The Moon was slowly rising as Mikkaddo pulled up to the cemetery. He'd always enjoyed a good evening walk among the stones and mounds. He found them calming, and often found the only place of true peace or quiet was among the dead. He would sometimes joke that the dead made better company than the living. He felt something was off though tonight. He couldn't place it, and it wasn't actively unsettling, just . . . something wrong with the air almost. Like coming into a dark room knowing something is just barely out of position.
He passed it off though, moving slowly into his meditative state and barely touching the backs of gravestones as he walked past. Always walking just behind a grave, just before the one after it, careful not to tread on the corpses of the no longer living. He always respected the dead. The life he lived, it was better to show the dead respect than not, lest it come back upon you.
The feeling wouldn't go away though, something was off . . . he was sure that it was close, whatever was causing that off feeling, but he couldn't see anything wrong. Then it hit him, like a phantom in a dream he smelled something awful . . . like rotting flesh, but it was so faint it was almost not even real, it was so faint infact he was convinced it must be a fresh grave that had been badly sealed, it had been raining recently, and water did . . . horrible things to corpses.
The stench mikkaddo would be smelling was sitting at a bench, fiddling with some bits of his clothing that seemed to be holding on by literal threads. His tail, which was more of a length of flesh with enough missing of it that bone would faintly be seen through the seeping puss, swayed slowly behind him. The creature had hardly enough time to keep himself decent for the sudden company, wrapping his stomach up to keep the large gashes from being shown.
As it stood, turning towards the Wolf with a wide eye and a gleeful turn on the heal of his foot. The sound of bone grinding on stone would greet the Wolf's ears before the voice of the canine like creature did. "Oh pardon my mess..." Having no real accent, but speaking quite clearly.
It took little time for the creature, a mongrel of sorts with no specific breed or type, to offer a bow to the wolf. One arm folding over his stomach, the other folding behind his back as one leg crosses the other. "Just didn't expect visitors, though I didn't expect to be out tonight myself."
His upper half, bandages covering most of what could be considered fresh wounds, freshly coated with grime and spots of blood. Fur sticking out in some places in a disorganized mess of bandages. Mange or some skin infection looked to have ravaged this creature recently. His bottom half a pair of rather nice looking pants, hardly disturbed by the rest of the mongrel even with the seeping wounds from his feet and retched stench coming from him. He remained bowed though, the moon to his back, covering his face in shadow for the moment.
When Mikkaddo saw the creature he instinctively reached down for his guns, only to remember as soon as he touched the cold pearl and steal that there was no use in shooting a walking corpse unless you could blow the head completely off. The man seemed less than violent though, surprising considering the last encounter he'd had with the walking dead. "Uh . . . yes . . . it's quite alright, I didn't exactly expect company either. At least not company of your . . . unique variety. What brings you around so late at night in a place like this? deep unrest? or perhaps the memory of something that needs to be done . . ."
A bit cliche` to be sure, but it was always hard to tell what would happen next . . . he'd almost swear Dr. Creatio had something to do with it, but the man in front of him was rotting and spewing puss and a stench, and Creatio always avoided the long dead in favor of the fresh corpses, said they last longer . . . and no wonder.
Lifting his head when mikk question his reasoning for being here he chuckles softly, though the hyena like giggle was a bit gleeful for the place and time. "Oh you seem to mistake me for the body of the walking dead."
Standing back up he dusts himself off with a few pats, which made a more slippery wet slap against his body instead of soft pats. His face looking towards the wolf now, he had wide open eyes. As if his eyelids had never grown to cover the pearly globes resting in his head. They had pupils though, clear and bloodshot rimmed. And a nearly cocky grin on his face, though with bits and pieces missing he could be frowning for all the wolf knew. "Though me and them have quite the many similarities. I'm...hmmm...well you could consider me a fading memory if anything. Though tonight I hope to gain some of my..." He motions to his ragged body "composure back in time."
After gesture he took a few long strides towards the wolf. "OH! And I see you are armed!" He said with the enthusiasm of a happy child. "You don't expect bad company do you?" He says with a bit of a hopeful look in his eyes, and an excited swing in his tail. His paws clenched together in front of him as if to pray it were true.
He smiled softly, unsettled by his excitement. "Well, you can never be too sure what's going to happen. My line of work I often expect bad company." He looked up and down the body " fading memory . . . so you're not really here, hmm . . . how do you expect to regain your composure then? I mean if you're not really here, it seems it'd be difficult to gain anything. Unless of course you're not telling me everything."
His hands were at his sides, but resting near the pistols, almost seeming to take the cold air from off the pistols as a relief in the creature's presence. Something was very wrong with this situation, the man claimed he wasn't there but he was as visible as a living man, he could be smelled from almost a mile away and if Mikkaddo wasn't mistaken, he left a sticky puddle on the bench he'd stood up from.
He shakes his head, his paws moving to cross his arms at his chest. "No no no, any company is better then none!" Kicking at the ground slightly with one foot and a look of disappointment on his face. Though it quickly changed to a cheerful smile from him as the wolf asked about him.
