The Toronto Line ~(Open)~

[Aspen Lancaster]

"Oh, I've got one," Aspen began, smiling widely at her companion, "Why can't zombies write music?" She bit her lip, waiting to give the punchline. "Because they're too busy decomposing," she dragged out, her voice raising higher with each syllable, before clutching her side in a fit of giggles. Of course it wasn't the first time she had told the joke, and surely it wouldn't be the last. But Aspen was bored, and what better to do to amuse yourself then to poke fun at the dead guy you are stuck with? Not that it compared to all the trouble he gave her. The dog remarks were worse. Zech was sure to retort with some scathing remark, but Aspen would take the blow. Like she always did.

It was dark out, as Aspen preferred. The two had just crossed the border into Toronto and the days seemed to grow longer. Damned apocalypse had ruined her whole life. She had had a great life ahead of her. But now it had all been shot to Hell- perhaps more accurately, blown to Hell- and she was stuck with a Zombie. She wouldn't complain, Zechariah was fun company. Their goal was to get to Washington D.C. The Canadian Parliament had been obliterated, and they were close, not really, to the American capital. Perhaps they had some sort of 'do this in case of a freak apocalypse' plan in place. Though you could hardly say the American government was intelligent enough to plan for this. Aspen threw her arms up with a huff. "This is ridiculous. What are the chances of a vehicle working? Hmm? Surely something works faster then walking." With a stupid grin Aspen turned to her, dare she say it- friend, "Zechariah, carry me!" She held her arms out jokingly before dropping them with a groan. Aspen prided herself on her ability to cope with the situation, and wasn't one to complain, but the last few days had been long and boring. And Aspen was quickly approaching her wits end.

[Zechariah Qellic]

Zechariah stopped. Long ago he had stopped seeing the terrain in front of him, the endless piles of rubble - things that had once been cities - that dotted the landscape blurring into an endless ruin that stretched farther than the eye could see. There was nothing to see but ruin anymore, it seemed, and quite frankly he was already bored of it. It was the main problem with a nuclear strike - it just killed all the damn originality of the world. Mmm, well, that at the people, if what he was attested to anything: dead and undead, a walking corpse; a zombie.

Brains. Or something to that extent.

When the dead had started walking again, doubtless the human survivors had thought this their zombocalypse. Imagine their surprise when they saw the corpses not decomposing, held together and preserved by the very radiation that had both killed and given new life. Oh, they - Zech's new race - still wanted to kill and devour the humans, their threats, make no mistake, but there was indefinite pleasure to be had in spouting some witty one-liners as you ate someone's leg or left thumb.

I bite my thumb at you indeed.

It was admittedly shittier life, seeing as Zechariah would never be able to regain the fluid grace he had once possessed in life, but it was life all the same, and it was more than most could hope for here. So he had ambled along, disgruntled, and he had found the werewolf.

And look where they were now.

"Are you quite finished?" Zechariah asked the werewolf. "You only serve to lower the intelligence of your entire species every time you open your mouth, and really, it's not like dogs have much going for them anyways. You're killing evolution." He tapped his finger again his mouth. "One tail-wag at a time."

He stopped to consider her, one eyebrow slowly raising. "Dear Snake, with the amount you weigh, my poor 'decomposing' arms would fall off upon trying to lift you. Don't be absurd."

[Aspen Lancaster]

"No, I have a few left in me. But I'll spare you, for now," Aspen wrinkled her nose up. Again with the remarks. It wasn't that she was surprised. As if to prove his point, Aspen moved her lips mockingly as Zech spoke. When he finished she echoed his earlier words, "Are you quite finished?" With much practiced dramatics's, Aspen's eyes went wide innocently and she turned in circles, trying to get a glimpse of her butt, "Is my tail showing again?" After humoring him momentarily she stopped with a grin. "Zechariah, don't be jealous. I know you wish you had something cooler then a...dead sense of humor?" She bit her lip to stiffle another giggle. Aspen calmed herself with a sigh. "But sorry brainiac, it doesn't work like that. Besides, according to evolution I am a walking success. Look at what I've survived?" Aspen danced ahead, picking up a rock and throwing it at random. She listened to it echo through the city- if you could call it that.

It was a dark place, and the two of them had found themselves in many harrowing situations. Scuffles that were almost laughable, to times when Aspen for sure thought she had seen the end. But the two of them had always pulled through. And as sad as it was to say, Aspen almost looked forward to the next skirmish. She was far too bored for her own good. In a sudden and foreboding thought, Aspen casually glanced back at Zechariah, wondering what she would have to do to get him to spar with her. The thought left her in a sigh. She could almost hear his reply now. Something about them having to be at full strength for when something did happen. But Aspen liked to think it was because he feared her. She snorted at the mere idea of Zechariah fearing her. Now having almost a full conversation with herself; this was what madness she was coming to.

Aspen had considered shifting, but that was too much of a hassle, and the last thing she needed was to give the Zombie yet another reason to make dog references. He would probably ask her to sniff something else. 'Which I could manage with ease,' she thought loftily to herself. At the Zombies words she bristled and turned around, "Stop calling me that!" She said through gritted teeth. "It doesn't even make sense! And I'll have you know I am not fat! I am just where I should be," Aspen rubbed her stomach. "Though I am getting hungry."

[Zechariah Qellic]

Zechariah hummed, though it was a low, eerie sound; more groan than hum. Naturally, he still had very well-functioning vocal chords, or he wouldn't be speaking period, so the half-groan was more for his own benefit. Plus, he liked the creepy edge to it; a reminder that, though he may at first appear to be human, he wasn't.
Not quite.

There were many things that attested to what he was, especially to those who knew where to look. For creatures like Aspen, there was the distinct scent - or lack of scent - to be found on zombies. A more visual aspect, though, would be his eyes: dark, like they had been in life, but with an almost glassy sheen to them.

"It makes perfect sense from where I stand," the zombie told her, inclining his head. "Naturally, I won't tell you if you haven't figured it out, but canines aren't exactly known for their intelligence, anyway." He smirked wickedly at her.

[Aspen Lancaster]

A chill ran up the werewolf's spine and Aspen glanced over at her companion with a look of irritation. The noise seemed to ring through the air, putting Aspen on edge. "Some sort of mating call?" The image of more than one reanimated dead body wondering around together floated through her mind and she shook it away soundlessly.

"That says a lot," Aspen snorted. "You're dead. And yet here you are, proving wrong everything humanity has ever been lead to believe." A small sound off in the shadows had her head cocked to the side. Wordlessly, she headed towards it, rolling her eyes at Zechariah's words. "Right, that's why canines are used to help the disabled, the authorities, and used for human therapies. Definitely not intelligent," she whispered sarcastically, still listening for the noise. "Canines, as you say, are man's best friend." Here Aspen paused, turning back to Zech with a smirk. "This is why we aren't best friends. You aren't man." Aspen was heading into the shadows where the noise seemed to grow louder. It was coming from a cluster of boxes and tin rubbish cans. With eyebrows drawn together in confusion, she prepared herself for the unknown and kicked one of the cans.

Aspen screamed.

"I hate rats," the angry redhead hissed, pulling herself up from here she had stumbled back and tripped. Aspen wiped her pants down with more force than was necessary, "Let's get out of here." Aspen glared at the spot the rat had scurried away from before stomping away.