"Not even clear cocktails?" Fiona asked with a raised eyebrow. "Wow, you must be so much fun at parties."

Keith watched as the neighboring house washed away the vandalism left there the night before, red words streaked across white paneling spelling out the words, ‘Murder House’. Dumb fucks got the wrong address. He couldn’t help but let out a brief laugh, though mostly he just found it annoying. The wrong house was getting the attention. He thought about fixing the situation, but it wasn’t really worth the effort in his opinion.

Fiona had been in a bad mood for weeks, what with Skinner's disappearing act. She'd done it herself many times: gone into hiding without so much as a note to explain why. But that was her. She was the one who was allowed to come and go as she pleased, not Skinner. He was supposed to be reliable and stay in the basement. His sudden departure had pissed her off. Still, the sight of some new graffiti on the house opposite, spotted from an upstairs window, had perked her spirits a little. She ghosted down to the front garden to get a closer look, glancing at the direction a laugh came from. "Since when the hell did we lose our title to some random neighbours?"

Fiona hummed quietly as she headed down a long stretch of road, keeping just out of view of the asphalt in case of passers-by, and setting her eyes on the destination. She’d noticed it from the house she’d stayed in the night before, a smoking car, crashed pretty recently from the look of it as she got closer. Fiona wasn’t bothered about helping any injured passengers, and was glad to see that the two bodies in the front seats were already dead- their heads smashed against the steering wheel and dash. That made it easier. She wrenched a door open, digging deep into the pockets of the passenger and pulling out a wallet. “Jackpot,” she smiled, dropping it into her pack, before grabbing the bottles of water near the passenger’s feet.

Fiona was so focused on her new haul she barely noticed what was going on around her. Sure, there was a rustling, but the wind was getting heavy and there were plenty of dead leaves around. It was only when she heard somebody call out that she dragged her eyes away from the wreck. Her gaze quickly fell on the gross torso, it’s head half-rotting and a few straggly entrails remaining from its legs. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so gross. She rolled her eyes, pulling out her dagger and casually making her way over to the walker. She put a boot firmly between the shoulder-blades, pushing it, snarling, into the dirt before leaning down and driving the blade through what was left of its skull. The rush of adrenaline never got old, and she took her time pulling the dagger back out of the corpse before turning her attention to the stranger who'd given the heads up. "You always hide in the bushes spotting walkers?" she asked, slipping the dagger back into her belt.

A smile turned into a smirk, and the vague answer was all the confirmation Fiona needed to know that the man opposite her wasn't among the living. "I've been here a while now, too," she answered, flashing him a grin. "I forget exactly how long."

She took the bottle with a slight smile of thanks, relishing the cold touch on such a hot night. "Thanks, Ricky." Sipping the beer she eyed the man thoughtfully, wondering if it was worth trying to kill him or at least torture him for a little late night thrill. "So, are you new around here?"

Fiona was good at reading people, but this weird bespectacled stranger had her stumped. He seemed innocent enough, but there was something about her warning her to keep her distance. Of course she never listened to that little voice. "Fiona," she smiled sweetly, smoothing the corner of the blanket. "Yours?"

"I'm a fan of some parties," she answered with a sly grin. Namely parties in which she could have a little fun with the switchblade currently hiding in her bra, or a knife they'd used two minutes earlier to cut a cake of some sort. No party was complete without a maiming or two. "I prefer my guests to have a little less fun then they're having downstairs." She pulled away, settling herself down on the edge of his blanket. "You don't look familiar."

With a six pack of beer and a blanket under his arm, Ricky ghosted from his spot in the backyard onto the roof. While he had been enjoying his time roaming the party, fireworks were starting soon and he wanted to have a decent view. Once on the top of the building, he set down the beer before slowly unfolding the blanket. With an easy flourish, he put the blanket onto the roof, placing the pack in one of the corners to anchor it. The man smiled to himself, moving to lay down. After a moment he was finally comfortable, bespectacled eyes staring straight up to the sky, waiting for the first of the fireworks. He didn’t bother to look when he heard someone else on the roof, knowing they’d either leave or talk to him - both options he wouldn’t mind.

Fiona wasn’t fond of huge parties. Sure, the writhing bodies made a great hunting ground, and the more liquor drank the easier it was to separate them from the crowd, but it was always too loud, too claustrophobic. After a mere hour downstairs the blonde had reached her limit, ghosting to the roof for the illusion of fresh air. But even the roof wasn’t empty. Spotting the man relaxing on a blanket Fiona approached, leaning over to block his view of the sky. “Cosy. Not a fan of parties, huh?”

It’s not my first time, Damian. I’ll be fine.

Well, aren't you just the sweetest? You wanna come down and die with me? Or do you have something better to do?