By the time lunch rolled around, things still weren't getting any better. The voices hadn't gone away; instead, Firo was pretty sure they were getting more frequent. Ennis had been silent since last night, but Czes's voice had been an insistent buzz in his ear all morning
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He outright refused to do it. He wasn't here to help anyone. He was here to get his ass out and stop the freaking Apocalypse from destroying humanity because, for some reason, he had a personal affinity for them.
What he needed was a distraction, so - oh. Bingo. Target spotted. Except that was after the whole... rotting food debacle. No thanks. He'll starve, and maybe turn a dead rat into a croissant later tonight. You know, just for kicks.
Gabriel slid into the chair opposite a girl who would give cotton candy a run for its money with that hair. Yu-Gi-Oh had nothing on this shit. "Getting a little desperate, aren't you? The maggot's a nice touch." He vaguely pointed a finger ( ... )
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"So I'm not crazy, then. I was starting to wonder whether I was the only one who could smell anymore," she said with a sickened sigh, slumping onto her elbows. Though, a quick glance around confirmed that, despite what she and the man saw, others continued to eat without issue. That still didn't sit well with her on the "maybe you're crazy" front. Had she spoken too soon ( ... )
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He would've shrugged if his bitten shoulder hadn't reminded him with a startling jolt of pain what a bad idea that was. Someone tear his wings off now. Please.
Gabriel wiggled his fingers in a mystical way. Or an annoying, maggot-like way. Whatever. "Maybe everyone's been brainwashed into eating rot. It's a training camp for zombies. Very Asylum of the Dead. I heard there were zombies around, at least."
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"Oh, Peter! Hello!" he said quickly, hoping the man hadn't heard him earlier. He'd asked about the food, though, not who he'd been talking to, so...
Firo's gaze dropped to the bowl of pink gruel. "I'm not so sure, actually. Why?"
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Even though Firo had a plate of rotten food sitting in front of him, Peter still took a seat. He wanted to make sure that the younger man didn't actually eat that stuff, because that was basically asking for food poisoning.
He couldn't understand why Firo wasn't all that bothered by it, though. Recalling that the man was from the past, Peter wondered if back then food had been deemed safe to eat even when it was far past that point. It seemed like a lousy theory, but he didn't know how else to explain it. "Well, it's... completely rotten. If you eat that you'll be puking your guts out before dinner rolls around, believe me."
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He'd eaten at breakfast-before he'd first heard that the food was off, and he still felt fine... But what he saw and what Peter saw had to be different. The gruel definitely didn't look rotten-in fact, he wasn't even sure what it would look like rotten. Maybe it was just that something in it had spoiled.
Gingerly, he lifted the bowl up and leaned closer to smell it. It didn't have a smell at all.
"It seems alright to me." He set the bowl back onto the tray. "I'm not sure what this stuff is made from, so maybe I just can't tell... But it's just the same as it was yesterday."
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Was it truly time for lunch? Intercom Man had made no mention of punishment for the entire patient populace; had Maya's delay in awakening to consciousness been meant for her only?
At least she had located her radio-helpful as it may or may not be-before she had been escorted to the cafeteria. Poor consolation prize, but she had not truly meant to make much progress into the unknown last night. Perhaps this was her answer. Glumly, Maya raised her spoon-prior experience with lack of food intake made her hesitant to invite the effects she knew to be inevitable.
[free]
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So, he may have been pouting a little as he stood in line for his food, grabbing the two tacos he was offered with little response. He knew he needed to appreciate each meal he got when he was being fed so much better than the rest of the institute, though, and so he quickly got over his sour mood ( ... )
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Had something occurred that the Intercom Man felt as if he needed to remind the populace about misbehavior? There had been no more food fights since the first day. Something more subtle, perhaps?
Hmm. No matter; she wasn't likely to receive an answer. In the meantime... "I hope your night went well?" Maya hoped the younger ones traveled in groups, if they ventured out at night at all. But it wasn't her place to have that discussion, was it not?
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Better not to think about it. Or what Spock uncovered. Food, he wanted that first, and it sounded like a mighty fine idea.
If he were a man of lesser dignity, he might have celebrated, and loudly, very loudly. As it was, he liked to think he had a little bit of dignity left after the ordeal, and he was more than happy to let the younger people take care of it.
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He skipped the line for food, though, hoping the soldiers would not notice. There was no point taking something he would not eat - even the quick bite at breakfast had been revolting. Instead, he found an empty chair and took a seat, not caring particularly much who it was by, and tried not to look too put out by the lack of lunch.
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Well, maybe he liked a little sugar or fat or anything not completely necessary in his food. Something to give it more of a flavor. It wasn't like he was the type to gain weight off it. McCoy looked up to see someone sit at the table, with a a tray.
"You should really eat something. Keep your strength up."
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He gave the man a quick smile, hoping it was sufficiently reassuring. "Ah, I'm fine, thank you." He didn't want to run the risk of losing yesterday's meal along with today's.
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