First Julie trying to figure out his name and then Howard, as if R hasn't put literally years of thought into this himself. "Rob" doesn't ping him either, his face going slack in disappointment. Somehow he doesn't think Rob was his real name either. Still, if it's a choice between Stinker and Rob, R guesses he can live with it for now.
It takes him a long moment to realize that the strange sounds coming from the other Tribute are...music? It sounds like music, vaguely like the records he has back in his 747, only different. Humming. This is what real humming sounds like, not the weird sound that comes from the Bonies. R tilts his head, his mouth parted behind the muzzle as he studies the Living across from the table.
"How. Ward," R says, stretching the word out like he did with Julie's until he got to her name under control. Breaking it up into easier to manage chunks seems to work. "I..."
R looks down at the menu. The words swim, the characters dance and twist and it's just like trying to read the posters at the airport. He has the sense that he should know what it says, but that connection isn't there. Severed, like it got bitten off and chewed up and there's only mush left. R shrugs helplessly, trying not to look too frustrated at Howard's question. Not being able to read is something of a sore point, like "hey, you're still dead today? That sucks, buddy" kind of sore.
"Could," R looks up from the menu at Howard, then at the waiter serving another table. "Eat him."
It's a joke. Mostly a joke. R wouldn't say no, though, if it stopped being just a joke.
no subject
It takes him a long moment to realize that the strange sounds coming from the other Tribute are...music? It sounds like music, vaguely like the records he has back in his 747, only different. Humming. This is what real humming sounds like, not the weird sound that comes from the Bonies. R tilts his head, his mouth parted behind the muzzle as he studies the Living across from the table.
"How. Ward," R says, stretching the word out like he did with Julie's until he got to her name under control. Breaking it up into easier to manage chunks seems to work. "I..."
R looks down at the menu. The words swim, the characters dance and twist and it's just like trying to read the posters at the airport. He has the sense that he should know what it says, but that connection isn't there. Severed, like it got bitten off and chewed up and there's only mush left. R shrugs helplessly, trying not to look too frustrated at Howard's question. Not being able to read is something of a sore point, like "hey, you're still dead today? That sucks, buddy" kind of sore.
"Could," R looks up from the menu at Howard, then at the waiter serving another table. "Eat him."
It's a joke. Mostly a joke. R wouldn't say no, though, if it stopped being just a joke.