homeless.

[tore]

It was swell of you to say hello. (This is novel, isn't it? Is this what it's like to feel young?)

I would like to move out, though. I'm a little peckish.

Regards,
Mr. —

Comments

[starve]

[ Famine likes Death. She sort of has to in order to keep the family together; if she has any hopes of living for eternity with any semblance of peace, she has to accept that Death is the one they all submit to — even her and her siblings, when the time comes. It's true, she likes War better, but Death — Death is death.

(Needless to say it's complicated.)

Still: ] Would you like to? Could totally set that up, if you wanted.

[tore]

I'll live, [ Mr. — says, with the sort of smile that suggests that the pun is intentional. ] But thank you for the other.

[ He'll only die if he starves to death or someone really puts their mind to it, but otherwise, he'll just keep going, from host to host, that series of little-big crimes following him wherever he goes. ]

[starve]

Heh. [ Famine mulls over his little pun, her expression almost sheepish and vaguely human for a moment (that's Imogen showing through, not Famine, even though Imogen is Famine and Famine is Imogen; or rather Famine consumed Imogen and that's why she's here the way that she is). After a moment she seems to decide that it's okay to laugh again, so she does. ] Heh.

I like you. You're not so gloom and doom, like some of the others. Which I get, yeah, is part of the territory, but— [ Famine holds up her hands. What're you gonna do? ] I gotta ask, though. Do you always say thank you?

[tore]

[ Mr. — seems pleasantly surprised at being told he's likeable in the least (not because he tries not to be or anything of the sort, but because she's saying so while knowing exactly what he is). At the question, he nods and shrugs, as if this routine were perfectly natural. (Correction: it is. For him.) ]

Always, [ he says easily, glancing once at the houses that surround them. ] I think it's the polite thing to do. [ His inflection is careful, making the sentence almost a question. ]

[starve]

[ She watches him for a moment and then glances around herself, her eyes growing large as if in question as her gaze takes the same path that his did, noting this house then the next. Famine doesn't really enjoy fucking around for fucking's sake (for others it was cool, but for a harbinger it was just lame) but for Mr. — she decides to give a nudge here, a suggestion there. Pieces moving into place — curiosity, loneliness, the need for company. These are all hungers and so they are all hers and so she uses them to place her new-found friend at an advantage.

Doors will open more readily to him now. And when they do, he'll feed and feed well. ]

And you're big on polite, huh?