717/The Trotting Dead

The Trotting Dead
Date of Scene:	02 October 2014
Location:	Divided Equestria
Synopsis:	Where even the dead laugh, only more questions arise.
Cast of Characters:	Staren, 264, 470, 513, 541, 569

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Pinkie (470) has posed:
    The coordinates for this little sudden escapade are somewhere just east of a town called Golden Pines. The town is out of harm's way for now, but the nearby mines in the mountains just bordering on the Archmagister's territory might make the sudden outbreak of the walking dead... A problem.
    It's a misty evening by the time the group arrives, but the mine entrance is already overrun. Ponies and pony-people are shambling about, glaze eyed and looking dull witted. ... Chewed in place, soaked in blood and...
    They are smiling.
    All of them bear manic grins, lips tugged horrifyingly from ear to ear as the last few remnants of the living are trying to run for their lives- on two legs or four.
    The place is an utter bloodbath already.

Marrik (541) has posed:
Marrik rode through the nearest warp on his motorcycle and frowned at what he saw; ponies, human/pony people, and they all were really really creepy looking. So he parked and pulled a staff out of his sleeve as he faced the mismash of ultra happy zombies. At a glance it looked like 'bliss' zombies, ultra happy and spread by bites. He took a wide stance as the runes on his staff glowed a soft green. "Hello?" He invested a small amount of power in his voice to try making sure the dead heard him. "Speak and be heard. Why do you tarry here? What wants do you have?"

Likely nothing good.

Staren has posed:
    Staren teleports in from the warpgate, suited up in his power armor which is, conveniently, environmentally sealed. Hopefully, most zombies won't be able to break through it, but who knows if there might be some kind of Special Infected here? He looks around at the zombies and raises his arm to fire the particle cannons, then hesitates.

    If he's not approached and attacked immediately... he takes a moment to scan for lifesigns with sensors in his helmet. Could there be any survivors nearby?

Eliot Ness (264) has posed:
    Eliot Ness is here and stepping out of a period-appropriate 1920s looking car. Despite being fully dressed in his suit, tie, long coat and hat, he has the look of a man who just got out of bed 20 minutes ago. This is probably because he was sleeping at the office in Hoofington on a couch.

    He reaches into the back seat of the 1925 Flint Automobile and pulls out a weathered and worn Winchester Model 1897. As he walks towards the site, he has a calm look on his face while he's smoothly loading 12-gauge shells into the cylinder under his old shotgun.

    The tiredness, of course, evaporates from his face when he comes across the results of this disasterous outbreak. He frowns a bit and takes a hankerchief out, wrapping it around his lower face. The manuals he read said to do that to prevent the blood from getting in your mouth and infecting you.

    Then he simply lifts the shotgun up, racks in a shell, and unloads the 12 gauge at shoulder level into the swarm of undead.

Finna (513) has posed:
    UNDEAD are a Lunar problem, that's for sure. Or rather, they're not a problem mortals can deal with, and a terror no living person should have to deal with. So Finna's come to help. Somewhere along the line, she's managed to cross paths with Marrik and hopped atop his motorcycle to ride behind him.

    He might not've even noticed her hop on, either, given how sneaky she can be.

    But either way, she hops off and onto the ground near Marrik. If he's going to convince her that his Necromancy is not so foul when used properly, now is a VERY good opportunity.

    Because the little fox is glancin about left, and right, and making frightened-yet-angry little snarly, snorty noises. A SEVERE, disapproving warning noise. 'Don't come any closer, monsters!' is what it says.

    More a reflex than any actual intent to communicate. Finna does NOT like the undead much...

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine ... rides in on a bicycle. It's not his bicycle, but he promised to return it or otherwise wire credits for it. This bicycle is now a bicycle of justice, commandeered in the name of the Union and the Great Maker. It's better than walking, anyway.

Marrik's attempt at kindness draws a scoff from Bitter Medicine. He opens his mouth to disparage the necromancer, but is interrupted by Mr. Ness' crowd control solution. At least someone here has the right idea. These things are insults to the natural order and orthodoxy of this place.

The Alchemical stands beside the Untouchable and mutters a quiet, terse introduction, then assumes a battle stance, ready to deter and undead attempting to close the gap.

