Julie takes it better than last time, but probably it's because he can't see her face. R can only guess from the level (too level?) tone in her voice.
The next things she says gives R real hope maybe they can work past the Cornucopia: she's talking instead of giving short borderline one-word answers, the bare minimum in a conversation because anything more might give a corpse time to get a bite in. She's actually rambling a little now, R relieved because he'll totally take that over the alternative. He even catches himself almost-smiling when Julie busts out her awful zombie impression. And no, it hasn't gotten any better, which is saying something when he's judging from blurs here.
He needs to give her a critique on Proper Zombie Posture sometime. Throw in How to Groan (And Do It Right) for free.
"Wouldn't...know. First big...huh-heat," R says, happy to have an honest to God conversation here. He'd never been in a desert before. Winters were another thing; he's done those. Maybe one day - if there's still those left with Julie and him - he'll tell her about it. R's skinny shoulders rise in a shrug. "Probably...ate...more than...others."
Not the most comforting thing he could admit, but as far as he's concerned, that has to be the only reason he's still staggering around in one piece for a zombie. It'd be so easy to lie down and let the sun bake him into the sand until he's as parched as the watering hole. Now that Julie's here, R's determined not to go like the other Dead she's talking about. R's eyes wander down to their linked arms like they have a mind of their own. With everything blurry, it looks like they've melted together at the elbow.
He's okay with that.
"You...liked desert...too?"
R's slow but for Julie, he'll do his best to keep up. The way she said Dad like she really meant to strike it out and replace it with a stiff "General Grigio". R longs to slide his hands around and entangle his fingers through hers, thread them together so they're not just smearing together in the heat. It's not a good idea. Julie herself even said she basically needed time. R keeps his claws to himself.
no subject
The next things she says gives R real hope maybe they can work past the Cornucopia: she's talking instead of giving short borderline one-word answers, the bare minimum in a conversation because anything more might give a corpse time to get a bite in. She's actually rambling a little now, R relieved because he'll totally take that over the alternative. He even catches himself almost-smiling when Julie busts out her awful zombie impression. And no, it hasn't gotten any better, which is saying something when he's judging from blurs here.
He needs to give her a critique on Proper Zombie Posture sometime. Throw in How to Groan (And Do It Right) for free.
"Wouldn't...know. First big...huh-heat," R says, happy to have an honest to God conversation here. He'd never been in a desert before. Winters were another thing; he's done those. Maybe one day - if there's still those left with Julie and him - he'll tell her about it. R's skinny shoulders rise in a shrug. "Probably...ate...more than...others."
Not the most comforting thing he could admit, but as far as he's concerned, that has to be the only reason he's still staggering around in one piece for a zombie. It'd be so easy to lie down and let the sun bake him into the sand until he's as parched as the watering hole. Now that Julie's here, R's determined not to go like the other Dead she's talking about. R's eyes wander down to their linked arms like they have a mind of their own. With everything blurry, it looks like they've melted together at the elbow.
He's okay with that.
"You...liked desert...too?"
R's slow but for Julie, he'll do his best to keep up. The way she said Dad like she really meant to strike it out and replace it with a stiff "General Grigio". R longs to slide his hands around and entangle his fingers through hers, thread them together so they're not just smearing together in the heat. It's not a good idea. Julie herself even said she basically needed time. R keeps his claws to himself.