<strong>Alfred "Al" Birche</strong><br/><strong>Location</strong>: Baker family house<br/><strong>Tag</strong>: Rob, open<br/><hr/><br/>"Hey, don't worry. You got your skateboard, right? Whether it's a slasher or a zombie horde, you can outrun 'em with that, and your mad tricks, right?" He said, trying to be reassuring. "I'm the one trapped in a possibly-empty house and who can't run for shit."  He could walk for miles and miles through sheer perseverance and determination, through willpower and thick, muscular legs (the only real muscles on him); but running? He could only go for 30 feet in a dead sprint, if he was lucky, before he was gasping like a fish out of water.<br/><br/>"Nothing? Nobody? No night-lights on, no glowing tv sets?" He would frown deeply, and standing up, he would walk out of his room. He nearly ran right into a returning Mori,  but the kitten had quick reflexes, and nimbly avoided the boys foot. "Whoops, sorry, Mori." He could hear the clicking over the phone, and Rob just may hear the foot falls of Al; and, eventually, the creaking of a door opening.<br/><br/>"Fuck-nuggets." Woah, that comes from nowhere. Al usually doesn't swear. Words like 'fuck', to him, were like tactical nuclear weapons. You only used them when it was absolutely needed. And right now, the nice couple who were sheltering him and providing for his needs, were not in their bed. He went back to his room, putting on the speaker phone as he did so, and talking all the while. "My parents are gone. That's not like them. They don't ever slip out like thieves in the night."<br/><br/>He was quick to get himself dressed up. He had socks and boxers on, because that's what he always wore to bed. Soon, pants were on, and a shirt--flannel, despite the weather-- and all the while, Mori was sitting at the edge of his bed, now, half watching him, and half staring at the phone. "Where are you at, Rob? Maybe we should meet up."