being locked up for, well, however long it was. As for eating, the graveyard cat took care of that. Werner shuddered at the recent memory before blocking it out. He shifted his focus to the glass of water his host set before him, and reached out for it with his right hand, but noticed how the three longest bloodied fingers bent and twisted in unnatural directions. This wasn’t particularly upsetting, as he had broken several bones in the past during hockey games and wrenching on cars. No, what sickened Werner was the lack of pain. He was sure adrenaline was no longer pumping through his system, numbing any agony like it would have in the coffin. Werner slowly lowered the hand into his lap, and grasped the glass with his bruised but unbroken dominant left hand.

The demon made his way back to the table, moving a few books that looked too archaic to belong in this century onto the floor and taking the seat across from the zombie. He crossed his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, stretching. Silence took over the room for a moment as Masilalt simply looked over Werner. Where to start? He didn't know them very well, and didn't know how direct he wanted to be. Of course, not a lot of people would react to a practical stranger telling them how dead they are right off the bat. He could start with asking about voodoo, but what if he said he didn't know anyone? That topic seemed more trouble than it was worth.

He leaned forward, hands clasped on the table. [color=sienna]"Do you remember anything before today, Kleist? I want to know the last memory you have."[/color] His mother had resurrected someone to show him, once. They were overall pretty lethargic and couldn't remember anything, and turned out to be pretty useless. Masilalt was hoping Werner was a different story.

[color=steelblue]”Well, I pretty much remember everything, if I try hard enough. Feels a little… Hazy though,”[/color] Werner began. [color=steelblue]”I remember my first hockey game. Graduating from MIT. Working with my dad.” [/color] These memories were the most vivid, the important ones he’d carry with him. Werner could practically feel the ice beneath his skates as he clumsily slapped the puck, hearing his parents cheers. A brief smile flickered across his face. [color=steelblue]”The last thing I remember… Oh man, my girlfriend, uh, Adrien, she’s sick. I stole that car outside to get to the hospital, and I crashed. That’s all I can remember.”[/color] His voice choked up at the mention of Adrien, and he grabbed the water with a trembling hand and brought it to his dried lips. Hardly half a mouthful made it in him before his throat began convulsing and he coughed the water out onto the table. [color=steelblue]”Sorry, sorry…”[/color] he muttered with apologetic eyes as he wiped the water up with his tattered sleeve, which probably only dirtied the table further. Werner recalled seeing a similar reaction to water when he was in Angola over a summer in undergrad, volunteering to help a town construct a new irrigation system. A neighboring town was suffering from a rabies outbreak, and those in the late stages of the disease had extreme hydrophobia. No matter how thirsty the victims were, they twisted and turned their head away from any water; if it managed its way down their throat, it was immediately spat out. The sound of his own coughing brought a new memory to mind.

[color=steelblue]”I remember… My mom and dad’s voices. Mom, she was crying, and Dad was trying to calm her down.[/color]” Werner realized what he remembered. His own funeral. [color=steelblue]”Then, Adrien, I remember her voice,”[/color] he continued with a relieved breath. She was okay, at least  whenever his funeral took place. [color=steelblue]”Sorry, does any of this mean anything to you?”[/color] He looked to the stranger across the table with hopeful eyes, though he didn’t know why this… Alp would know anything, but it was worth a shot.

[color=sienna]"It's fine, don't worry about it."[/color] Masilalt brushed off his guest's accident, shrugging off the mess. The table had seen worse from other clients, and his books weren't damaged. What else did he expect to happen? He knew zombies couldn't drink water, and at least Werner probably learned something.

He gave a slow nod, red eyes never breaking contact with the zombie. [color=sienna]"Oh, it means everything to me. You must be aware by now that you're dead, yes?"[/color] He went back to leaning in his chair, [color=sienna]"I hate to be so blunt about it, but let's call a spade a spade here."[/color] 

[i]Dead? So this is some dream.[/i] Werner almost felt relieved upon hearing the words. Being dead was much easier than living in some strange world filled with monsters. Perhaps if he closed his eyes, it would all be over. He always pictured death being a little less vivid than this, and less frightful, but then again, he supposed his death wasn’t too pleasant. If he died of old age in a small cottage surrounded by friends and family with a spring breeze rolling in, then his conscious probably would have him picking flowers in rolling fields. But he met his fate in a burning wreckage of twisted metal as he hurled down the side of a cliff, he racing to his sick lover. What did he expect? His last thoughts weren’t exactly the cheeriest. Still, he figured the grim reaper would look differently than the furry creature sitting across from him. He listened to his personal Charon for further instructions.

[color=sienna]"You must've been resurrected by a houngan or bokor. They're the voudon equivalent of priests, basically. And I would guess by the fact you're not with him, he failed, but the fact that you're [i]here[/i]..."[/color] The demon trailed off, looking to the car out the window.

[color=steelblue]”You’ve got to be shitting me.”[/color] It all made sense now. Abioya, that old bastard. He knew Abioya was had dabbled in voodoo when he lived in Haiti, as had many of his ancestors. Werner figured it was all nonsense though, just an old man’s way of attempting to frighten his granddaughter’s boyfriend. [i]Guess he wasn’t joking.[/i] Whether Abioya’s intentions were malicious or not, he didn’t know. The man never liked him in life, why would he bring him back from the grave? Werner was torn between kissing and killing Abioya when he saw him.

 [color=sienna]"Maybe he died, so you're just aimless. I'm not completely sure...But I think your car has something to do with it. It's 2015, what year did you die?"[/color] He died in the car, so it could be that the car was the one possessed, with the zombie just acting as a puppet. But that didn't make a lot of sense. He drummed his fingers against the table, snapping his attention back to Werner. 

