What? Doesn't...doesn't he need them? R stoops down - slowly, like an old lady with her joints creaking - and picks them up, shoving the cans in his pockets. He misses the first couple of tries, used to his hoodie and finding the pockets have moved. Whatever muscle memory he had, he has to start over.

Are you sure? he wants to ask.

"Owe..." R repeats. Oh, he does. Badly. But then Howard drops that name in his lap and R stares, forgetting about the other Tributes ready to kill just for the tuna he has in his pocket. "Aun...me. He..."

They don't have time for this, do they? The last time he saw him, technically he'd been face deep into his guts. He hadn't realized he was here in the Arena. Howard, though, Howard has that spooked look that he remembers in the closet and it's enough to make him believe Aunamee's a returning Tribute. R knows he has it in him to kill - could feel the hunger whispering they might even slap you on the back for this one - but he's tired of it. Tired of killing and eating. If he kills Aunamee, then what's another nibble? Another bite of takeout human? A slow shudder runs down R's corpse as his head lolls side to side, uneven and drunk, and he takes a hesitant step back from Howard.

"Keep...her...and you...safe," R moans. He can commit to that, at least. "Find...you again. How?"

Howard's small and smart. He'll have something figured out.