"Finally." Muttered Scapegrace, as two victims – both male – made their way down the street. One was tall, thin and dark haired; the other short and blonde. They were almost polar opposites. Both of the men were in business suits and carrying briefcases. Scapegrace noticed that the taller man was wearing rather unusual shoes: long, patterned with thick heels.
Scapegrace's legs had stiffened up, so it took him two tries to stand. He rose from the bushes, the branches sticking to the ugly pink turtleneck. The men stopped and stared for a moment, then the short blonde one squealed and ran off down the street, dropping his briefcase; papers fluttering all over the place.
The tall man looked at Scapegrace with an expression that was verging on annoyance. He placed his briefcase on the ground and smoothed his suit jacket. Scapegrace stumbled forward.
"Do not be alarmed, mortal." Scapegrace said loudly, "For it is I, Vaurien Scapegrace, The Killer Supreme and King of the Zombies: I will gui-"
The man's fist slammed into his jaw. Scapegrace fell, flailing his arms, back into the bushes.
"Jesus Christ!" Muttered the man, massaging his knuckles for a moment, then stooping to pick up his briefcase, "Its bloody November! Bloody trick-or-treaters."
After a few more painstaking hours, Scapegrace spotted another man approaching. He hesitated, but decided that this one probably wouldn't hit him. Hopefully.
The man was average height and fairly weedy. A scruffy patch of red hair was perched atop his head and a t-shirt with a hand holding a heart-shaped grenade on it hung loosely on his thin frame. His jaw set at an alarming angle, Scapegrace rose once more from his hiding place. The man looked at him with vague interest.
"Oh." He said.