"Oh! That is simple. I am a memory within a mind. Or, a mind in a mind if you could consider it possible. Consider the mind a parking spot sized grave." He said quickly, but quite fluidly. "It has quite the potential for storage, and the mind that usually is within it only takes up a limited amount of space. So in theory it would be just as easy to have two in the same space." He explained with some hand motions, though the motions seemed to be erratic to the objects he was talking about.
"And with the fading memory part, lets consider that those two people getting in arguments about which side of the hole they want. And whether one should be removed from the hole." He tossed his hands into the air in a silly manner. "But that is another story all together."
He takes another long step towards the wolf, the smile that was on his face the whole conversation growing bigger. Now within arms reach of the canine. "And to whether I am really here, yes...and no." He perked his ragged brow. "It all is applied to your idea of where is..." Pointing to the ground with both paws. "...here." His smile going away, being replaced by a curious look. As though he was wondering what was on the wolf's mind.
He watched the creature carefully, so that was it . . . a memory hidden away in another man's head, then if that was true, maybe it was all an illusion of some kind, if he wasn't really there . . . but close enough that when he was on the surface the body itself would seem to change, rot . . . perhaps the body was fighting him for control as much as the mind. He knew the creature was trying to know his own thoughts and so he slowly paced around him. Silent for a long moment.
"So then what brings you to conversing with me . . . surely a man such as yourself has a much more important battle hidden in that brain to fight . . . I'm just a passing observer, of no consequence to you or your battle." His hands stayed close to the pistols, almost like he was expecting something to suddenly happen. Expecting the creature to suddenly rush him with gnashing jaws.
He watched, the same curious look on his face as he turns his head. Bending backwards as he kept an eye on the wolf, though changing no expression or breaking his gaze with Mikk. The soft crackle of bones would come from the retched creature's back as he twisted it to keep up with the armed mikkaddo's form.
As the wolf came to his front after a few paces and asked him. He held up a finger to the air ecstatically and said "But that is it! You have no conflict with me or the other within his head! And to simply put it, leaving me the most to lose in such a conflict." His grin would grow to a devilish size, threatening to break the flesh that was held onto his face by so little. "Which I find more of a challenge then anything Mikkaddo." Stating that he knew the wolf's name. Both paws reaching into his own pockets to retrieve something whilst holding that grin.
He knew the name of someone he'd at least apparently never met, and he was reaching for something hidden. Mikkaddo decided it was time to stop waiting and pulled one of the huge revolvers from his holsters and pointing it at the man's chest, it wouldn't kill the undead thing sure, but it'd slow him down.
"How you know my name is unsettling enough but what really has me concerned is what you're grabbing for . . . so . . . what is it exactly?" He was very concerned, if this creature was really inside someone else, hew as curious how it could have items in it's apparently false clothing. But somehow it did and it was grabbing for something now.
He didn't recoil back from the drawn pistol. But looked down, holding that same smile on his face. Looking back up slowly as the smile faded. He shook his head from side to side with that unblinking gaze fixated on the wolf.
"I do believe you have forgotten that I am a memory. Not a body of flesh and blood. And the body that I inhabit right now is safely out of your gun barrels line of sight." Withdrawing his hands slowly, he produced a paper and a pen. "And it is quite apparent that just a memory can make you jittery. Sadly if I wanted to maim you I'd have to claim a less strong willed body." He brought the pen and paper over the gun. Writing something down, breaking his gaze from the wolf as he looked at the paper. "Now putting aside your death threat and my rotting persona, I think we can have a conversation about this challenge I wish to issue you." Looking over the paper at the gun welding one. "And if your wondering how I know your name, we've met before."
He slowly took the paper from the gun, replacing the gun in the holster and looking at the paper. "We've met before . . . really . . . you'd think I'd remember something like that."
He had to admit though, it might be possible they had met, he'd seen a great many strange things in his life. They say that having an interesting life is a curse, and he always wondered if that perhaps meant that after a while, you tend to forget some of those things. Or people as it may be, he'd seen too much he sometimes joked. And it was possible that the rotting persona, as he'd called himself had been somewhere in his past before.
"Oh yes we have, sadly I wasn't as dapper as I am now." *he wrote a few things down on the paper, the soft scribbling apparent of that fact* "And if your wondering why a memory would need a piece of paper to remember something, consider it a method of remembering when your own memory is being used to project yourself into the conscious of another individual, making it more then difficult to keep my projection down unless I make a memory of myself remembering to do something." *he puts the paper away under one of his bandages, stuffing the pen into a pocket of wraps on his chest. Giving it a soft pat, a wet thump coming with that pat*
"Being a personality within a personality isn't the easiest to do ya know. But quite entertaining I must say." *he crosses his arms in front of himself* "Now to the game at hand." *His smile gone with a flick of his tongue, licking over the top of his muzzle with another wet slap. The tongue a dark purple strip of flesh, disappearing as quickly as it had arrived*