At first R thinks it's not a bad way to spend the afternoon: almost break your neck, meet a friend, hand him dinner and above all else, don't eat him. He was bobbing his head in a silent "you're welcome" gesture when Howard thanks him, thinking things are pretty decent if not actually good, when the human suddenly starts babbling up a storm.
When he shifts to the side, he sees Howard staring. His expression is horrified, mouth parted in a disgusted "o". Uh oh. Frowning, R paws again at his face, convinced he has a hunk of rat - or, worse, another Tribute - stuck in his teeth. What if Howard was friends with those people he bit? This could be Julie all over again, except maybe worse: R would have to explain that those people might be well on their way to corpsehood. It's worse than being normal dead.
R suffers the next closest thing to stage fright a zombie can get. Clams up, goes even more stiff, every smooth explanation flying out his head. Is he going to kill this friendship already? Finally Howard says what the problem is. R actually sags in relief, his shoulders flopping down from an almost defensive hunched position. Compared to what he'd been thinking, his eye doesn't seem all that bad.
"Put...back in. My...good...side," R tries to smooth things over with a joke. "Can't see."
He pauses, thinking that's not enough, I want to give him more, and then reaches over with a hand, going so slow that it's a snail's crawl even for a zombie (he lets the Living boy next to him see it coming from a mile away). R nudges against Howard's shoulder with his fingers.
"You're a...good friend...Howard."
R means it. Really, he does. Howard keeps pleasantly surprising him at every turn with something he says or does, like music or offering to get his hands dirty in zombie parts. Most people aren't like Howard, fast on their feet, smart, open-minded. R starts to feel that warm glow from before trying to crowd out his usual hunger. His hand flops back down as R finally bothers to look around; cramped fake rock walls, red like the outside, paint peeling in places, in others missing entirely. Part of the scaffolding is exposed, giving even more hiding spots for those who can fit.
His eyes fall on the rifle next to Howard. Oh. Well, awkward, but okay, it makes sense. It's probably not there because of only him, R suddenly has a wave of insight wash over him. Howard is small, not exactly a muscle-head. Maybe he would present an easy target to the other Tributes out there...and he knows it.
no subject
When he shifts to the side, he sees Howard staring. His expression is horrified, mouth parted in a disgusted "o". Uh oh. Frowning, R paws again at his face, convinced he has a hunk of rat - or, worse, another Tribute - stuck in his teeth. What if Howard was friends with those people he bit? This could be Julie all over again, except maybe worse: R would have to explain that those people might be well on their way to corpsehood. It's worse than being normal dead.
R suffers the next closest thing to stage fright a zombie can get. Clams up, goes even more stiff, every smooth explanation flying out his head. Is he going to kill this friendship already? Finally Howard says what the problem is. R actually sags in relief, his shoulders flopping down from an almost defensive hunched position. Compared to what he'd been thinking, his eye doesn't seem all that bad.
"Put...back in. My...good...side," R tries to smooth things over with a joke. "Can't see."
He pauses, thinking that's not enough, I want to give him more, and then reaches over with a hand, going so slow that it's a snail's crawl even for a zombie (he lets the Living boy next to him see it coming from a mile away). R nudges against Howard's shoulder with his fingers.
"You're a...good friend...Howard."
R means it. Really, he does. Howard keeps pleasantly surprising him at every turn with something he says or does, like music or offering to get his hands dirty in zombie parts. Most people aren't like Howard, fast on their feet, smart, open-minded. R starts to feel that warm glow from before trying to crowd out his usual hunger. His hand flops back down as R finally bothers to look around; cramped fake rock walls, red like the outside, paint peeling in places, in others missing entirely. Part of the scaffolding is exposed, giving even more hiding spots for those who can fit.
His eyes fall on the rifle next to Howard. Oh. Well, awkward, but okay, it makes sense. It's probably not there because of only him, R suddenly has a wave of insight wash over him. Howard is small, not exactly a muscle-head. Maybe he would present an easy target to the other Tributes out there...and he knows it.