R guessed the guy was going down swinging. He just didn't think he'd be this good with three against one.
He's seconds away from getting a bite in when he gets a mule kick to the chest. R staggers back, of course trips against the same overturned chair he shoved out of the way earlier and that does it, his sense of balance flies out the window. R goes down in a heap as the other zombies close in. Trying to scramble back to his feet, he looks up in time to see Karis trying to swing around Dinner's neck. Dinner isn't helping things by looking so amazingly Alive right now, eyes dilated in the dark, breathing heavy, moving so fast and fluid that R decides he wants to bite into those muscles and tendons and leech everything out of him.
Not that's how it goes. Not really. The hunger likes to daydream though.
R pushes himself to his feet and lurches back into the fray with a gurgle of his own. More black fluid's been kicked up, the sludge oozing down his chin as he closes, shoulder down like a drunk linebacker player. This time he shakes it up by lunging for the man's leg, trying to grab on there, throw his weight against his. Slow him down, mostly.
This is part where he should use common sense. R can't help himself - he immediately starts trying to bite through the pants into the man's thigh, holding on with a death grip, dripping black drool even though it's rude to eat with your mouth open.
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He's seconds away from getting a bite in when he gets a mule kick to the chest. R staggers back, of course trips against the same overturned chair he shoved out of the way earlier and that does it, his sense of balance flies out the window. R goes down in a heap as the other zombies close in. Trying to scramble back to his feet, he looks up in time to see Karis trying to swing around Dinner's neck. Dinner isn't helping things by looking so amazingly Alive right now, eyes dilated in the dark, breathing heavy, moving so fast and fluid that R decides he wants to bite into those muscles and tendons and leech everything out of him.
Not that's how it goes. Not really. The hunger likes to daydream though.
R pushes himself to his feet and lurches back into the fray with a gurgle of his own. More black fluid's been kicked up, the sludge oozing down his chin as he closes, shoulder down like a drunk linebacker player. This time he shakes it up by lunging for the man's leg, trying to grab on there, throw his weight against his. Slow him down, mostly.
This is part where he should use common sense. R can't help himself - he immediately starts trying to bite through the pants into the man's thigh, holding on with a death grip, dripping black drool even though it's rude to eat with your mouth open.