MCA #3, Sunday Afternoon

[hatesmostthings]

April did not believe in holidays for getting drunk, because frankly, if you asked her, getting drunk was something to do for the fun of it and not because a holiday told you to. Besides, she wasn't Irish and saw no point in pretending she was. So she was not celebrating St. Patrick's Day today -- in fact, she wasn't even aware that today was it.

What she was doing instead was frying a Pop-Tart, because the internet told her they were especially delicious that way and who was she to argue? She was almost certainly going to burn it, because she didn't really know how to cook, but she didn't mind as long as the smoke detector didn't go off.

Okay, eventually it did go off. But just for a few seconds until she got the windows open. That was good, right?

[[open! come investigate the noise or whathaveyou! thread with jono is last, tho.]]

Comments

[hatesmoststuff.livejournal.com]

"What did they, like, get eaten by monsters or something?" Whatever, April didn't really care that much. "Could just be a normal movie about normal-sized zombies. With teenagers getting zombied in the woods, like the classics."

[furnaceface]

"Moved away, is all," Jono explained. "And we do have more than enough teenagers running about. Gathering a cast would be easy enough."

He tilted his head thoughtfully.

"Hell, we've even got a castle."

[hatesmoststuff.livejournal.com]

"Also this whole town is weirdly attractive," April chimed in. "That's important in movies."

[furnaceface]

"We'll have the most visually appealing bloody zombies the film industry has ever seen," Jono replied, smirking faintly. "That's got to count for... something?"

Really, if you asked him, zombies were not supposed to be pretty. Ever. At all.

[hatesmoststuff.livejournal.com]

"So does," April agreed.

After that -- well, she probably hadn't had much to say to elaborate on that, but if she'd had anything in mind at all to chime in, it was pretty much out of the question now, because in a flash and a tumble of Urban Outfitters clothing, April transformed into a mouse.

[furnaceface]

"Er," Jono said, succinctly, as he glanced April's way.

... There was a lot of clothing, mostly. He hadn't yet actually noticed the mouse within it.

"April?"

[hatesmoststuff.livejournal.com]

Thoroughly displeased with this turn of events, April-the-mouse wriggled her way out of the pile of clothes and fixed her newly-beady eyes on Jono as if to ask "What the fuck?"

But, you know, in mouse.

[furnaceface]

"... Ah."

Jono was so very eloquent, really.

"You do remember I have a cat, right?" This was not stopping him from holding out his hand and offering her rescue from the clothes pile, no. "Not that I have any intention of leaving you to fend for yourself."

[hatesmoststuff.livejournal.com]

April crawled right on into his hand, but she was not happy at all.

Know who else wasn't happy, Jono? Cliff. Cliff wasn't happy, and he was coming over to confusedly sniff at the clothes pile.

Fortunately, however, he was not trying to eat the mouse. So that was something.

[furnaceface]

Tiny mouse AND huge dog? Jono had inherited both of these things for the duration of this animal transformation? He gave Cliff a sideways glance, and then sighed and reached his free hand to pat him on the head.

"Looks like you're coming home with me too, mate," he muttered to the dog. "Don't suppose you know where to find your food and leash around here?"

Sorry, April. Jono was gonna have to ransack your apartment a little in order to keep your large pup from starving.

[hatesmoststuff.livejournal.com]

Fortunately enough, Cliff did, and he was smart enough to set off for the cabinet where April usually found those things for him.

April rolled her beady mouse eyes and decided to let Jono find the solution to this problem by himself. She was a little drunk and a rodent, after all. It was naptime.

[furnaceface]

And that was how Jono came to be walking a three-legged pit bull back to the boards with a sleeping mouse in his pocket, and a grocery bag full of dog supplies in the hand that wasn't holding the leash.

"At least," he grumbled under his breath as the dog half-dragged him down the road, "this waited to happen until after the play."