Pinkie (470) has posed:
    Shuffling, shambling, dragging hooves and feet, the arrival of fresh meat instantly draws the attention of the Laughing Dead.
    And it is an apt name.
    In an instant, Marrik's demands are met with UPROARIOUS laughter, hoarse and guttural, cackling with manic glee, gurgling where throats are torn out, heads hang and loll. Arms and forelegs raise to reach out as the horde begins their giggling approach.
    They're magical in nature. That much is obvious, even the non-magically inclined can tell that from the tang of energy crackling in the air like static. But for each half-eaten corpse the horde has now stopped munching on for warmer bodies, they have already added to their number. The lifesigns are all gone, and already Ness' 12 gauge monster of a trench-sweeping shotgun is making heads explode, blowing off limbs, slowing a few here and there.
    But they ARE on approach, ignoring the more 'civil' attempts at getting them to slow.

Marrik (541) has posed:
A glance back and Marrik frowned because now the whole reason his motorcycle felt sluggish made sense. Of course his own attempt at communicating was mostly to stall, since if he could have the horde focus on him, even if only for a second or two it would give others an opening. There was a snort as the runes on his staff glowed brighter. Briefly his magic would touch one of the zom-ponies as it del, hoping to see how the spell fell apart since that would give him more information on how to go about this in a slightly less messy fashion. If they were individuals, even if mindless, that would make things harder than if a necromancer or worse was puppeting them.

Of course he couldn't just stand there as an unproductive target in the meantime so he drew a soviet era pistol and calmly, and with deliberation, fired. Each shot was aimed at a zom-pony as the runes on his staff continued to pulse. He was twisting the magic these laughing dead gave off, comparing it to what he knew. He hoped he could finesse a solution since bullets would run low, bodies tire, and the dead would keep coming. That was, after all, why the Blackened Hands favored them as shock troops.

Finna (513) has posed:
    "Grrrrrrrr..." Finna's animalistic growling continues even as she gains height and human form. It only cuts out when she finishes changing, replaced instead with a human snarl. "Well... I think you just made them hungrier, Marrik. What the hell... what in all the underworld...?! They're... laughing..." And this is, oddly, FRIGHTENING for the Lunar.

    It's enough to run into an angry, hissy, groany zombie running around. THESE ARE LAUGHING. That's seventeen kinds of disturbing.

    "Yeah... I'm going with Bitter Medicine's conclusion. Sorry. Good try though!"

    The Lunar knows how to deal with the dead efficiently. She's been helping out in Kingsmouth, and has had some time to familiarize herself with new weapons. She pulls out a common-make Glock seemingly from nowhere and releases the safety, then starts firing hurriedly. Bullets fly towards heads as best she can manage.

    She'd rather use bullets on these things than anything else. Getting close means getting all bloody and ucky! "Why... DO THEY LAUGH. Stop laughing!"

Staren has posed:
    Staren frowns behind his visor, as he sees no life signs detected besides the elites.

    Although, that raises the question of where Pinkie is...

    Still. No survivors, undead are magic. Hmm. Usually he's faced disease-based undead, so this will require slightly different tactics. (He wonders if it should be distressing that he's encountered zombies often enough that there is a 'usual'). Slightly different tactics meaning that he needs to blow them completely to bits instead of just shooting the head. Fortunately, that should not be a problem for his weapons, unless these zombies have magical or elite protection.

    He sets part of his brain to work on thinking outside the box.

    That part of his brain suggests that if they got a lot of magic power, he could try animating the bodies as flesh golems and seeing whether the golem animation is stronger than the necromantic one.

    Yeeeeah, keep thinking, brain.

    Staren opens fire. The twin particle cannons built into the right arm of his armor alternate firing beams of superheated plasma that, on contact with flesh, should transfer heat so quickly that it instantly vaporizes (and thus explodes). Here's hoping it works on zomponies!

    Of course, there are a lot of them, even if every shot is a kill. Staren makes his way towards Marrik, and will switch to beam sabers as the zombies get closer, or possibly get out grenades and missiles if he can identify clusters. "I think you may want a bigger gun. There's a shotgun and some lasers in my bag."

