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trans_92011-11-11 02:14 pm
hates-deadites.livejournal.com) wrote in trans_92011-11-11 02:14 pm
Entry tags:
Shop smart: shop S-Mart! [open]
Click click click click.
"There." Ash was rather proud of his menial little accomplishment as he stood with one metal hand on his hip and the other clutching a price labler gun, surveying his store.
"That's the whole aisle." His imaginary, sensorium created store, but his store none-the-less.
Last shore-leave he participated in did him a lot of good; he unarguably wore the whole cowboy get-up very well and if he had half a mind about it, he would have just stayed on that dirtball. Living inside Stacy was just... bizarre. He had explored on his on own time, deciding that spending a night in those claustrophobic sleeping pods was nothing like sleeping on a real bed in the crew quarters. He admittedly found a great attraction to the Media Library but could only handle so many hours of mindless TV (which is a lot of hours in Ash's case, mind you) before he felt like his eyeballs were going to fall out of his head. The Art Hall was just downright creepy. The City offered a lot but he felt like he had barely mapped any of it out. It was surprisingly expansive and daunting for being inside a space ship... though he had become rather intimately acquainted the Drunken Dragon through Nima. In fact, somewhere between the mishmash of ancient buildings and temples, alien construction, and random crumbling structures the idea of finding a place to call his own (for more intimate encounters) seemed pretty plausible with how damn huge the City was.
However, with talks of dragons roaming around there lately, Ash, frankly, wanted nothing to do with it and could deal with sleeping on bunk beds if it meant keeping his business out of the City until someone called the super-sized space exterminators. Deadites? Sure, he could take 'em out. Hell, he even battled the undead in a medieval setting where he would have expected to find some scaly winged beast (and just as well would have expected it to also be undead) trying to make a meal out of him. But Here? Now? Space Dragons? The Chosen One didn't want to deal with it. Not. His. Problem.
You know what The Chosen One wanted? He wanted normal. He wanted Earth, he wanted home, he wanted mundane, he wanted S-Mart. Ash could imagine the rows of aisles filled with shelves of food, toys, appliances, racks of clothes, the ever looming banners reminding you where you were, his own blue uniform complete with tie and name tag, the employee lounge (even the broken handle on men's bathroom door), blue light specials and senior citizen discount days now...
The deadite with the lazy eye standing in line for the register holding a pack of diapers...
NO. No. Ash squeezed his eyes shut and willed the persistent image away. He had boxes to put away and long stories to bore his artificial co-workers and customers with and NOTHING was going to ruin that. Nothing. Not even his own stupid mind.
His first tentative tests with the sensoriums when he discovered them were totally mind blowing. Once he got the hang of it, he could have happily stayed here forever. It was the next best thing to normalcy and all he had to do was think about it.
...He just had to try really hard to not think about any deadites coming along to ruin that, as that tended to happen...
HELLO,
MY NAME IS ASH.
HOUSEWARES
"There." Ash was rather proud of his menial little accomplishment as he stood with one metal hand on his hip and the other clutching a price labler gun, surveying his store.
"That's the whole aisle." His imaginary, sensorium created store, but his store none-the-less.
Last shore-leave he participated in did him a lot of good; he unarguably wore the whole cowboy get-up very well and if he had half a mind about it, he would have just stayed on that dirtball. Living inside Stacy was just... bizarre. He had explored on his on own time, deciding that spending a night in those claustrophobic sleeping pods was nothing like sleeping on a real bed in the crew quarters. He admittedly found a great attraction to the Media Library but could only handle so many hours of mindless TV (which is a lot of hours in Ash's case, mind you) before he felt like his eyeballs were going to fall out of his head. The Art Hall was just downright creepy. The City offered a lot but he felt like he had barely mapped any of it out. It was surprisingly expansive and daunting for being inside a space ship... though he had become rather intimately acquainted the Drunken Dragon through Nima. In fact, somewhere between the mishmash of ancient buildings and temples, alien construction, and random crumbling structures the idea of finding a place to call his own (for more intimate encounters) seemed pretty plausible with how damn huge the City was.
However, with talks of dragons roaming around there lately, Ash, frankly, wanted nothing to do with it and could deal with sleeping on bunk beds if it meant keeping his business out of the City until someone called the super-sized space exterminators. Deadites? Sure, he could take 'em out. Hell, he even battled the undead in a medieval setting where he would have expected to find some scaly winged beast (and just as well would have expected it to also be undead) trying to make a meal out of him. But Here? Now? Space Dragons? The Chosen One didn't want to deal with it. Not. His. Problem.
You know what The Chosen One wanted? He wanted normal. He wanted Earth, he wanted home, he wanted mundane, he wanted S-Mart. Ash could imagine the rows of aisles filled with shelves of food, toys, appliances, racks of clothes, the ever looming banners reminding you where you were, his own blue uniform complete with tie and name tag, the employee lounge (even the broken handle on men's bathroom door), blue light specials and senior citizen discount days now...
The deadite with the lazy eye standing in line for the register holding a pack of diapers...
NO. No. Ash squeezed his eyes shut and willed the persistent image away. He had boxes to put away and long stories to bore his artificial co-workers and customers with and NOTHING was going to ruin that. Nothing. Not even his own stupid mind.
His first tentative tests with the sensoriums when he discovered them were totally mind blowing. Once he got the hang of it, he could have happily stayed here forever. It was the next best thing to normalcy and all he had to do was think about it.
...He just had to try really hard to not think about any deadites coming along to ruin that, as that tended to happen...
MY NAME IS ASH.
HOUSEWARES
no subject
"Listen pal, the worst thing I ever did was read some demon passages some crazy old man left lying around in his spooky cabin in the middle of the woods and wake up the evil undead." Technically, the worst thing he ever did was fail to fix all that, but no one needed to know that.
On cue, the store's loudspeakers crackled to life.
Ash rolled his eye at the announcement, clearly making no effort to be the one to clean it up. Instead the surly man fixed Howard with a frown, assuming his influence was triggering his imagination. Or, it was just a horrible coincidence.
That happened to be the diaper aisle.
"If I was ever so lucky to knock up a broad before she turned all deadite on me, she sure as hell wouldn't be havin' my kid in a damn store."
hurkdurr I can read a tag.
"You woke up the evil undead? I had an evil undead locked in my basement. Noisy pain in the ass." He looks over towards aisle 8, noting that it says 'baby supplies' and other such things under the S-Mart banner. "Hey, this is kind of appropriate for the topic at hand. Why not have a baby in a Wal-Mart? I mean, supplies are there like this big baby buffet."
He pauses. "Not like eating babies, though. I didn't mean it like that."
no subject
"I just said I wouldn't be havin' any kid in a store, especially not an undead one who'd be more likely to want to eat you. You ever wonder why they call them ankle-biters?"
no subject
Howard notices that Ash is giving him slightly tighter scrutiny, so he's very, very careful as he slips a calculator into his jacket. He's making a bit more of a game of it now, seeing if he can take progressively larger things. If he manages to kipe some skis unnoticed, he'll give himself the world's biggest pat on the back.
At the idea of children eating each other, a look of genuine nausea passes over Howard's face. It even surprises him how visceral a reaction that sentence gets. "Why, you carry the undead gene?"