Oh, so that's the deal. Makes sense. R would point out if he could that the Dead could get sick - eat enough non-human flesh and you just threw it back up and wandered on with your life reeking even worse than usual until it eventually washed off when it rained. He hadn't liked that much. Ruined his clothes. He'd stopped trying to eat wolf and deer a long time ago, probably faster than most other zombies. It's weirdly comforting to know they both don't care for puking their guts up. It's the little things you find to connect over, in his experience.

R wheezes out a sound that might've sounded like "blegh!" if he'd had a full mouth. It's surprising close.

He pats his pocket, then gestures at the can. How long can she save it? Will she keep it close to her heart?