Eliot Ness (264) has posed:
    Despite how disgusting this all is to be dealing with, and how far outside the normal 1929 policework he's become since coming to this Equestria, Ness is keeping a fairly cool head. He steps back a halfstep, dress shoe digging into the soil as he lifts the shotgun again and cracks off another single shot of the 12 gauge round, careful to blow the creatures to pieces at shoulder level where he can.

    "At some point that dame's gonna have to pay me back for all these odd jobs I take for her," He murmurs to himself. He reaches inside his coat and pulls out what looks like a glass sphere filled with wires. It has a depressor on the top. He flashes back to when he got it.

Chicago, 1929, Last Wednesday

    "Traaahst me, Mister Ness. It's perfect. Flawless. Like all my designs." Says a man with a mustache and carefully parted hair, sitting at a work bench and handing the devices to Ness.

    "And it does...?" Ness asks, picking it up and looking at it. His thumb drifts towards the button on top.

    Tesla slaps him on the hand, "Don't touch that until you're ready! It's the Patented Tesla Spherical Discharge Apparatus v2.0. I call it the Tesla Sphere for short. It draws in energy from the surrounding area, magnifies it to critical mass, and then discharges it in an area."

    Ness looks at him and then back at the orb, "It's a grenade."

    "It is not a grenade! Bell was a fool and his explosive designs are inelegant! This is pure nature, harnessed in your hand!" Tesla shouts at him.

Back in the Present

    Ness pauses before pressing the top and then tossing it out. It clatters a few times and then hums. In a snap, it vacuums in all magical and electrical energy out of the air with a crack. Moments later, it snaps and pops before vaporizing itself. It also discharges a vaporizing maelstrom of electricity around itself before turning to ashes.

    Ness watches all this and then says, "Yeah, like I told him, it's a grenade."

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
First and foremost, the Alchemical carefully nudges the bike under Ness' car. It's not his property, after all.

Now. It's time to show the power of Thousand-Wounds Gear Style. He's not equipped with his combat loadout, but he doesn't need it for simple automata, laughing or otherwise. The novelty of that laughter is lost on him--many a gremlin thinks itself in on some joke, too. The Alchemical sends Essence into his weapon, a gyroscopic chakram named Voidbane.

It whirrs to life, and the Exalt enters the fray with his cousin from Creation. His limbs are like sledgehammers, breaking bones wherever they strike. His weapon is like a hot knife through butter--if that knife came from Charon's own kitchen. It moans and wails and shrieks as he swings it.

Then, he sends it into the air, where it flies seemingly of its own volition, seeking and destroying targets, while he uses his rigid, menacing style on the laughing dead below. His fingers crush windpipes, his wrists dislocate jaws. His palms send bodies flying into others. Through it all, he maintains a cold, stone-faced expression.

Pinkie (470) has posed:
    Despite their numbers, it is not difficult to bring down the number of the Laughing Dead. Though as more fall, they only seem to laugh harder. They will laugh their throats raw and keep laughing until stopped. Violently.
    Bullets and particle beams do a fair enough job, sending bodies jerking, slowing and crippling when hitting extremities, searing limbs off or blowing them apart. Shots to the head drop shamblers instantly, their last laughs spluttering in their throats as they crumple lifelessly.
    Hands and hooves reach out, desperate with a perverse hunger for flesh as the undead equine beasts continue to advance, even as their numbers thin. ... Then Bitter Medicine is among them, bodies break before the Alchemical's onslaught, shattered and reduced to pulp, cut down and mulched by the wailing chakram thrown among their midst.
    And then Ness gets to test one of Tesla's fabulous new inventions.
    The Tesla Sphere smacks RIGHT into one of the cackling, half-eaten ponies, embedding in the empty socket of its eye with a nasty sound. And it only seems to find this absolutely HILARIOUS before the electrical blast erupts outwards, reducing the zombie-pony and a very large swathe of the ones around it to nothing but charred, twitching ash.
    By now the horde has been reduced to a wrecked pile of limbs, and one or two walkers that can easily be handled without breaking a sweat nor worry- so long as they don't escape into the wilds.
    It's right now that an upturned wheelbarrow shifts... It slides... And then sprouts a four pink legs and a curly tail, and starts trying to get away!
    Before it gets away right into Ness' car with a THUNK.
    "Owie!"
    Toppling over to reveal the mask-wearing pink pony inside it.
    "Heehee... Wow uh... This is kind of REALLY awkward isn't it?" Pinkie Pie chuffs.

