He stares at Julie as she brings up “nuclear vomiting”, whatever that is, and opens his mouth to disagree with her battle plan. He knows enough about Living to know a few days without eating will slow her down, like, a lot, and make her easy pickings – he’s killed enough starving humans to see the difference. Being slow is on the verge of dying. It takes a few long seconds for his face to catch up, his corpse slowly starting to scrunch its muscles and wrinkle his nose at the idea of Julie on the edge. Unable to dodge while another Tribute comes at her with a knife and too slow to do anything but bleed out.
By then she’s already jumping to the topic of rats. R wants to sigh.
“If nothing…else,” he replies reluctantly, nose still wrinkling. “Junk…food.”
It’s better than nothing, if not by much. Anyway, R thinks he’s going to be okay for now since he had that Tribute only hours before. He won’t take as long to starve as Julie. R tries to steer the conversation away from a zombie’s idea of junk food, thinking he’s smart enough to know a distraction when he sees it. At least he thinks it’s a distraction.
R leans forward, insistent, even if his face feels like it’s either frozen or sagging half the time. It’s a weird combo. “Hunt soon. You…need it. Can’t…live without.”
The problem is he thinks Julie’s definition of what counts as food is way too limited. The zombie way is preferably human, but anything with a heartbeat and warm flesh is fair game if push comes to shove. R guesses asking if Julie would like to turn temporary cannibal, just for the Arena, wouldn’t go over well. If she’s not willing, then that leaves them without a whole lot of options. R tries not to worry.
no subject
He stares at Julie as she brings up “nuclear vomiting”, whatever that is, and opens his mouth to disagree with her battle plan. He knows enough about Living to know a few days without eating will slow her down, like, a lot, and make her easy pickings – he’s killed enough starving humans to see the difference. Being slow is on the verge of dying. It takes a few long seconds for his face to catch up, his corpse slowly starting to scrunch its muscles and wrinkle his nose at the idea of Julie on the edge. Unable to dodge while another Tribute comes at her with a knife and too slow to do anything but bleed out.
By then she’s already jumping to the topic of rats. R wants to sigh.
“If nothing…else,” he replies reluctantly, nose still wrinkling. “Junk…food.”
It’s better than nothing, if not by much. Anyway, R thinks he’s going to be okay for now since he had that Tribute only hours before. He won’t take as long to starve as Julie. R tries to steer the conversation away from a zombie’s idea of junk food, thinking he’s smart enough to know a distraction when he sees it. At least he thinks it’s a distraction.
R leans forward, insistent, even if his face feels like it’s either frozen or sagging half the time. It’s a weird combo. “Hunt soon. You…need it. Can’t…live without.”
The problem is he thinks Julie’s definition of what counts as food is way too limited. The zombie way is preferably human, but anything with a heartbeat and warm flesh is fair game if push comes to shove. R guesses asking if Julie would like to turn temporary cannibal, just for the Arena, wouldn’t go over well. If she’s not willing, then that leaves them without a whole lot of options. R tries not to worry.