The touch of Howard's hand against his head almost sets him off into that haze again, like that hunger has to point out all he has to do is jerk forward and he could snap off every single of Howard’s fingers in one shot. Instead the urge paces uselessly in the back of his mind as R struggles to keep it together, his good eye fixed on Howard's as they come almost face to face.
He gnaws down on his tongue so he doesn't get too tempted.
Being close enough to see Howard's pores and feeling his stale breath tickling against his face isn't helping. What he should do is - what, tell him to stop breathing, really? Stop looking so delicious? Way to freak out one of the few friends he has. R defaults to an unblinking, dusty stare, which feels much much safer than saying what’s on his mind. He uses the time to commit Howard’s face to memory, every one of those pores and imperfections because he has no idea where Howard will be tomorrow. The Living aren’t exactly known for being reliable like that.
The eye goes in. While R doesn’t have vision suddenly flooding back in that side, at least it’s not flopping around all over the place like some rotting yo-yo. It’s a start. The zombie brings up a hand and touches his face, smushing his shattered eye-socket to test it. The eye rolls a bit in there but doesn’t fall out. So far, so good. Howard does good work. Didn’t even squish it. Kid should grow up to be a doctor.
“Good as…new,” R would give Howard a thumbs up if he could manage one.
The rifle gets blocked off from view as Howard explains. Easy target? R wants to comfort Howard, tell him that he’ll make it through the next couple of days. It’d be lying, though, because if he of all people could get up here, than another Tribute could too and what then? R tries to picture something happening to Howard. Imagination isn’t his strong point anymore, if it ever was – R tries anyway. He pictures Howard face down in his own blood, red and going sticky. Maybe swinging in one of Eva’s competently tight nooses.
The surge of sheer dislike welling in his chest cavity surprises him. It pushes back at his hunger as R gives a slow shudder.
“Keep…hiding.” R insists. He tries to give Howard a stern I’m the adult here look. It’s not too effective when he has a case of lazy eye rolling around his skull. “Try. Invis…” R pauses, then starts again. “Find you…food. You…stay. Hide.”
If Howard wants food, then R thinks he can hunt up all the rats he can for him. Food shouldn't be a problem.
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The touch of Howard's hand against his head almost sets him off into that haze again, like that hunger has to point out all he has to do is jerk forward and he could snap off every single of Howard’s fingers in one shot. Instead the urge paces uselessly in the back of his mind as R struggles to keep it together, his good eye fixed on Howard's as they come almost face to face.
He gnaws down on his tongue so he doesn't get
tootempted.Being close enough to see Howard's pores and feeling his stale breath tickling against his face isn't helping. What he should do is - what, tell him to stop breathing, really? Stop looking so delicious? Way to freak out one of the few friends he has. R defaults to an unblinking, dusty stare, which feels much much safer than saying what’s on his mind. He uses the time to commit Howard’s face to memory, every one of those pores and imperfections because he has no idea where Howard will be tomorrow. The Living aren’t exactly known for being reliable like that.
The eye goes in. While R doesn’t have vision suddenly flooding back in that side, at least it’s not flopping around all over the place like some rotting yo-yo. It’s a start. The zombie brings up a hand and touches his face, smushing his shattered eye-socket to test it. The eye rolls a bit in there but doesn’t fall out. So far, so good. Howard does good work. Didn’t even squish it. Kid should grow up to be a doctor.
“Good as…new,” R would give Howard a thumbs up if he could manage one.
The rifle gets blocked off from view as Howard explains. Easy target? R wants to comfort Howard, tell him that he’ll make it through the next couple of days. It’d be lying, though, because if he of all people could get up here, than another Tribute could too and what then? R tries to picture something happening to Howard. Imagination isn’t his strong point anymore, if it ever was – R tries anyway. He pictures Howard face down in his own blood, red and going sticky. Maybe swinging in one of Eva’s competently tight nooses.
The surge of sheer dislike welling in his chest cavity surprises him. It pushes back at his hunger as R gives a slow shudder.
“Keep…hiding.” R insists. He tries to give Howard a stern I’m the adult here look. It’s not too effective when he has a case of lazy eye rolling around his skull. “Try. Invis…” R pauses, then starts again. “Find you…food. You…stay. Hide.”
If Howard wants food, then R thinks he can hunt up all the rats he can for him. Food shouldn't be a problem.