Staren has posed:
    Staren frowns at the scale of the damage their weapons are doing. Magic or aura /is/ strengthening the zombies, more than the toughness of flesh itself. Good to know.

    It's possibly even /more/ interesting to see that headshots /do/ finish them. What does /that/ mean? They were laughing -- the cult of laughter is probably involved -- but could they actually be /powered/ by laughter?

    In the wake of the grenade, Staren, along with probably everyone else, quickly blasts at the few remaining with his weapons.

    Then he turns to Pinkie, approaching her gruffly. "You smelled of formaldehyde yesterday, and today we find you in the midst of a horde of undead. My promise still stands, but you'd better start talking /now/."

Marrik (541) has posed:
Marrik frowns at his staff before shoving it into the ground. All that power. Might as well use it to attempt to make the corpses quickly rot away to nothing so they couldn't rise again. Those few shamblers that hadn't been taken care of annoyed him enough that he strode forward, hitting each he could get to once. Finna might recognize the forms used, not to mention anyone else might if they know martial arts. Quick decisive strikes, knuckle bent with an open palm. One strike before moving on to the next, and those hit would rapidly decay into dust.

He busied himself with cleanup so others could focus on Pinkie.

Eliot Ness (264) has posed:
Ness lazily walks over towards Pinkie, since its his car that she just slammed her wheelbarrow into. The Federal Agent slowly slides a couple replacement shells into his shotgun before adjusting his grip so that one hand is resting the shotgun up and across his shoulder.

He looks down at Pinkie and tilts his head, "You know I should be putting you in a paddywagon and bringing you to Hoofington for questioning on this, yeah, dame?" He inquires. Hazel eyes carefully watch her from under the brim of his hat, "Unfortunately for you, I didn't bring the right car, and I can't let you ride in back with the guns, so you skate the ice on this call."

"I need to stop finding you at these kerfuffles. Now how'd this happen?"

Finna (513) has posed:
    Finna starts relaxing a little when the laughter finally quiets. Save for a few stragglers that'll be hunted down soon, anyways. She's visibly shaking, and VERY jumpy and uncomfortable after that experience. WHY. DID. THEY. LAUGH.

    SHUDDER.

    that might give her a nightmare or two later...

    But jsut as she's putting away her weapon in a very haphazard fashion back into Elsewhere - only barely remembering to flick the safety back on - she's then startled by a familiar voice and a rumble-thump ruckus.

    "... her again?!" As if today wasn't unpleasant enough...

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Voidbane shrieks its way back to the Alchemical's waiting hand. With a click, the spinning, vicious teeth of the chakram come to a halt, the weapon loosing a puff of steam before finally falling still. He latches it onto the notch on his hip.

"Just break her legs," he says bluntly to Ness. Apparently, Autochthonian criminals don't receive the same rights as those in the States... or in most worlds, really.

Pinkie (470) has posed:
    The last of the zombies are felled, and the Laughing Dead are turned to dust an ash. The problem is solved. For now.
    Though once she gets herself to stand, the masked party pony huffs, one hind leg reaching up to scratch behind her ear in a rather dog-like manner before she flomps dejectedly.
    "I know this looks bad-- but I was here to meet a friend. So here I was minding my own business," She begins before immediately defending: "I REALLY WAS."
    Apparently feeling the need to be pre-emptive there, her hooves come up. "Are you gonna take me in Federal Agent?" Though it looks like not the case, which makes her flump onto her side. "It was already like this when I got here and--"
    "HEY I NEED MY LEGS."

Marrik (541) has posed:
Marrik turned from the dust and ash to stare at Pinkie as his eyes started to glow red. As he walked closer he frowned at the masked mare. "Those used to be people. I do not like it when people have their rest disturbed," his voice was very unamused sounding as he spoke, "and if they had gotten anywhere it would have been worse than the few dozen that won't get to go home now."

He was trying to keep from accusing the pink pony. He really was, "So if it wasn't you we need to find who did this so it won't happen again."

