No Reservation

[Keith the Great]

(( *shoveling dirt onto Continuity's grave* A thread for Liz and I to chillax as sistahs from another miastah~! ))

Keith had lived in a hotel for a while, once. Well, maybe not in a hotel like most people lived in a hotel, but the storage closet was still in the hotel, and so he’d lived in a hotel until the manager kicked him out. The best part of living in a hotel though, besides free continental breakfast, was being high up and hocking loogies to the ground far below.

He wasn’t sure why there wasn’t any glass in the window, but it sure made it easier. He ducked under the rim of a window pane that was now fairly lacking in the actual ‘pane’ part, stuck his shoulders through, dragged a lump of gurgled saliva into his throat, and spat. The loogie sailed down like a bomb, dropping and dropping until it was out of sight. Keith watched, however, and a few seconds later one of the zombies below suddenly snapped forward and fell.

“Hell yeah!” Keith whooped, letting his voice echo through the town. “Bullseye! Double points!”

[Ellis]

(So this is Lizzie jus' finding out 'bout this thread. Heh heh heh...Whoops)

King’s Crest Hotel, huh? Ellis thought to himself, approaching the building. Sounds fancy.

Halting just outside the entrance, the white-haired man wondered if there were any supplies inside. All he had on him were dual pistols and a baseball bat. No pills. No first-aid kit. No big-ass weapon. Nothing.

He shrugged and decided he may as well look. No harm in doing that. But before he could take a step toward the doors, something struck him on the head.

WTF? Ellis lifted up his hand to touch whatever landed in his hair. Imagine his disgust when the ‘something’ felt wet. Looking at the liquid coating his fingers, he realized that it was spit.

“Aw!” The man frantically wiped the spit off on his pants. “That is seriously some nasty shit!”

[Keith the Great]

Keith, being naturally clueless, had decided that his starting success with striking zombies with loogie-bombs meant he should keep up the good work. He bolted from window to window, shoving his head through and spitting down below and watching zombies crumple beneath the awesome combination of disgusting saliva and two-weeks worth of toothpaste-deprived apocalypse-breath. He only headbutted two closed windows. The second one broke when he hit it.

The best part came when he looked out front. Right there at the front door stood a ghost, all white and spooky. Keith had had troubles with ghost, particularly troubles involving stabbing and wallet-stealing, so he was more than happy to lean halfway out the window, draw in as much spit as he could, and drop the bomb.

The spit fell. It seemed to spark in midair, plummeting until it struck right on target, perfectly nailing the ghost’s head.

“Aw! That is seriously some nasty shit!”

Keith blinked. The ghost had talked. Ghosts could talk? He’d never heard a ghost before. He knew zombies didn’t talk, but ghosts? Maybe it wasn’t a ghost? Only one way to find out...

“Hey!” he yelled, leaning further out the window and putting himself daringly close to a five-story fall. “Hey, you a ghost? Do ghosts talk? Who’re you?”

[Ellis]

Hearing a voice, Ellis glanced up to see a person leaning out one of the windows on the fifth floor. He blinked at the questions directed at him.

"Uhm...no. No, I'm not a ghost. And I don't think they talk!" he called. "M'name's Ellis!"

[Keith the Great]

Not a ghost, ghosts don’t talk...

Ellis.

Keith came infinitesimally close to jumping out the window right then and there. “Ellis?” he shouted. “Hol’ on, buddy, I’ll be down in a sec!” He threw himself back into the building and immediately ran for the stairs. The elevator would be too slow, he decided. Falling down the stairs might be fast, but if he broke his legs that wouldn’t work. He could slide...

The moment he reached the stairs, he jumped onto the railing and slid down the way, stumbling off and switching to the next flight whenever he needed. It felt like it took forever to reach the first floor, run through the lobby, and burst out the front door.

“Ellis!” he yelled, spotting the almost-ghost and racing over to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Ellis, what happened to ya? You look different! I had a feelin’ you’d be in Ohio, but I ain’t found Dave yet an’–” He paused, mussing the teen’s hair again, almost analytically. His face fell as though he were a child who’d lost a teddy bear. “...Where’d your hat go?”

[Ellis]

"Hold on there, man." Ellis held up his hands in a 'slow down' gesture. "You must be talking about another Ellis. I don't know a person named Dave, and I never had a hat with me. I'm Ellis Drake."

[Keith the Great]

Keith stared a moment. One could almost visualize the gears in his mind working, spinning away and trying to find an explanation. This was Ellis. And Ellis didn’t remember...anything?

“Oh my god!” Keith screamed. “Ellis has the amnesia!” He quickly looked around, to the street, to the hotel, back to Ellis. “D-don’t worry, pal! I’ll fix it!” It took him a moment to consider whether or not he actually knew anything about amnesia except that people forgot things. “Uh, well, in the cartoons they always hit the guy on the head to cure the amnesia. I think they had some fryin’ pans in the kitchen.”

[Ellis]

Ellis' eyes widened at 'fryin' pans'. "I don't have amnesia." he insisted. "There're other Ellises in the world ya know."

[Keith the Great]

“Well, fine,” Keith admitted. “You can be Other Ellis. C’mon.” He grabbed ahold of the teen’s wrist and started leading him back to the hotel. “We’ll go raid the hotel, an’ I’ll tell you all about my buddy Dave and the real Ellis.”