[ Even counting Merdian's bounty - won in blood, earned under Pope's banner and God's love the way anything worth having is earned - it's been a lifetime since Carver's seen this much food on display. He stares at the plate in front of him, suspicious and ravenous in equal measure. Maybe the world before the fires could have thrown such pageantry into the equation, but not after.
Here, no one guards their food. No one seems bothered by the prospect of waste. He scoffs at the scorecard, unwilling to entertain that charade unless forced, and torn between throwing his plate away entirely and - perhaps contradictorily - stabbing anyone who tries to take it from him.
Life's funny like that.
He considers the knives he stole from the kitchen, in the meantime. ]
You're staring, [ he observes, rather blandly. He noticed; he's been doing the same. Watching everything, and everyone. ]
Share a meal (cw: cult shit, starvation)
Here, no one guards their food. No one seems bothered by the prospect of waste. He scoffs at the scorecard, unwilling to entertain that charade unless forced, and torn between throwing his plate away entirely and - perhaps contradictorily - stabbing anyone who tries to take it from him.
Life's funny like that.
He considers the knives he stole from the kitchen, in the meantime. ]
You're staring, [ he observes, rather blandly. He noticed; he's been doing the same. Watching everything, and everyone. ]