This is mine and Mira-Charma13's. I'm sure we will treat it with lots of love and care, so don't touch it and get your grubby little finger prints on it :3

Name: Charmase Basia
Age: Sixteen, almost seventeen
Gender: Male (born with both sets of parts, but predominantly male)
Breed Of Infected: Witch
Appearance BEFORE INFECTION:

Appearance AFTER INFECTION:

Name: Dale Rebord
Age: Eighteen
Gender: Male
Proud survivor
Appearance:

((Okay, how should we start this?))

I'll start if you like, with my person realising there's no way he can get back to his friends.

((Okay, that works for me! He could suddenly hear the crying of a Witch, then...and that's how I could introduce my boy into the picture. :3))

Dale remembered falling, so he wasn't shocked when he woke up. He was scared, but not shocked. He had fallen, and it had felt like he had fallen for so long, hands above him reaching out, but there was nothing they could do. He had moved just that tiny little bit, and now he was in the dark, god knows where. Was he still in the house? had he fallen through?

He tried to stand up, his head hurting and his left arm feeling slightly crushed. Still, pain was something he had learnt to put to the back of his mind, and he needed to look for a way back up. He must have been out for a while, because his friends weren't up there. He thought about shouting, but loud noises could easily bring a whole horde out to him, and he had nothing to defend himself with. He was a good fighter, but he didn't trust his fists against a whole army.

Hopefully, if his friends weren't at the top, they were working their way down to get him. They had promised to not leave anyone behind, and he had saved them plenty of times now. There was no way they could say he wasn't dedicated to the group, so they should come and get him. He flicked his dark hair out his eyes and started looking at where he should be going. His eyes had adjusted a little, and he could see the outline of something, a door perhaps? He took a few steps closer to see before hearing a loud wail, which caused him to freeze. He hadn't seen the figure near the door, crumbled up in the dark, looking just like something that had been knocked over at first glance. His eyes were fixed, and he was afraid to move.

The wailing, loud but not intentionally loud, was coming from a figure hunched over in front of the door. This figure was glowing red, the main glow coming from the bright amber eyes on its face. It had long, white-blonde hair, straggly from days of having not been washed. It had very pale, grayish-white skin, and the freckles on its face were easy to spot against the pallid skin.

Tears were streaming down from those amber eyes. There was a sad, helpless expression on its face. It would have looked totally harmless...

...if it hadn't had its claws. In place of fingers, the creature had razor-sharp, foot-long black claws. It reached a hand up as it wept, to wipe away some stray tears from one of its eyes. It used only its knuckles to do so, since the claws couldn't be used for such purposes anymore.

Its shoulders were shaking slightly. It must have been cold...the heating was out in this building, and it was clad only in a torn shirt and torn underwear.

Rumors were passed around groups of Survivors very easily. The crying ones were to be avoided, as most Survivors warned...

When he saw it was distracted, he took a step or two back, away from the horrible creature before him. He had always joked with his friends about how all girls did in life was cry for attention, and now even in the afterlife they were doing it too. Hearing that noise though...that wasn't just crying. It didn't sound like normal crying. That wail, it was more horrible then any crying. If pain had a sound, in his mind, that's what it was.

He had to think, even if it was hard. He would either have to kill it, which didn't seem likely, or stop it hurting him for long enough to get through the door. It looked like a sturdy door, it probably couldn't be opened or torn through by this witch. He looked around for what was nearby. Nails, bits of paper, a small bit of wood...it looked hopeless. Hmm..actually...there was something crumbled up just behind his right foot. He bent down slowly to grab it, and found it was soft. It was a blanket, it pretty good condition.

He held a corner in each hand, then taking a deep breath, threw it over the witch. His plan was simple, she would try to get it off, and get her claws tangled in it. Either that or she would rip through it like butter and he was done for. He got ready to run for it, to run over or past the horrible creature and to get through that door.

The Witch's crying abruptly stopped, replaced with a soft gasp. It was very still for a moment, and then it began to shift slowly, poking its head out from underneath the blanket. It was easy for this particular Witch, it seemed, to stay calm. After all, the blanket didn't seem like a threat. In fact, it was rather warm and soft...and since the cold had been getting to the Witch, the warmth was welcomed.

The soft little growl that had been building up in the Witch's throat dwindled away when the blanket slipped slightly, falling so that it hooked around its shoulders. It provided warmth...something the Witch needed to stop its shaking.

It sniffed slightly, the whimpering cries beginning again, and then glanced in the direction where the blanket had so mysteriously been thrown from. There was a figure there, not close enough to scare the Witch or possibly intend to harm it. So, the Witch stayed put...

Something was a little off about this Witch, and it was even more obvious when it shifted. It...was completely flat-chested...

It wasn't something he was looking for...he wasn't into that kind of thing. He didn't want to look, certainly didn't mean to. Just...they had always talked hadn't they? About how it was the barbie girls that would become witches, the big boobed fake girls. This one had nothing, nothing at all, and now he thought about it there was something a little odd with what he had seen of the creatures face as it had peeked out from the blanket. That wasn't as barbie like either.

