=NYC= Apt 530 |Matt| - Autumn Lights Apartments - East Village

An apartment. There isn't much fascinating about it. The carpet is a dusky red color, the walls are swirled stucco white. One corner of it is a kitchen, open concept with an island and just the the right of the front door. To the other side of the door is a big, walk-in closet storage closet. Beyond the entryway is a living room of sorts, with a couch, an end table with a lamp on it, and a La-z-boy chair, all in shades of colour the 70s forgot. There's a low coffee table set in between the couch and the stand where the television is. A short hallway with windows along one side features a niche for a washing machine and a dryer, easily hidden from sight by closet doors that close in front of them. Three doors lead to a bathroom and two bedrooms sharing it, both clearly inhabited by young adult males. Over by the living room windows is a desk, where a pair of computers live, a tank holding a panther chameleon in between them.

Never tell a theatre techie that you're throwing a zombie party. At least, not if you're the sort of person who hates decorations and appropriately-ghoulish lighting! Happily, Matt Kessler is not such a stick in the mud, and thus the younger Kessler sibling has been turned loose to furnish forth a Proper Atmosphere. The lighting is low, bar for where the kitchen is lit in emergency-light red. There are occasional creaking and groaning noises emanating from the stereo. Food has been crafted in approved forms such as Bread Bowl Spinach Dip Braaaaains. On the kitchen counter, there are drinks, alcoholic and non, that appear to be bubbling. And before a television set up with a plethora of consoles and their games, one Matt Kessler is idly scratching his head. "Dead Rising or Resident Evil?" This is a critical question.

Elliott has gotten into the theme of things, perhaps as a practice run for Hallowe'en. It's anyone's option as to which is the more pressing question: where the lab coat came from, or where the very-realistic 'Umbrella Corp.' name badge came from. The fake machete strapped beneath the coat is standard-issue costume store fare, saved after one occasion or another. "The question isn't really /which/," she opines. "It's which /first/. Can't have a proper zombie night without both." She touches tongue to teeth, pondering. "Which Resident Evil?"

Knock-knock! It's Norah. She knocks to announce her presence but doesn't wait to be properly let in, instead pushing the door open and poking her bald-ish, scarfed head in. Her eyes widen a little as she takes in the theme, her expression momentarily stunned, then a little worried, and then amused. "Wow, this is -- I see that you don't kid around about zombie parties. I feel like I'm not properly dressed for it." Indeed, she's wearing a basic sweater, jeans, and a conductor's cap covering her head. "Though I guess if I take off my hat that'll at least help..."

Matt is not in costume, beyond a t-shirt that informs the world 'Zombie: Eat Flesh' in a familiar sandwich shop's font and colours. "Well, I got all of them," he allows to Elliott, one hand rubbing idly at the back of his neck. "Haven't tried out Umbrella Chronicles, though -- Dan keeps hogging the Wii." This is said in the longsuffering tone of an elder sibling, before there's a shift to greeting not unlike that of Elliott's doberman when people arrive. "Norah!" he greets, before a look around at the decorations at her worried look wins a laugh from him as he crosses the floor and leaves Elliott to the zombie game selection. "More the little brother's doing. Theatre people, y'know?"

Elliott's swiftly-hidden flash of amusement might just stem from her recognition of that similarity. Perhaps Matt was a yellow lab in another life! She looks up from where she'd crouch to pick over the games to wave to Norah. "Hey there! Don't worry, if we're going with a zombie survival theme, you're dressed perfectly for one of the intrepid heroes."

"He must be quite a -- theater person," Norah says, eyebrows lifting as she steps inside, letting the door fall shut behind her with just the faintest note of trepidation. "Wow. Again, just to reiterate: Wow. Nice job, Matt and little brother." She then grins at Elliott, a faint recognition lighting in her eyes. "Hi! And I don't know -- as much as I'd like to cast myself as the intrepid hero, I'm afraid zombie really might suit me best." She tugs off her cap dramatically to reveal the stubble of hair and the arcing, raised scars underneath. "The chip in my head, you see. It's bound to turn me into one sooner or later, I'm sure."

"Any progress on that?" Matt wonders, giving Norah a concerned look before he buries himself in action. To wit: drinks. "I asked... a friend I know who knows computers to see if they could find anything." Studiously, Matt does -not- look at Elliott. He instead studies the smoking punch bowl. "Virgin or non, guys?"

Elliott winces slightly, spending a moment floundering for some sort of response. Hallmark doesn't make cards for 'Sorry you have a creepy chip in your head', either. "Well, that's a staple of the genre, too," she settles on. "The intrepid hero who is sadly converted into a zombie. --Non," she calls towards Matt.

"Non," Norah votes with Elliott, before biting her lower lip and considering the environment of the apartment for a moment. "And well -- I've talked with the cops. They're working on it. It'd be nice if the could subpoena the company for a list of their clients or whatever, but since they're based out of China, it's kind of not really working out for them. At all. So if your friend gets anything, let me know." She then grins wryly at Elliott. "So it is. And in advance, I have no ill feelings for when one of you has to confront me and take care of the problem. It'll be more traumatic for you than me at that point, I'm sure."

With no need to further adulterate the punch, Matt instead opts to ladle it out into the sort of cheap and cheesy plastic horror mugs that blossom in dollar stores at this time of year. "Come get it, then," he bids, setting two down within easy reach. "And I still think it's fucking -weird- that some Chinese company's doing stuff -here-. I mean, it's not like they don't have their own population to poke at... maybe you'll turn into a Manchurian Candidate instead."

