cryingontheinside: (☣ anyway i'm the ninja)
2011-09-22 01:31 pm

002. If you complain once more. You'll meet an army of me. [backdated]

A. Action on Goldberg Street or anywhere in town.

[Dexter has gathered for himself quite a little cache of weapons. Knives, mostly, though he did take the initiative to purchase a gun with his first paycheck here. He had become quite attached to his gray henley back home but of course without it or any of his supplies here he was a bit out of his depth. Still he did the best he could with what he could find, a pair of science goggles and rubber gloves accompanying his look as he kept an eye out for children who might need his protection. Something to kill also, wouldn't escape his realm of interest.]

B. Action for his household or any zombies/guests who might try to get in/seek protection.

[Dexter handed out the gloves and goggles to match the ones he wore for his 'children' and Rita. It was his job to protect them in any way he saw fit and he fully intended to do everything in his power.]

Remember, keep your mouth shut and cover your nose. [Now to board up the windows...]
cryingontheinside: (Default)
2011-09-11 04:00 pm

001 // Don't worry now. It's all under Control.

A. Action for Rita.

[Dexter curls into the warmth of the other person in bed briefly before FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT. Like the quilt goes flying level of what just happened.]

Rita, I'm late. Sorry--I have to go.

B. Action for all of 830 Goldberg St.

[After his minor heart attack he's scoping out the house still in his pyjamas to see if there's anyone else in his house. Ignore his impromptu weapon of a fire-poker]

C. Phone.

So, this is new. I went to sleep in Miami and woke up in 1952. What a fun trick.

[yeah if he stays on the phone more than this he's going to flip out... but okay he needs to introduce himself first]

Dexter Morgan. Blood spatter pattern analyst. ...Or I was. DNA hasn't even been discovered yet, so I guess that makes me. [ pause ] Obsolete.

D. Open Action Goldberg St & beyond.

[Dexter isn't too happy with his wardrobe though it pales in comparison to the rest of this place. Where are his palm trees? His 100% humidity. His mother-of-pearl buttons. Everything is wrong, and he hates being out of control for even one second.

Virtually incapable of looking casual when it's usually as easy as breathing, Dexter meanders warily down the street, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched.]