R can ramble on and on about the differences between rat and human flesh.
Julie’s hand on his knee makes him forget what he’s going to say. It flies out the window. R’s mind blanks as he slowly glances down to look at her hand as if he sees it for the first time all over again, the spark of…something sizzling through him. R swears he can feel it like a kick to his brain stem. What are they talking about again? The warm touch isn’t comforting and definitely not creepy: what it is, though, is really, really distracting, R trying to scramble for his words like he has two left feet. When she touches him, suddenly it feels like the years worth of words he’s hoarded aren’t enough.
“Uhhh…okay. Sure,” R seems more dazed than usual as he catches up to Julie, watching as she casts about the place for any supplies. When her touch pulls away, everything fades back to that gray again.
The zombie starts to lurch back to his feet, remembering to keep his head hunched over low so he doesn’t brain himself on the caved in ceiling. He looks at what everyone left behind, luggage and Granny’s cane and what might’ve been a babystroller under all that rubble and it’s the same story like back home where they come from. Glancing over at Julie, he thinks he can see it there too, that realization. But there’s also something else in that Living face of hers: she’s planning, calculating and discarding faster than a corpse ever could.
“Catch…extras while…we’re at it,” R tries to be helpful. “Could…bait other Tributes…? They’ll…be hungry too.”
R feels extra sneaky with that suggestion. Zombies aren’t exactly plan-prone, so this is a brave new world. First thing’s first, though: feed Julie, strike that off the checklist, move down to the next item on there. R carefully pushes past Julie and heads for the exit, his hands groping for purchase as he starts squeezing his way out of the train. With his head hunched down, he misses the flicker of movement in the shadows, the nearly silent skitter of someone trying to be quiet while they scope the place out.
no subject
Julie’s hand on his knee makes him forget what he’s going to say. It flies out the window. R’s mind blanks as he slowly glances down to look at her hand as if he sees it for the first time all over again, the spark of…something sizzling through him. R swears he can feel it like a kick to his brain stem. What are they talking about again? The warm touch isn’t comforting and definitely not creepy: what it is, though, is really, really distracting, R trying to scramble for his words like he has two left feet. When she touches him, suddenly it feels like the years worth of words he’s hoarded aren’t enough.
“Uhhh…okay. Sure,” R seems more dazed than usual as he catches up to Julie, watching as she casts about the place for any supplies. When her touch pulls away, everything fades back to that gray again.
The zombie starts to lurch back to his feet, remembering to keep his head hunched over low so he doesn’t brain himself on the caved in ceiling. He looks at what everyone left behind, luggage and Granny’s cane and what might’ve been a babystroller under all that rubble and it’s the same story like back home where they come from. Glancing over at Julie, he thinks he can see it there too, that realization. But there’s also something else in that Living face of hers: she’s planning, calculating and discarding faster than a corpse ever could.
“Catch…extras while…we’re at it,” R tries to be helpful. “Could…bait other Tributes…? They’ll…be hungry too.”
R feels extra sneaky with that suggestion. Zombies aren’t exactly plan-prone, so this is a brave new world. First thing’s first, though: feed Julie, strike that off the checklist, move down to the next item on there. R carefully pushes past Julie and heads for the exit, his hands groping for purchase as he starts squeezing his way out of the train. With his head hunched down, he misses the flicker of movement in the shadows, the nearly silent skitter of someone trying to be quiet while they scope the place out.