"Eh, almost good as new. You might need glasses," Howard says, with a strange little chuckle that makes it sound as if he's trying to make the joke funnier after it's said than it actually was. He brings his knees up and drapes his arms over them, linking his hands together over his shins.
And then he gives R an incredulous look, like R's offered to pay for everything he ever wants for the rest of his life or something equally unbelievably generous. "Wait, wait, are you offering to protect me?"
Well, it's not quite the same thing, but it may as well be. Offering Howard the protection of the shadows and seclusion without having to leave them for food is a big deal. Howard lays the rat down on the ground in front of him and starts to pull it apart, tearing off a leg first and chewing on it, making sure to suck the flesh off the bones rather than swallowing whole.
He doesn't know if he wants to accept it or not. The last person he allied with stabbed him, in the back, in the stomach, in the chest. Aunamee kicked him in the back of the head and pinned him down while he choked on his own blood from his severed tongue. He'd plunged the knife between his ribs and said it was a kindness, and Howard believed it, because the escape of death was so much better than continuing to be cut up on the ice, than bleeding out from being run through. But when he'd woken up he was no better; free from physical pain, perhaps, but racked through and through by fear that was even worse.
He tries to look into R's eyes, tries to ignore the way one of them is slightly wall-eyed and unfocused, tries to see if he thinks R's going to turn on him too. He had two allies flip on him last Arena, lost a third to suicide. Every logical part of him is saying 'don't trust a zombie, don't trust anyone, you have to do this on your own'. Every logical part of himself says to look out for number one.
But R's face is, of course, inscrutable. The same zoned-out half-surprised gaze as there was last time.
"And what happens when you go out for rats and don't come back?"
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And then he gives R an incredulous look, like R's offered to pay for everything he ever wants for the rest of his life or something equally unbelievably generous. "Wait, wait, are you offering to protect me?"
Well, it's not quite the same thing, but it may as well be. Offering Howard the protection of the shadows and seclusion without having to leave them for food is a big deal. Howard lays the rat down on the ground in front of him and starts to pull it apart, tearing off a leg first and chewing on it, making sure to suck the flesh off the bones rather than swallowing whole.
He doesn't know if he wants to accept it or not. The last person he allied with stabbed him, in the back, in the stomach, in the chest. Aunamee kicked him in the back of the head and pinned him down while he choked on his own blood from his severed tongue. He'd plunged the knife between his ribs and said it was a kindness, and Howard believed it, because the escape of death was so much better than continuing to be cut up on the ice, than bleeding out from being run through. But when he'd woken up he was no better; free from physical pain, perhaps, but racked through and through by fear that was even worse.
He tries to look into R's eyes, tries to ignore the way one of them is slightly wall-eyed and unfocused, tries to see if he thinks R's going to turn on him too. He had two allies flip on him last Arena, lost a third to suicide. Every logical part of him is saying 'don't trust a zombie, don't trust anyone, you have to do this on your own'. Every logical part of himself says to look out for number one.
But R's face is, of course, inscrutable. The same zoned-out half-surprised gaze as there was last time.
"And what happens when you go out for rats and don't come back?"