Well, apparently when you spend your time playing with dead things, they eventually bite back. I'm not quite ready to be dead yet, though, because I haven't killed the people who killed my sister, so... [He shrugs.]
In my world the dead don't stay that way. They get back up and start trying to eat everyone around them. I've been poking them for fun and profit wince I was a kid.
[He takes a drink of soda, ignoring George's complaints about the potential for radiation, and that it's not real coke. He's probably going to have to find the real stuff later to appease her, but for now, she's not the boss of him.]
Pretty much exactly. But they're not nearly as good conversational partners, since their vocabulary is usually limited to--
[He considers the best way to explain this to him, leaning forward.]
Not all ghouls are lucky. Sometimes that high dose of radiation fucks with the brain, too. Makes them forget who they were. A kind of - oh shit, what's that word? Dementia. Can make 'em aggressive.
They attack people and get themselves killed. But there's no cure for it.
[Shaun considers that for a moment. He's still not sure he'd call Hancock's condition 'lucky,' but he guesses it's better than the alternative. He settled back into his own seat.]
For us it's not lucky or unlucky--it's every mammal on Earth. We die, we turn into zombies. The lucky ones get put down before they can do any damage.
[I guess that makes me lucky.]
Would you rather have taken me with you?
[No. I know I was lucky you were there to take care of me, even if I wish it hadn't had to happen at all.]
[Shaun is well aware that he's crazy, and he's no stranger to explaining that fact to others. He points to his head.]
I talk to my dead sister. We both know she's not real [he says like it's totally normal to assign sentience to your delusion] but ignoring her makes me want to swallow a bullet, so we talk. Well. I talk.
Weird, mostly. It's not really what I expected when I signed on for redemption. I was expecting... [He pauses. Well, I'm not really sure. Maybe Hell? Or Purgatory? But on a boat? I don't really believe in that shit, but it seemed appropriate.
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Yeah, you got me there. But why are you here?
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Yeah. And they look like me, I assume?
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[He takes a drink of soda, ignoring George's complaints about the potential for radiation, and that it's not real coke. He's probably going to have to find the real stuff later to appease her, but for now, she's not the boss of him.]
Pretty much exactly. But they're not nearly as good conversational partners, since their vocabulary is usually limited to--
[He makes zombie groans.]
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Sound like feral ghouls.
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What's that?
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Not all ghouls are lucky. Sometimes that high dose of radiation fucks with the brain, too. Makes them forget who they were. A kind of - oh shit, what's that word? Dementia. Can make 'em aggressive.
They attack people and get themselves killed. But there's no cure for it.
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For us it's not lucky or unlucky--it's every mammal on Earth. We die, we turn into zombies. The lucky ones get put down before they can do any damage.
[I guess that makes me lucky.]
Would you rather have taken me with you?
[No. I know I was lucky you were there to take care of me, even if I wish it hadn't had to happen at all.]
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No, I really wouldn't.
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I talk to my dead sister. We both know she's not real [he says like it's totally normal to assign sentience to your delusion] but ignoring her makes me want to swallow a bullet, so we talk. Well. I talk.
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[Well, honestly, he's heard weirder. And he's certainly heard voices in his time. Granted, he was very high, but still.]
You want to talk about her or should we pretend it's not happening?
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I don't want to talk about her, but you don't have to pretend I'm not crazy when you hear me talk to her.
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Instead, tell me how you're finding this place so far.
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Weird, mostly. It's not really what I expected when I signed on for redemption. I was expecting... [He pauses. Well, I'm not really sure. Maybe Hell? Or Purgatory? But on a boat? I don't really believe in that shit, but it seemed appropriate.
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