ai_id
in
flowerclock
All You Can Eat (If It Doesn't Eat You)
The moment Ziggy crosses over the threshold of the marble-arched doorway, he blurs out in a haze of static. It takes a good minute for him to reform, this time; and when she does, her edges seem just the tiniest bit fuzzy around the edges. Not really enough to notice, properly; but enough to make your eyes tired, if you look at her long enough.
The transition hurts; and it takes her a moment to regain her bearings. Okay. Female. Clarice Starling. She can deal with that.
And, woah.
Look at all the food.
Trays and mounds and racks and platters full of the stuff. It's like the college cafeteria every student wishes they had, or a banquet straight out of Sleeping Beauty. Baked swans with their feathers tucked back in. Boxes full of truffles, dusted with cocoa powder. Actual truffles, like, you know, that expensive mushroom kind. Krispy Kreme donuts. A chocolate fountain with fondue sticks and bowls of strawberries waiting nearby. Pigs with apples in their mouths. Emu with apples in their mouths. Sushi. Flute glasses filled with champagne. Quiche and grilled fish and kumquats and cranberries and sweet potato casserole like your Grandma used to make. Whatever you can think of, it's there.
Goddammit, she really should have eaten, back at the campfire, instead of just complained.
The transition hurts; and it takes her a moment to regain her bearings. Okay. Female. Clarice Starling. She can deal with that.
And, woah.
Look at all the food.
Trays and mounds and racks and platters full of the stuff. It's like the college cafeteria every student wishes they had, or a banquet straight out of Sleeping Beauty. Baked swans with their feathers tucked back in. Boxes full of truffles, dusted with cocoa powder. Actual truffles, like, you know, that expensive mushroom kind. Krispy Kreme donuts. A chocolate fountain with fondue sticks and bowls of strawberries waiting nearby. Pigs with apples in their mouths. Emu with apples in their mouths. Sushi. Flute glasses filled with champagne. Quiche and grilled fish and kumquats and cranberries and sweet potato casserole like your Grandma used to make. Whatever you can think of, it's there.
Goddammit, she really should have eaten, back at the campfire, instead of just complained.