[ He can't go fast. He can't tear through the streets and leave a streak black in his wake. When these zombies come, he can't just grab the twerp or vibrate fast enough to make them explode. It sucks. He's drumming his fingers rapidly against the cracked table, bouncing his leg to the shaky tune of Highway to Hell and leaning back every so often to check the windows, the door, anything that could be a possible entrance for the undead. ]
no subject
What? [ Wha- oh. ] Okay. Cool. I'm not hungry.