Eliot Ness (264) has posed:
    "The boss'd put my ass on a grill if I brought her back with broken legs for being a witness," Ness says to Bitter Medicine and partially as a placation to Pinkie while he continues to rest his shotgun up across his shoulders.

    While he's not pressing her on the arrest, his general tone and look paint him as a man that's not in a mood for Pinkie's usual games, "Cut the malarkey and get to singin'." He says in a firm tone, "Who were you meeting? Why is this the second time you've been around the darker half of the Laughing Mare's cult?"

Staren has posed:
    Staren glares briefly at Medicine.

    But Pinkie still hasn't answered the question. He steps forward, stomping his foot a bit for emphasis as he does so. "PINKIE!" He glares at her. He tilts his head slightly towards Bitter Medicine. "You heard him. Now, you've helped, time and time again. I want to reciprocate. But things aren't adding up. I'm the best deal you'll get. Take my offer and talk, or turn away your only potential ally here." He blinks at Ness. "Okay, one of two potential allies, maybe."

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
What comes out of the Alchemical's mouth may surprise, and not just because it's actual words as opposed to inarticulate yet strangely expressive grunting. "Relax, Staren."

At first, the catboy might get the impression that he's being told to calm down after hearing a threat against his friend. This is not the case. "She's telling the truth." Before anyone who's spoken to him at length can get any strange ideas about him, he makes an addendum. "Vague as it is."

The Soulsteel casts a stern gaze at the pink pony, as much her opposite as anything can be. "If I were you," he advises. Great Maker forbid. "I'd stay right where I was." Before that can be interpreted as a threat, he makes a nod to Staren. "He's got a point."

Finna (513) has posed:
    "Uuuuuuooh... I want nothing to do with this... but..." Finna grumbles out darkly. She doesn't want anything to do with Pinkie, Staren's behavior is annoying her, she doesn't really feel like disagreeing with Bitter Medicine, and she wants to go dunk her head in a lake or something to drown out all that horrible laughter.

    Consequently, the face she is making is just plain horrendously, sloppily disappointed.

Pinkie (470) has posed:
    "It's -not- vague!"
    One hoof stamps and the pink party pony chuffs again, loppy ears flitting with agitation. "I was meeting an old friend. Another survivor of Ponyville from before it flooded. But he wasn't here. The mines were already a mess by the time I showed up. It had absolutely no dark, sinister, shadowy, malcontent, clandestine undertones in the least, I was bringing him some cupcakes the twins baked." Pinkie spews, beginning to pace back and forth, ear twitching erratically as she casts a hard look at Bitter Medicine for a moment.
    "I'm telling you -everything-. Ponies coming back from the dead sure doesn't surprise ME, but this is the first time I've seen those." Stated with another stamp. "And I can't talk. Not now. Not yet. It'll just make everything worse, I know it will."

Staren has posed:
    Staren does start to glare at Bitter, then looks surprised. "...Oh." He relaxes, slightly, and looks back to Pinkie.

    Her not talking continues to be a problem.

    "If you think you can't trust them, I'll figure out a way to get them to give us some privacy," he waves at the others, "and I will listen. I can't promise I'll agree with whatever it is you're hiding. But I'll hear you out. I'm giving you as much benefit of a doubt as I possibly can. I just want to understand you, Pinkie."

    He pauses for a moment.

    "You know what she was like, before all this. She'd want to help you. Not necessarily in whatever your current endeavors are, perhaps, but help you to be happy and have friends again. Because of her, I can see that that would be a better future. /Please/, Pinkie. Maybe it will make things worse, and maybe it will make things better. But if you don't talk, things can /only/ get worse."

    He thinks of one last idea, one last angle: "...If you can't talk to me, can you talk to /her/?"
Maybe she's leaving or whatever, but hopefully she'll hear him.

Marrik (541) has posed:
Marrik nodded slowly and frowned. "I do not know you miss, nor your friend. However zombies tend to not be something friends share." Not even in the cult. He looked unhappy, but he didn't want to upset the mare by voicing his suspicion she was set up. "Answers must be found, because this is the time of year all the crazies try taking advantage of the thinness of barriers." The ghosts he worked with talked about this time of year, and everything Samhain brought with it.