"Well, it could be that they're supplying the products they manufacture to some company here that's operating independent of them," Elliott muses. She stands, brushing nonexistant dust off on her coat, and wanders over to claim a sheesy mug. "Or that they figure they'll more easily be able to dodge prosecution by working overseas. You can't really tell with mad scientists. --And, Christ, I can't believe I actually said that in earnest." She shoots an apologetic look towards Norah, as the room's resident lab rat.

"Maybe," Norah says, and laughs, picking up her own mug and taking a drink. "Although I'm a /great/ option to be a Manchurian Candidate, the other people they've chipped -- maybe not so much. We're probably looking at two dead, now, if the cops are right about this latest guy." She makes a face, and then smiles wryly at Elliott. "This is the sort of thing that makes you say all /kinds/ of wierd things in earnest. I've talked very seriously about aliens, spies, and, um, graverobbing, just to name a handful." It's time for some more drinking, and Norah gets right to it.

"And all this on top of the world getting saved by mutants from a killer asteroid," Matt sums up, pouring out a third portion for himself, and abandoning the kitchen to go linger by the table and its foodstuffs. The ladyfinger cookies appear to have been gorily severed, if the deep red icing at the base of them is accurate. "2008's got to set a new record for crazy shit. But what grave are folks planning on robbing? We gonna get Egyptian pharaohs in on things too?"

Elliott takes a sip from her mug, grimacing slightly. "If I didn't know better, I'd think this was the premise for some really bizarre sci-fi production. Too bad the Doctor's just fiction, huh?" She scrapes her free hand through her hair, and shakes her head. "What the hell is /wrong/ with people?"

"Apparently lots," Norah answers wryly, eyeing the ladyfingers and then reaching out to take one. "And as for the grave -- well, it's just a guy in New Jersey, really. And it's less /robbing/ and more exhuming, but, you know, in keeping with the theme --" she gestures at the decorations, "It seemed appropriate. He hasn't been autopsied to see if he has a chip, but he did display all the right symptoms, so -- if he was, that'd mean we could get a chip to test on and maybe see what it takes to deactivate it -- or something." She tests the cookie, and finds it to her liking, bloody icing and all.

Matt points a solemn finger at Norah and her ladyfinger. "First signs of infection, there," he notes, before claiming a seat on the couch for himself with a shamble-limbed collapse that just barely keeps his punch (fruity red, with floating bits of frozen strawberry gore) from sloshing out of the mug. "But that could be good. I mean, it's gruesome, but it's not like it could hurt -him- any worse to poke at it, yeah?"

"For theme's sake, I feel I have to warn against any reanimation efforts," Elliott remarks, though there's not much levity in her tone. She takes a seat on the floor nearby the couch, cross-legged and apparently comfortable, and cants her head to peer up at Matt and Norah. "They have any idea how long this has been going on yet?"

"That's /my/ thinking," Norah tells Matt, her vindicated tone indicating that not everybody she's talked to has agreed. She then nods at Elliott. "Definitely no reanimation efforts, right. My plan is we pull him out, take a look, grab the chip if we're right and feel really embarrassed and awkward if we're wrong, and then put him right back. No zombies involved, preferably." She takes another drink and settles on to the other side of the couch from Matt. "We're thinking it's been in /my/ head about six weeks. But the guy who -- well, who's going to be exhumed, he died way back in May or so, so whoever's been doing this has been chipping for a while, now."

"Probably ought to have someone standing by with a shotgun, or at least a really heavy shovel anyways," Matt counsels. "I mean, who knows how long a zombie can survive without braaaains?" Doing his own part to continue the theme of the evening in spite of serious conversation, Matt extends the word in proper shambling fashion before reaching to tear off a chunk of the brainy bread bowl and dunk it in its contents. "Good luck on getting an exhumation order through fast, though. And god help you if the family kicks up a fuss."

"Hopefully you don't have to engage in any actual grave robbing for a good cause," Elliott adds on to Matt's well-wishes, pragmatic enough in her own offbeat sort of way. "...That long? Damn."

"Yeeaaaah," Norah says, and shifty-eyes a little, hiding her guilty expression by taking another drink. "So! We'll definitely plan on having a person with a shotgun or heavy shovel nearby in case of zombie-ing. Can't be too careful. Also, I think I might need some zombie-killing education from some video games before that time. What games have we got here?"

"Well, if you get busted for graverobbing, gimme a call," Matt offers with a grand sweep of his punch glass. "I'll bail you out." Thus with his participation laid out, he sweeps his other hand towards the shelving unit that holds the various proofs of apartment occupancy by two brothers. A significant chunk of the titles have -some- undead theme to them. "I guess the question is do you want survival horror, or do you just wanna shoot things?"

"Dangerous question," says Elliott with a laugh. "I think Matt's got all things zombie right here. And what he doesn't have, I can probably run next door and grab..."

"All right, you'll be right on the top of my bail-out list," Norah tells with Matt with a warning smile. "You shouldn't have offered, but I don't know if I want to be turning down potential bail, anyway." She then finishes draining her mug and steps forward to the shelves, considering. "You really do have quite a collection. I think survival horror -- I mean, we couldn't waste this ambience on just shooting stuff. I don't know. Pick out something that you like, either of you. You know more about this than me."

"Dan's been too under the weather to do -spectacularly- stupid shit lately," Matt assures. "So my Dumbass Brother financial planning can be applied to different accounts. Worthy ones." (Just in case Norah had any doubt that her chip wasn't important.) But with a challenge laid before him, he puts his head together with Elliott, and the conversation turns unbearably geeky for a time.



Zombie party!