[ Well. It is their only choice. She shoots the food a reproachful look, waffles on it, then steps forward to stir hers around in the tin tray. Her expression doesn't exactly anticipate a rave review for the slop she's pushing around, but the alternative is starving to death.
And it sure as hell beats the steady diet of other people they'd been surviving on in those creepy machine battery towers for, apparently, forever. Disgusting. ]
God, what I wouldn't give for nachos, or a pop tart right now.
[ But she picks up the tin tray, brings it up close to her face, and shovels some into her mouth. Her cheeks puff out as she hesitates on actually swallowing it (only swallowing, because nothing about the consistency really necessitates chewing—that somehow makes it worse).
But he's right. It's an empty, bland sort of nothing. She swallows, presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek, and shakes her head, dropping the fork back into the tin dish. ]
no subject
And it sure as hell beats the steady diet of other people they'd been surviving on in those creepy machine battery towers for, apparently, forever. Disgusting. ]
God, what I wouldn't give for nachos, or a pop tart right now.
[ But she picks up the tin tray, brings it up close to her face, and shovels some into her mouth. Her cheeks puff out as she hesitates on actually swallowing it (only swallowing, because nothing about the consistency really necessitates chewing—that somehow makes it worse).
But he's right. It's an empty, bland sort of nothing. She swallows, presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek, and shakes her head, dropping the fork back into the tin dish. ]
Nothing.