R grunts out an amused “unghh!” at Julie’s response. His flattery isn’t wasted; he can feel the tension in the air relax slightly, no longer as razorwire taut, that eaten Tribute with his missing weapon sliding just a little bit further away between them. That grin of hers lights the world up, the decayed parts of his brain flashing like sparklers.
He’s dazzled all over again.
The zombie has a slightly harder time squeezing into the train after Julie. Usually his height’s an advantage when he brings down a full-grown man trying to fight for his life, but when narrow shoulders and a smaller frame are the name of the game, suddenly it’s not helping. R ducks in awkwardly, using the crushed door to force himself inside, feeling even bigger and clumsier than usual and bringing his head up to see Julie glancing around, like she’s casing out the place. Makes sense, her being General Grigio’s daughter. In retrospect, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she hadn’t done the same with his 747. Maybe she rooted through his collection and realized there weren’t any possible weapons. Food for thought, R guesses. It makes him look back on the last couple of days differently.
R finally manages to squeeze his way inside. If he has this much trouble, it means the other Tributes his size might be in the same boat.
“I’ll…bring them next…time,” R says. He stops himself before he shrugs. “Promise.”
The silence that falls isn’t comfortable or awkward. He isn’t sure what to do with it. R stands there while Julie sits and, after a long moment, finally comes up with the idea to sit across the aisle. With the train car crumpled, they’re close enough that he can almost bump knees with her.
Since they’re not going with his previous plan, R tries to be proactive. It’s harder than it looks, trying to look forward into the future and make plans and trying makes him all too aware of the cobwebs and dust in his head. R drops his stare from Julie’s pink flush to his own hands in his lap in order to concentrate.
“Metal…here. Weapon?” R looks up. He mimes a pulling motion, back and forth, aping Julie and him working a piece of it free. It’s no knife, but it’s something, right? As far as he can tell, the other Tributes are all Living. They tend to roll over even if they get injured in the stomach or anywhere that’s considered Not a Big Deal to a zombie. The problem is the same applies to Julie. She makes things…complicated.
no subject
He’s dazzled all over again.
The zombie has a slightly harder time squeezing into the train after Julie. Usually his height’s an advantage when he brings down a full-grown man trying to fight for his life, but when narrow shoulders and a smaller frame are the name of the game, suddenly it’s not helping. R ducks in awkwardly, using the crushed door to force himself inside, feeling even bigger and clumsier than usual and bringing his head up to see Julie glancing around, like she’s casing out the place. Makes sense, her being General Grigio’s daughter. In retrospect, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she hadn’t done the same with his 747. Maybe she rooted through his collection and realized there weren’t any possible weapons. Food for thought, R guesses. It makes him look back on the last couple of days differently.
R finally manages to squeeze his way inside. If he has this much trouble, it means the other Tributes his size might be in the same boat.
“I’ll…bring them next…time,” R says. He stops himself before he shrugs. “Promise.”
The silence that falls isn’t comfortable or awkward. He isn’t sure what to do with it. R stands there while Julie sits and, after a long moment, finally comes up with the idea to sit across the aisle. With the train car crumpled, they’re close enough that he can almost bump knees with her.
Since they’re not going with his previous plan, R tries to be proactive. It’s harder than it looks, trying to look forward into the future and make plans and trying makes him all too aware of the cobwebs and dust in his head. R drops his stare from Julie’s pink flush to his own hands in his lap in order to concentrate.
“Metal…here. Weapon?” R looks up. He mimes a pulling motion, back and forth, aping Julie and him working a piece of it free. It’s no knife, but it’s something, right? As far as he can tell, the other Tributes are all Living. They tend to roll over even if they get injured in the stomach or anywhere that’s considered Not a Big Deal to a zombie. The problem is the same applies to Julie. She makes things…complicated.