cxndyxsses-blog

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*C ONFUSED ALISTAIR NOISES??????*

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APPARENTLY NICK IS NOW A NICK MAGNET TOO.

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Were this anyone else, he might've been much more pissed at the obvious sarcasm. But this was way too odd.

At the muttering, he raised a brow, putting his hands in his pants pockets. "If you're trying to say I'm not real, buddy, then you're mistaken."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus, this is some weird shit."

Brow furrowed, his mouth curled into an ugly frown. “Great call there, Captain Obvious. Jesus, you think?”

"It had to be the oxycontin I took." He muttered. What other explanation could there be? …Unless the Green Flu virus inside of him was mutating and causing him to hallucinate.

That could be bad.

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And now he's just staring at.... himself.... again. He's pretty sure he has the same confused expression that the other him has.

"Okay, we need to figure this the hell out."

The conman just stands there bewildered. How many pills did he take last night?

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[cxndyxsses-blog]

Nick Factoids

A group of 4 Nicks or more is called a suit-- like a suit of cards.

More than one Nick equals either complete chaos or total cooperation. There is no in-between.

Likely, a group of Nicks in the zombie apocalypse would either attempt to shoot each other in the knees and leave themselves behind because they can't possibly trust themselves, or perfectly work together because there's no one else they can trust besides themselves.

One of the many phrases that a Nick would give another Nick in response to another complimenting them is "Damn right, we're that goddamn good."

Nick would probably reminisce about stuff that happened in his past with his other Nick counterparts, followed by the phrase "good times, good times" before they promptly act like the reminiscing never happened.

When having arguments with each other, if more than one Nick says the same thing at the same time, they will all proceed to stare at each other with cynical expressions before they say some variation of "fuck you", throw their hands in the air, and unanimously decide that the argument was not worth having.

Nicks will probably criticize each others' personality flaws, but instead of making it an argument they'll just continue to one-up each other until the inevitable point where they have nothing else to criticize. Then they'll just drop it and act like it never took place.

If one Nick dies, the rest of them will briefly act like they care before they promptly shrug, say "eh", then continue to go on their merry way.

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He puts his hands in his pants pockets, once again mirroring the other when he tilts his head-- but this time he shakes himself out of it, straightening his chin and furrowing his brows while he listens.

He lets out a very bitter huff of laughter, a slight smile on his face as he shakes his head. "Buddy, if you're dead or dreaming, I've gotta be, too. Jesus, this is some kind of weird shit."

He pauses to think for a moment at the question, pursing his lips before he shrugs, running one hand through his hair as he studies the other. "I'm guessing this doesn't have anything to do with the Infected... but I have no goddamn idea what this is supposed to be."

He's pretty willing to accept whatever kind of weird explanation that either of them could come up with, too-- but at this rate, it seems like it'll just be a lot of speculations.

          Very, very slowly, he draws his hand away from his gun and               curls his fingers against his palm, letting his arm swing freely as he               tilts his head at… himself.              ‘ —— I’m definitely dreaming. Or I’m dead. But I can refrain from                shooting you if you can return the favor.’           This is enough to make a person go crazy. There’s something so               surreal about the way the other him is mirroring him, seemingly               without meaning to. He exhales deeply, trying to calm his                rapid heartbeat. There has to be some explanation for this shit.              ‘So. This is a hell of a coincidence. Any ideas?’            At this point, he’s ready to take whatever crazy-ass excuse he               can and run with it. Anything to make some kind of sense out               of this mess.

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Send me "♥" to see how my muse reacts when your muse suddenly kisses them.

Bonus: Add a bit of tongue action.

[cxndyxsses-blog]

Anonymously tell my muse what the fuck is wrong with them.

[cxndyxsses-blog]

Nick still had his gun in his hand when Francis turned, though he kept it pointed at the ground. He realized that Francis was alone at this point, too-- he would've been able to hear if the other two were with him.

"Funny-- I should be asking you the same thing." He holstered his gun, putting his hands in his pants pockets. "I lost 'em, plain and simple. I didn't mean to, but now I have no idea where the hell they are."

He narrowed his own eyes, tilting his head to one side. "So what are we going to do about the fact that we have no groups? 'Cause I dunno about you, but I'd rather not stand here staring you down until the Infected come running."

That voice.

Brown eyes narrowed, and yet Francis kept his back to the conman. He wouldn’t give him the time of day. At least immediately. A hand braced on the shoulder of the Infected, using it as a brace for Francis to be able to rip the knife out of the Common’s skull. A vicious red stain dripped from the metal of the blade, and Francis idly wiped it off on the Common’s clothes.

"That bridge had a lot of shit on it. Wasn’t a bad bridge." He spoke finally, adding a chuckle at the end of his sentence. The area of Rayford nearby the bridge had mostly been raided of food and water. Some ammo and throwables were stashed aboard in the off chance the trio had to stay up there for longer than a week or a month.

"Where’s your group Nick?" Francis spat when he turned to face the conman, only to find the man was completely alone. His brow rose slowly, and yet he was not one to talk. Zoey and Louis were long gone, possibly off somewhere near the Keys. Damn his unquenchable hate of islands.

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Anonymously send me "❤" + a url and I'll kiss whomever it is.

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He's reaching back as well, inadvertently mirroring the other. "Whoa, let's not be pulling guns on...." He's not sure if he should say "each other" or "ourselves". His sentence trails off, and he shakes his head.

"Look, I have no goddamn idea what's going on here, but until we figure this out, let's agree to not shoot each other."

It's so strange to be talking to himself, or at least what he's sure is himself.

          Either this is a dream, or he’s finally lost his mind.               Or… there’s no way this is some sick new thing the               zombies can do, is there? Make him see shit that               can’t be real? Take his face and voice and just screw            with his brain?           ‘ — What the hell are you??’ He reaches back, one           hand seeking the gun strapped to his leg.               But it’s harder to pull a gun on himself than he anticipated.              ‘What kinda messed up shit is this?’

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It's pretty much official now-- there are now 4 active Nicks. LET THE LITERAL LEFT 4 NICKS BEGIN.

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+pistolsandmoney

pistolsandmoney

Nick is pretty damn sure that he's not hallucinating right now, but this can't possibly be happening.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?"

It's so confusing to be staring at yourself, when you know that you're you.

"Who the hell are you?" Great question, Nick.

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" 'Uncomfortable' is a goddamn understatement."

"Well this is uncomfortable.”

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+ah-tits

ah-tits

Cue Nick just staring at.... himself?

"You gotta be kidding me." There's no way this is real. Unless he's dead, or he's been knocked unconscious or something....

"Is this some kind of sick joke?"

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+that-biker-with-the-vest

that-biker-with-the-vest

At this point, Nick knew he probably wasn't going to be catching up with the others anytime soon. He knew they could take care of themselves, and he could take care of himself just fine, but he was honestly kind of getting used to being around the other three.

He wouldn't admit it, but going the apocalypse solo wasn't exactly what he'd wanted.

He'd turned a corner, expecting to find another Infected, but instead he found... Francis.

Instead of pointing his magnum at the biker and telling him to get lost like he so desperately wanted to, Nick just huffed, lowering his gun.

"Well, look who got off his goddamn bridge."

Francis might've been the last person he'd want to run into, what with the way they'd been clashing at the bridge, but it was slightly better than an Infected.

Keyword being slightly.