Because I'd like to see where I'm going, he wishes he could say.
R hadn't even thought about the light issue. He watches as Howard sticks the batteries in and closes it up, taking the back flashlight skeptically. They're supposed to kill people in the Arena. He gets that. But - and he knows if he said this "but" outloud it'll piss off Howard - he's not sure he can bash someone's skull in. Maybe he's killed more people than he could count. Went in personally with his teeth. Somehow it's different with a weapon. R looks down at the flashlight that's heavy in his hands to Howard's face, barely visible except for a general outline.
Sighing, he reaches down and picks up what he can carry. He surprises himself by remembering the box of Animal Crackers. It might cheer Howard up to have some food, although R suspects he's going straight to the vents and eating only when he's sure it's safe.
R heads to the stairwell, trusting Howard's sense of direction more than his. He'd spent years shuffling into things, orientating himself, bumping off furniture. Following his nose and that sixth sense zombies had. Howard's more careful, almost elegant in how he minds the shadows as if he needs to make up for how small and weak he looks.
They eventually reach the stairwell, one of the glowing EXIT signs casting a cone of red.
"Is it locked?" R reaches for the handle as he speaks.
no subject
R hadn't even thought about the light issue. He watches as Howard sticks the batteries in and closes it up, taking the back flashlight skeptically. They're supposed to kill people in the Arena. He gets that. But - and he knows if he said this "but" outloud it'll piss off Howard - he's not sure he can bash someone's skull in. Maybe he's killed more people than he could count. Went in personally with his teeth. Somehow it's different with a weapon. R looks down at the flashlight that's heavy in his hands to Howard's face, barely visible except for a general outline.
Sighing, he reaches down and picks up what he can carry. He surprises himself by remembering the box of Animal Crackers. It might cheer Howard up to have some food, although R suspects he's going straight to the vents and eating only when he's sure it's safe.
R heads to the stairwell, trusting Howard's sense of direction more than his. He'd spent years shuffling into things, orientating himself, bumping off furniture. Following his nose and that sixth sense zombies had. Howard's more careful, almost elegant in how he minds the shadows as if he needs to make up for how small and weak he looks.
They eventually reach the stairwell, one of the glowing EXIT signs casting a cone of red.
"Is it locked?" R reaches for the handle as he speaks.