AN sorry, long time no update )o: I will be better, promise!

Chapter Two: Stupid Sexy Zombie

Ross didn't understand why his new friend was so scared. He was curled up on the love seat (Ross's apartment only had love seats, and one super soft and extra snuggly pink bean bag chair) legs crossed and his back hunched over protectively. He wasn't bad looking, his face a bit craggy and his graying hair straggly in that avant-garde starving artist fashion, but there was just something about his appearance that made it seem as if something was missing.

Ross's fingers curled slightly as he assumed his adorable thinking pout. After a few moments, it hit him.

He walked across his apartment to his new friend, who recoiled slightly, "Got your nose!" Ross said playfully, pressing a very real human nose to a very nose-less face. Something gold flickered and the nose was absorbed.

The man stared back with suspicious eyes, "Who the hell are you?"

He waved, "My name's Ross. You're my new friend that I brought back from the dead!"

The man blinked, "What, why?"

Ross blinked too, "I was supposed to find a university named Malcolm, but that was too hard, so I decided to reanimate a corpse using nothing but the power of love instead."

The corpse who was no longer a corpse due to microscopic biological forces scientifically called 'warm fuzzies' scratched his head, "I don't follow you kid."

"Call me Ross! We're best friends now!"

"Okay. Ross, why did you need to bring me back from the dead? Hekate had it pretty squared away for me. Lots of cold beer-"

"Beer is bad for you!" Ross cut off, affronted.

Malcolm sighed heavily. "I was dead."

"Oh. Well I guess that's okay then. But you're not dead now, so no beer!"

Malcolm lowered his head.

"Anyways, you need to fall in love with a doctor named Kendra," Ross said matter-of-factly, wearing the big-boy toga.

Malcolm squinted his eyes, implying that his vision couldn't focus on stupid, "Love's…not really my thing." He grunted, "Maiming and torturing, those are my things."

"Well, being in love usually includes the other two," Ross compromised uneasily.

Malcolm stared at him, and a heavy, awkward silence stretched over the two. "Kid?"

Ross blinked, "Yes best friend?"

"You're alright."

"Thanks new best friend."

"But I'm not going to fall in love with anyone- hey, why're you laughing?!" Malcolm growled.

"You grownups and thinking you have a choice," Ross said between giggle fits. "You're so silly."

Malcolm sighed in aggravation. Stupid runt. "Whatever, one more question Ross."

"Hm?"

"Where are my pants?"

Ross rolled his eyes, "Don't be silly, dead people don't need pants."

"I'm not dead anymore, and I would very much like pants."

Ross blinked, owl-eyes in effect, "Oh. I suppose that would make sense."

--

He glared heavily at the object in his hand. It was simple looking, not very threatening, but it seemed to be the most deadly thing alive to him at the moment.

"Don't be stupid, Lambert," he said to himself under his breath, sitting under a large tree in some park, "Just call the number."

He then proceeded to have a conversation with himself. Out loud. In public.

"But what if she calls me a loser and hangs up?"

"Lambert, everyone calls you a loser. And just threaten her loved ones if she says she's going to hang up."

"But her saying it would really hurt my feelings!"

"Don't be such a mangy cur! You're an adult for chrissakes, not some whiny, emotional perma-teen like Stanton or something!"

"You know what self, you're right. I'm going to call her!"

"That's the spirit!"

"…tomorrow."

"NO! You have to attack when they least expect it, those Daughters of the Moon are slippery and tricky! Like evil salmon! That's how slippery!"

"You're right! I WON'T BE OUTCLASSED BY SALMON!"

With that, Lambert's fingers flew over the dial pad to his cellular phone. It was from the eighties. Clunky, with a huge ass antenna coming out of the top. Lambert was misinformed in thinking it was the most modern technology. He had gotten Jimena's cell number by emotionally harassing and threatening her grandmother into giving it to him. She was a tough old bird, but Lambert was nothing but resilient.

"Give me your granddaughter's phone number!"

Jimena's abuela looked very confused, "Who are you?"

"…I'm, uh."

"And how did you get into the apartment without a key?"

"There was a spare under the dead kitten-"

"Burglar! ROBBER! THEIF!" Cried Jimena's grandmother, grabbing a wooden spoon and whacking Lambert with it.

"What? No, that's - ow!- not it at all- hey, cut it out!- I'm in- DAMN IT YOU HAG STOP WITH THE SPOON!!"

"Get out, get out, get out!" Abuela screamed, really going to town with her culinary weapon, having a surprising amount of stamina and strength less accustomed to a little old lady and more suited for a pro wrestler. Lambert was tearing up with each hit. In a totally fearsome and diabolical way, of course.

"FINE YOU WIN YOU OLD BIT-"

Abuela gasped.

"-TER WOMAN!"

Abuela deflated slightly, as the robber in the black dress thing left quickly.

Three hours later, when she was busy making some sort of cultural dish because women only cooked in their spare time, Lambert snuck in through the window and stole her address book.

The phone was ringing. Lambert bit his lower lip in nervousness.

Ring.

Sweat beaded down his pale, pasty forehead. This was it.

Ring.

Oh god, what if she didn't answer? What if she didn't want to talk to the man who had tried to kill her multiple times? What if she disliked him?

Ring.

WHY WOULDN'T SHE ANSWER?! WERE THE GODS OF LOVE AGAINST HIM? HAPPY TO TORMENT HIM FOR ALL OF ETER-

"Hello?" Came the voice of his angel, his dark ray of sunshine, the light of his life.

Lambert breathed heavily into the receiver.

"Hello?" She was a little more annoyed this time.

The heavy breathing grew louder.

"Who the fuck is this? Collin, I swear if you're pulling some dumb prank I'm going to kick that tight ass all the way to-"

Her words were poetry to his soul.

The way she used the f-bomb, the physical threats against him…

Wait.

Who the hell was Collin?

"Who the hell is Collin!" Lambert growled into the phone.

"What the hell are you talking about? Who is this?! Wait, is this-?"

Lambert paled, "Wrong number, wrong number!" He said with a fake British accent, throwing his huge cell phone across the park where it hit a jogger in the head, causing his dog and newly minted bicyclist wife to start making cries of concern.

Lambert cradled his head in his hands. So. The love of his life, not counting his wife, had a friend named Collin. Who had a tight ass. And liked to call her on her phone and breathe heavily into the receiver. Lambert was not cool with this.

He pulled out a notebook from his robe, and turned to a page.

How to Snare the Angry One

1. Kitten of Love.

2. Small talk over the phone, avoid something called 'text message breakup'.

3. Don't kill her friends.

4. Yet.

Taking out a quill and ink well, because Lambert was all about old school, he scribbled down a number five.

5. Destroy Collin.

He looked at the list, and nodded, apparently satisfied.

He never gave up easily.