#connor corpse

Tagged by: @jericholeader (more or less)

Tagging: the dash.

Bonus not-zombie Connor

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Appearance:

Standing straight, he is 5′10, but he is often slouching or leaning oddly. His skin is ashen grey, with dark circles under his glassy, grey eyes. Dark blue and purple veins are clearly visible under his pale skin. His dark brown hair is as disheveled as the rest of him. He wears a torn grey suit jacket over a dirty white button up with a black tie, lightly faded black jeans, and black dress shoes. He tries to keep his clothes on, but it is difficult for him to avoid damaging them when he stumbles around. Verse dependent; he may be wearing a visitor badge with his name and a picture from when he was alive.

Personality:

When he is not hungry, he is very docile and shy, tending to keep his distance from strangers. His mind is constantly working to keep his consciousness alive, reviewing evidence and continuously urging him to keep moving forward, taking the next steps. He has lost most of his cognitive abilities, but he can still recognize some familiar things and people, and will attempt to make contact with old friends.

He doesn’t speak, but he does make noise, especially growling. The hungrier he gets, the less sentient he becomes. Loss of control will result in him becoming aggressive, attacking living humans indiscriminately. When he becomes aware of his actions, he is horrified, and will go as long as he can without eating, but the hunger will always win out eventually.

Zombie lore: (content warning; puking, eating flesh.)

Connor was not aware of how he got there. Stumbling hazardously through the dense forest, he had no plan, and no conception of any reason beyond, "I have to keep moving." He reviewed the facts; he was well dressed, or would have been, before his suit was ruined by mud and snagging branches. That clue didn't tell him much, he might have been at a party, before the accident.

He was slow, and his body felt like lead to the point he could barely feel it. Connor groaned, frustrated, when his foot caught on another exposed root. A low growl crawled up from the back of his throat, surprising him. He stumbled back, his balance lost, and fell soundly into a shallow ditch. He groaned again, anguished and lamenting. It was hard to keep a coherent string of thoughts, but he kept trying.

Just like he kept trying to walk, or crawl, as he had to now. The mud was fresh and sticky, catching at his feet and threatening to take his shoes or twist his ankles. He growled in frustration, clawing at the side of the slope for purchase, but he couldn't get a grip on anything. He growled more viciously, raising his voice until he was practically howling; crying out for the pain of his situation.

He felt helpless; confused, disoriented, lost and alone, with nothing but the torn and filthy clothes on his back. His howling turned to something resembling a sob, crying with dry tears in a wet and muddy ditch. It was as good a time as any to take a break, though he was surprised to find he was not physically tired.