R can’t take his eyes off the girl standing only feet away. She’s younger than most of his stylist team and not draped head to foot in clothes. Enough’s exposed that he can see she’s taken care of. As in, she eats well, her hands aren’t callused, her hair shines instead of drooping in grease or so brittle it breaks off; she’s fleshy in all the best places that makes his other meals over the last year look like jerky and scraps. So this is what a Living girl looks like when she’s not in survival mode. R feels another dribble of black sludge trying to ooze out his mouth, a leftover of his drooling days. The zombie swallows it back. If she notices him gaping silently at her, she’s distracted enough by Howard the Vulnerable to ignore him.
It’s like that steak didn’t happen.
This isn’t like with Julie and Howard, somehow off-limits in his mind. This girl is fair game, especially looking that good. It’s no promise the brain is the same quality as, say, Perry’s, but you never know. R’s fingers flex where they rest on the table.
“Oh! Of course. I could wait, or, I could…maybe…join you?” Howard’s biggest fan looks almost hopefully at the chair next to him. The fact it puts her next to R doesn’t cross her mind. “You’re very hard to track down, you know.”
She sounds almost like she’s scolding Howard for ducking out of a date, not busy dying out on the ice. The more R hears of her voice, high-pitched, lilting like Effie’s in that way that somehow grates on his ear-drums, the more he starts to think eating her would be doing everyone a favor. Getting her through the bars, though, and not splashing Howard with gore at the same time, is enough to make him pause. Logistics. Not his thing.
no subject
It’s like that steak didn’t happen.
This isn’t like with Julie and Howard, somehow off-limits in his mind. This girl is fair game, especially looking that good. It’s no promise the brain is the same quality as, say, Perry’s, but you never know. R’s fingers flex where they rest on the table.
“Oh! Of course. I could wait, or, I could…maybe…join you?” Howard’s biggest fan looks almost hopefully at the chair next to him. The fact it puts her next to R doesn’t cross her mind. “You’re very hard to track down, you know.”
She sounds almost like she’s scolding Howard for ducking out of a date, not busy dying out on the ice. The more R hears of her voice, high-pitched, lilting like Effie’s in that way that somehow grates on his ear-drums, the more he starts to think eating her would be doing everyone a favor. Getting her through the bars, though, and not splashing Howard with gore at the same time, is enough to make him pause. Logistics. Not his thing.