He had been surprised when it had stopped crying too, and when it had done something almost as human as made itself warm, but it was looking in his direction and he didn't like that at all. He prayed that it would just leave him alone until the others came, that they were coming, that they would be there soon. If he had been a lesser man, he felt like he would be making the same noises as the zombie.

The Witch, now crying at near-full volume again, continued to fix the human with that odd, glowing stare. For now, it didn't seem hostile...but it would probably get naturally territorial if approached, and start to stand. Some Witches were more tolerant of others. The smaller ones tended to get more easily annoyed, possibly out of fear of being harmed.

The Witch pulled the blanket more around itself, and the shaking slowly began to fade away until it was no longer shaking. There was an odd semblance of satisfaction on the Witch's face...it had to have been suffering from the infernal cold, especially at night, seeping into the house from outside.

It seemed to like the warmth, and although he wasn't planning to make friends with it, he wanted it to let him live, at least for now. In his eyes, it was still a monster, they were all monsters, and just because this one was different, didn't make it any less monster. He looked around again, this time daring to slowly move things. He found an old box, and when he opened it he found another blanket along with some more paper with various things written on it he wasn't interested in.

He held it just like before, and then threw it over the witch, yet again praying it wouldn't take it to be a threat and start ripping him apart with those claws. He took the opportunity, when he was a little closer then he would dare without something warm, to look at the creature. It did look different like he had thought. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he was sure it was something obvious. What did he care? He was killing the zombies, not studying them. Soon as his friends showed up, he would put rounds in that monster fast as he could. Well, that's what he told himself, trying to be macho.

With the addition of the second blanket, the first blanket slid off of the Witch's shoulders. Puzzled, the Witch shook its head around until the second blanket slid off and onto the floor. Gingerly, it reached one of its clawed hands out and scooped up one of the blankets, awkwardly slipping it over its shoulders again. Once it was secure, the Witch took the second one and laid it out on its lap, drooping back slightly to cover part of its back.

It was cold...really cold. The second blanket helped it out, and a semi-peaceful look, despite the crying, fell over its face.

It had a small, freckled face...a pretty face, even in the heat of the infection. It was small, skinny, like it hadn't eaten in days. It was also rather frightened-looking...of what, it wasn't clear.

He wondered if noise would attract its attention. It seemed to be more advanced then most others he had seen. Most just...stood there, some with their heads against the walls. You could pick them off one by one and they didn't even seem to notice those around them were dying most of the time.

He felt stupid, but he also felt like he had no other choices. There was nothing more to give it, he had to try his luck. "Hi..." He didn't want to say anything more then that, and he had already made sure he was way out of any distance that could be thought of as dangerous to it. He smiled almost actually, thinking how weird it would be to have a zombie as a friend. You could scare everyone into doing whatever it was you wanted.

The Witch blinked, tears still streaming down its face. It glanced over in the human's direction, its sad and slightly curious expression very overwhelming. Witches were thought to look sort of helpless and cry to lure in hapless prey...

But this one had no traces of blood on its body, or even on its blade-like claws. There were wrappers and small plastic cellophane materials laying around the room...possibly things that had been used to enclose candy and sweets. This particular room, small and musty without any windows, had probably been a pantry...had this Witch chosen this room as its habitat for the food? There was no food left...so, it must have run out in the past few days.

The Witch's too-skinny frame spoke of hunger, near-starvation. It probably hadn't eaten anything at all since the food in the pantry had run out.

It seemed to have heard the human speak, and understood the word to be a greeting. But in its current, pained state, there was no way of even thinking of communicating through words...

He didn't even realise until he started to feel the pangs of hunger himself. The witch was thinner then anyone had ever said before, so either it was hungry, and hadn't eaten, or they had been awful storytellers. Then he realised that meant one of two things. Either, they were always that thin, and it wasn't hungry...or it was starving, but wasn't going to eat him. Well then what did it eat? There was no food around...so maybe everything? Why did he care? He wasn't going to go out and get food for the stupid thing.

He stepped back and the floor made a noise. He lifted up his foot and saw a sweet rapper on the floor. At first he thought that it had fallen out his own pocket, but then he slowly noticed more and more around the floor, and even caught on the witches claws. He dug into his deep pockets, and brought out handfuls of sweets that him and his friends had borrowed from a shop, after shooting what had once been its owner.

Holding about twenty out, Dale slowly stepped closer and closer to it, until he was only a few feet away. He laid them out on the floor, and then unwrapped one, leaving it on the now empty wrapper instead of on the floor. That way at least the plastic wouldn't get stuck in its claws. He didn't want it to get annoyed by anything.

The Witch's crying began to dwindle away again once the human pulled something out of his pocket...and then suddenly, it perked up, sitting up a bit more, sniffing the air curiously. Sugar...that was the only thing that registered in its mind. Witches had a physical addiction to sugar. Without it, they became more irritable and nasty towards humans, and even other zombies.

Once the sweets were set out and the human had backed away from them, the Witch slowly began to uncurl itself from where it was on the floor. It placed its hands on the floor, and its arms shook with the effort as it slowly began to rise into a standing position. This usually meant it was hostile...but it wasn't.