Eliot Ness (264) has posed:
    Ness looks hard at Pinkie and says, "Get in the car. I'm taking you to Manehattan, where Rarity has more influence than the Archmagister, and then I'm turfing you into their district." He waves the shotgun at the car as Pinkie starts pacing around, "That'll at least put you outside the bounds when the bottle hits the street and glass goes everyonwhere.."

    Ness starts to stride over to the car, kicking the wheelbarrow over with his foot before opening the driver's side door, "This is a one-time offer, though, since I gotta head back and write my report up."

    As he sits down in the car, he puts a cigarette in his mouth and lights it before turning on the engine. As he starts to pull the car around, mostly to show Pinkie he's serious about leaving her if she doesn't get moving, he shouts to Staren, "You're missin' the whiskey for the bottle, kid. Pieces are right in front of your face, just put em together right and you'll find the answer to your question there."

Staren has posed:
    Staren turns to Ness. "I'm not good at this indirect stuff. But in this case? I want to hear it from /her/. Straight from the horse's... err... from Pinkie." Must. Not. Chuckle. "I don't want her fearing the worst reaction, until I can talk to her so she can see my /actual/ reaction, to whatever it is."

Finna (513) has posed:
    "H-hey, Marrik! You know zombies, right? WHY WERE THESE LAUGHING?!" Yes they were very creepy and she's not gonna get that out of her head easily. But the foxgirl has zooooomed over to him and is in his face, giing him a VERY upset glare demanding results.

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Alien as the concept of privately owned property is to the Alchemical, it's not easy to imagine the owner being upset, should his bicycle be crushed under two tons of American steel. He swiftly reaches beneath the car and retrieves the bike, brushing the dirt off of it. He never moves his gaze away from the pony, even as he kneels down. Bike in hand, he shuffles away from the automated transport.

Distressingly blunt is not the same as socially inept, as Bitter Medicine has explained to Finna before. He knows the encounter is shifting away from a need for him. Out of a sense of duty and camaraderie with a fellow Unionite, he informs Staren of something. "Her story is all true, too. Going to leave now so you can..." Indulge your pet project. "Have your privacy." There's a time for a Soulsteel caste, and that time has passed. Jackboots press down against the pedals, and the Alchemical is off. "Don't die," he warns as he rides off.

Marrik (541) has posed:
Marrik blinked at the sudden speed Finna showed and swallowed at the look she was giving. "Uh..." He swallowed, more afraid now than when he had the crazy laughing dead to worry about. "Either psychological warefare, or possibly a signature of their maker." He tried to meet Finna's gaze with his own but upset exaulted was scary exaulted. "Most maker signatures I'd seen tend to be death chants, praises to dark lord whoever, and.... this is new to me. Heard worse though." Hearing several thousand zombies trying to sing banana phone. Shudder.

Pinkie (470) has posed:
    Mention of Rarity actually seems to make the pink pony cringe, green eyes widening a visible fraction as loppy ears droop. Hooves scuff nervously, before she decides to take Ness up on his offer, shifting into human form to hop in the passenger window and buckle up.
    "That's the thing, Staren. Everything here is the worst reaction."

Staren has posed:
    Staren turns to watch Pinkie. "Perhaps. But if that is the case, then you have nothing to lose by telling me. If you don't, you may lose everything anyway." He sighs. "Call me soon, Pinkie. /Please/."

Finna (513) has posed:
    "...Bweegh..." Finna backs down, now with a disgusted look on her face. She has had enough of shenanigans for one night. ".... I was hoping the Undead wouldn't be so common..."

Eliot Ness (264) has posed:
    "I can tell," Is all of Ness's response to Staren, flicking some ash into the car's ashtray before he realizes he almost ran over Bitter's bike and he says, "Sorry. Didn't see it." And then he gives him a respectful nod of his head.

    As Pinkie hops in and buckles up, Ness makes a mental note and then looks at Staren one last time, "Well, I'm sure it'll come to you. Later, all." He says with a tilt of his hat before driving off with the pony.

Marrik (541) has posed:
Marrik sighed at Pinkie before looking to Finna, "This is gonna get worse before it gets better."