Cass sat back in her chair and set her hand in her lap, half a smile on her thin lips. “Anyone else, and I’d know they were bullshittin’ me. You, though. You probably mean it.”
They looked at one another a moment longer, and Cass nodded, as though imparting her approval. “Yup,” she said, “You are definitely something else. You hungry?”
Moore had a handful of stale, shelled peanuts in the Gomorrah bar that afternoon, but nothing substantial since that morning’s breakfast. It was past midnight, and she would have eaten a radscorpion raw if Cass offered it.
She settled back against the headboard. “A little,” she admitted.
“I’ll go get something downstairs, then. I’ll warn you: James and Francine Garret ain’t known for their cooking. They buy rat from the kids in the streets, and don’t even try to wash the taste out of your mouth. The water here’s worse than the food and about as clean as the bathrooms. But the meat’s hot and the liquor’s cold, and it’s better than whatever the hell the street vendors are selling. I found a human tooth in my sandwich one time, hand to God.”
The door didn’t close all the way when Cass left, and the sounds of the bar on the lower floor drifted up to Moore as she settled back against the headboard. Her eyes slipped shut, but the pain in her head and her arm and the noise from the bar kept her from sleep.
Cass was back a few minutes later with a plate of something that smelled like burnt asshole and looked worse. But Moore was hungry enough to eat it, even when she turned up a long strand of hair and a chunk of something grey and unidentifiable. It tasted like foot, and she had a quiet suspicion that it may have contained testicles, but she managed to clean her plate just the same.
Scorpion Honey, 4c/?
They looked at one another a moment longer, and Cass nodded, as though imparting her approval. “Yup,” she said, “You are definitely something else. You hungry?”
Moore had a handful of stale, shelled peanuts in the Gomorrah bar that afternoon, but nothing substantial since that morning’s breakfast. It was past midnight, and she would have eaten a radscorpion raw if Cass offered it.
She settled back against the headboard. “A little,” she admitted.
“I’ll go get something downstairs, then. I’ll warn you: James and Francine Garret ain’t known for their cooking. They buy rat from the kids in the streets, and don’t even try to wash the taste out of your mouth. The water here’s worse than the food and about as clean as the bathrooms. But the meat’s hot and the liquor’s cold, and it’s better than whatever the hell the street vendors are selling. I found a human tooth in my sandwich one time, hand to God.”
The door didn’t close all the way when Cass left, and the sounds of the bar on the lower floor drifted up to Moore as she settled back against the headboard. Her eyes slipped shut, but the pain in her head and her arm and the noise from the bar kept her from sleep.
Cass was back a few minutes later with a plate of something that smelled like burnt asshole and looked worse. But Moore was hungry enough to eat it, even when she turned up a long strand of hair and a chunk of something grey and unidentifiable. It tasted like foot, and she had a quiet suspicion that it may have contained testicles, but she managed to clean her plate just the same.