It shuffled just a few feet forward, still blocking the doorway, and leaned down. It brought one of its hands down and deftly caught the chocolate between two of its long claws. It brought it up to its mouth and began to nibble on it, eagerly.

He moved back quite a bit, and seeing it step a tiny bit away from the door had to stop himself punching his own ribs. If he had laid them out in some kind of trail, he could have got it away and he could have been long gone! He sighed and then just decided to give up. Even when he got out, there could be millions just on the other side of that door, then he would have no chance.

He was to stay put, he wasn't really safe, but safer then the unknown out there. He flicked his hair out his eyes again, and then looked at the witch. There was some more strange things he was noticing. The witch was wearing boxers, boys underwear. It had a strangely and almost hauntingly beautiful face, but something about it was strange, he still couldn't place it. Wait...was this a man? It certainly looked more like one then any women he had expected to be changed. He shook his head. What difference did it make?

The Witch was indeed male. He had lived in this house--a rather large, pricey mansion--before being changed. His mother had changed first, and had murdered his father and little sister. She had bitten him, but hadn't killed him. He hadn't left the house since his change, and had instead proceeded to make use of all the food here. He ate everything sugary first, in the course of a week. It took another three days to eat everything that wasn't appealing, and now there was no food left.

He quickly dug into the rest of the offered sweets, slicing the wrappers off of the candies with ease using his sharp claws. He had finished about a quarter of the candies before he stopped, and simply sat down beside them. He would save the rest for later...if he ate them all now, he would have no food left...

He found it odd how a creature that was meant to be ruled simply by instinct was saving food...then again everything was odd with this one. He had tried to talk to it once, but it was so much quieter now, maybe it felt better? "Hello?" Maybe the change hadn't worked right? Maybe it still had some human values? Maybe it would just let him go if he traded some more sweets with it or something.

Either way, it was worth a chance. He didn't feel like the thing was going to hurt him, as long as he kept it clear he wasn't a threat. Slowly he crawled in front of the witch, still a good foot or two between them. He held up his hands to show they were empty, then slowly moved his hand near the others claw. He kept looking at it instead of at his hands, to show that he was serious, and didn't want to hurt it in any way. Even if he did, there was no way he could.

The Witch's gaze snapped up to him again when he spoke. The word was understandable...another greeting. Still, he had no way to really respond...he was not good with talking, considering that he hadn't been around anyone since his change and had just a few memories of his home life here.

The tell-tale groans of irritation began to build up in the Witch's throat when the human approached, and he made moves to stand up. But he didn't. He stayed where he was, one hand guarding over the candy instinctively and the other poised but relaxed...ready to strike if he was threatened.

His arms had started to shake. ...He wasn't cold...he still had the blankets on him. So that meant...

He was scared?

He had noticed that the zombie wasn't looking too much like it was going to hurt him, and that it seemed to respond when he spoke, whether it was because it was sound, or if it actually knew what he was saying. "I...I don't want to hurt you." It wasn't like I could if I wanted to... "Please don't hurt me either...can you understand me?"

He stretched out and gently touched the cold skin of what was left of his hand, trying to bring out something human...if there was anything at all. He was still ready to tug backwards, in case he some how was mistaken to be a threat. He had never been too threatening. He preferred to lead and look after other people. Even now his natural need to do what he had been doing to survive for so long was kicking in.

He saw how he guarded his new found sweetie trove, and brought out some more from his pocket, slipping his hand slow under the others clawed one, adding to the small hill of sugar.

The Witch's growl-groans grew a bit louder, and his shoulders raised up to his chin. He glanced down at the hand on top of his hand, brow furrowed slightly in confusion. The few humans that had passed by him, or had gone through the house in an attempt to raid food out of it, had been disgusted by him...had avoided him. He'd just stopped making an effort to appeal to them.

This one was not like that. This one had even reached out and touched him...and offered him food. More food, to be precise...he noticed the human slipping more sweet treats into the pile he was guarding with one of his clawed hands. He sniffed--even though he wasn't making too much noise, he was still crying. The tears streamed down from his eyes in a seemingly unstoppable deluge.

He gave what looked like a hesitant, half-hearted nod in response to the human's question.

His heart was racing inside his chest. He was trying to be friendly to something that should be wanting eat him, to hurt him without feeling or emotion. Instead he was giving it sweets and actually touching the strange thing. He hoped it was just this one that was harmless. He wouldn't be too happy to hear he had killed others that weren't actually dangerous. What did make this one different?

He wasn't sure he should move again for a little bit. He wanted it to get used to him being around. Actually...now he was so close too it, why was it crying? He had always thought they cried just to lure people to them, not because they had a grasp of emotions. This one had prey now, if it wanted to think of his as such, and was still crying, although not as loud. Maybe it actually was upset?

"What's wrong?" He said it partly out of curiosity and partly from his own instinct to try at least for help. The longer he stayed there, his hand on the others, he started to remember that the witch in front of him had been a person, with real dreams and emotions. He wasn't even as twisted as he had been described. He was actually rather good looking for a zombie.