If Werner was still capable of vomiting, Masilalt’s already dirtied table would be covered in half-chewed cat. His head was spinning, like he’d just gotten the worst suckerpunch in the rink. [color=steelblue]”Nineteen… Uh. Eighty-five,”[/color]  he stammered. 30 years. His parents are 87 years old. Abiyola is well over 100 years old. [i]And that puts Adrien at 53. If any of them are even alive.[/i] Werner ran a hand through his filthy hair before using it to cover his eyes. He wondered if Abiyola did this intentionally, forcing him to come back to life and watch everyone he ever loved forget about him. He could handle being some sort of monster, but facing the future alone sickened him. No, even Abiyola wasn’t that cruel. Something must have gone wrong. Werner wanted to curl into a ball and cry, but he wasn’t going to give up so easily. He had to figure out why he was back, and what had become of Diehlstadt.

[color=sienna]"Were you connected to voodoo somehow?"[/color] Maybe he was just unlucky, and someone picked him as a fresh target for a zombie bottle. He'd done it himself. There was a possibility that he had connections, and even if they decided it was best not to dig it up, Masilalt could use that to meet them himself.

[color=steelblue]”Yeah, guy named Abiyola. He’s pushing on 100 now, so he’s probably dead,”[/color] Werner replied bitterly. The one man who could make sense of this was surely long gone. Then again, this Alp, Masilalt, seemed to have a pretty good grasp on what he was going through, and hadn’t led him astray so far. [color=steelblue]“So what happened in 2015 that made skeletons go to work and women’s heads fall off? Diehlstadt wasn’t like this in ‘85.”[/color]

[color=sienna]"Damn. Well, that explains why you're here, instead of with him,"[/color] Masilalt shrugged, [color=sienna]"I mean, normally with the resurrection of a soul by a bokor, you would be serving him. But if he's dead you can't do that too well."[/color] It was all the better if Werner was a free man. That meant the demon could use him, and while he looked very shaken up, he seemed like a pretty determined human. The demon grinned at the thought. Suddenly, this town was pretty exciting. Those details could be discussed later, when the zombie realized the more immediate aspects of his new life. Right now, he had questions, and Masilalt was happy to provide answers. [color=sienna]"We didn't all just come into existence within the past 30 years, if that's what you're thinking. The llama...Alpaca? It doesn't really matter. Anyway, the hybrid that runs the cafe bought the place a few years back. Everyone else just heard about monsters living here and followed suit. That's what I've heard, at least; I've only been here a few months myself."[/color] It was an interesting town, to say the least. Every time he thought he had something figured out, things like this happened. 

[i]Well, it could be worse. Abioya could be alive and I’d be stuck with him.[/i] Werner immediately chastised himself after making the internal remark. Surely the old man, a descendant of Haitian slaves, wouldn’t attempt to dominate another. The man always talked about the evils of slavery. Still, at this point, it didn’t really matter what he planned to do with Werner once he crawled out of his grave. What did concern him, though, was the way in which Masilalt looked at him, no longer with pity, but excitement. It didn’t take a particularly keen eye to notice the Alp’s interest in voodoo; from the herbs hanging down over the table to the various ancient occult books lying around, the signs were everywhere. Did Masilalt see him as his next Frankenstein-esque experiment? No, if the Alp wanted to exploit Werner, he already would have. The world wasn’t like the movies, where criminal masterminds told the hero their plan just before carrying it out. The Alp was probably just excited to have an interesting subject to study. Werner shook the thought from his head and focused in on his new furry friend. The next part Werner didn’t find too shocking, though any other day he’d be dumbfounded. His brain was overloaded with all these changes; they hardly seemed real, even with one staring right at him, and the other authenticating itself when he broke free from his grave. Oddly enough, this addition of mythical creatures was the least life-changing for the young man, though disturbing. 

Masilalt stood up and stretched, walking back over to his counter. [color=sienna]"I know I just gave you a lot of information, and if you need to take time to process it all that's fine. Take a walk, get some fresh air, whatever."[/color] He spoke nonchalantly, grounding a stick of cinnamon. [color=sienna]"Or not, and just stay here for awhile. Doesn't matter to me."[/color] The cinnamon was put in a mason jar, and joined with water and what looked to be some orange peels. [color=sienna]"If you do decide to leave, remember you can come back anytime you need."[/color] Closing the jar, he spun around, [color=sienna]"So, Kleist, what's next?"[/color]

[i]What[/i] is [i]next?[/i] The Alp was kind enough to offer him a place to stay, an offer Werner hoped he wouldn’t have to take. In a perfect world, he would return to his childhood home and be welcomed with open arms and teary eyes by his parents, who, though 30 years older, loved him just the same. If this situation didn’t play out too well, he might have to return to Masilalt’s home; Werner wasn’t sure what the policy was on bank accounts after death, but he doubted there was much money left in his anyways, certainly not enough to survive on his own. [color=steelblue]”Thanks, I’ll probably take you up on that offer,”[/color] Werner replied. [color=steelblue]”You’re right, I just need to take a walk. Work shit out, you know? This… Uh, its a hard pill to swallow.”[/color] The zombie stood up on unsure legs, which were still growing used to the strange life flowing through them, and made his way to the door. [color=steelblue]”Oh, and thanks.. Masilalt,”[/color] he added, getting the name more or less correct. [color=steelblue]”I’d still be screaming out on the streets if it weren’t for you.”[/color]

Werner stepped out of the house and onto the alien streets, looking at Diehlstadt through a different lens with his new knowledge. [i]So this is the future. What a shithole.[/i] 
[/hider]