<strong>Character</strong>: Rich Han<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Gary Danko Upper Dining Area, Fisherman's Wharf<br/><strong>Time</strong>: Present<br/><strong>Attire</strong>: Running shoes, cargo pants, t-shirt, backpack<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: Rich, Rose<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>The back alley was much as he had left it, except now with a somewhat fresh and rather ugly zombie staring at the wall above his bike.  It did not appear to have disturbed the tarp, nor did it seem to be in any hurry.  Rich had seen zombies stand in one spot for days, staring blindly at some invisible point.  They weren't asleep, since even the slightest stimulation could revert them to normal.  He had often thought about what -- if anything -- was going through their shattered minds.<br/><br/>"Damnit," he whispered, backing out of the doorway and turning to Rose.  "Looks like a zombie wandered in from outside the alley.  It'll see us for sure if we go out, but..."<br/><br/>The nice thing about zombies, and there were some despite their obvious downsides, was that they were predictable when it mattered.  Sure, one zombie may wander aimlessly in an open space, but if you stepped out or made some noise, they would<em>always</em>make a beeline for you.<br/><br/>Rich squatted and grabbed a random fork off the floor, most likely knocked off preset table during the panic.  "...maybe I can distract it long enough for us to slip by."<br/><br/>He leaned back out the doorway, stabilizing himself on the frame with his left arm.  In his right hand he held the fork.  When he had first come here, he had walked his bike into the alley so that it was closer to the entrance opposite from the main street.  Less likely for a zombie or passerby to stumble on it by accident, although that hadn't stopped this fucker from wandering in here like it owned the place.<br/><br/>Rich aimed for behind the zombie.  He wanted to try and bounce the fork off the wall near where the alley ended so that it would skitter into the (hopefully empty) street beyond.  The fork was ideal: the metal would make a nice clatter on the brick, but it shouldn't be loud enough to be heard from more than a dozen meters away.  He hoped.<br/><br/>"Here goes nothing," Rich said, and then threw.<br/><br/>((OOC: Not entirely sure what I should roll for this.  Your call.))