More weird sounds bubbling out of Howard. Nevermind the...whatever it is he has going on in his hands now. R can't stop looking at it and wondering if it's like a compulsive thing for him, if it's what's In with the humans or maybe it's Howard being Howard.
R stares back at Howard for a long moment. Personal question, but honestly, it’s one every Dead asks themselves. Maybe they can’t talk these days and maybe they don’t need to. R saw it in their eyes, the way their mouths worked like some of them were still wondering why they trip over their dragging intestines. Asking what was next. If there was even anything tomorrow. No wonder some of them go native with the Boney route early.
“Only remem…” R rubs at his thigh unconsciously. It’s been years since he thought back to his first day dead. Memory lane, big time. “Bite. My leg.” This gets another shrug, not only resigned but also uncomfortable. “Gug-girl was there. Hurt when – ”
He cuts himself off then. A memory claws up: the pretty girl lying next to him with a bullet in her head, the Dead surrounding them (double-dead – R doesn’t know if he’d killed them or not). Kicking angrily at one’s skull until he forgot why as whatever memories he woke up with dribbled away. Wandering off without looking back. R wants to explain how it hurt, that it was the last time he’d felt pain, real pain, until he met Julie and made the mistake of chewing up her ex. Shifting in his chair uneasily, R wishes he had another menu to hide behind, except he had to be a genius and give it back to the waiter because he isn’t forward thinking. Next time he hoards it for questions like these. Sometimes a shrug doesn’t do it.
Something like emotion passes across the zombie’s face as R breaks eye contact with Howard. Is that what he meant?
R wonders if he feels sorry for Howard. He hasn’t worked it out yet. Luckily they’re saved by the waiter finally returning. R is so relieved he practically snatches the bleeding steak off the tray and pulls it to himself like a shield. Eating, at least, is simple.
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R stares back at Howard for a long moment. Personal question, but honestly, it’s one every Dead asks themselves. Maybe they can’t talk these days and maybe they don’t need to. R saw it in their eyes, the way their mouths worked like some of them were still wondering why they trip over their dragging intestines. Asking what was next. If there was even anything tomorrow. No wonder some of them go native with the Boney route early.
“Only remem…” R rubs at his thigh unconsciously. It’s been years since he thought back to his first day dead. Memory lane, big time. “Bite. My leg.” This gets another shrug, not only resigned but also uncomfortable. “Gug-girl was there. Hurt when – ”
He cuts himself off then. A memory claws up: the pretty girl lying next to him with a bullet in her head, the Dead surrounding them (double-dead – R doesn’t know if he’d killed them or not). Kicking angrily at one’s skull until he forgot why as whatever memories he woke up with dribbled away. Wandering off without looking back. R wants to explain how it hurt, that it was the last time he’d felt pain, real pain, until he met Julie and made the mistake of chewing up her ex. Shifting in his chair uneasily, R wishes he had another menu to hide behind, except he had to be a genius and give it back to the waiter because he isn’t forward thinking. Next time he hoards it for questions like these. Sometimes a shrug doesn’t do it.
Something like emotion passes across the zombie’s face as R breaks eye contact with Howard. Is that what he meant?
R wonders if he feels sorry for Howard. He hasn’t worked it out yet. Luckily they’re saved by the waiter finally returning. R is so relieved he practically snatches the bleeding steak off the tray and pulls it to himself like a shield. Eating, at least, is simple.