[Where food appears, bullshit follows. It's become an enduring theme over Wrench's time in Deerington, and one for which he anticipates no change this time around. The restock of supplies has inspired little difference in behavior; he has continued to fish and hunt and forage even as the last bits of living sustenance disappear from the landscape. Some washed away by blood, some replaced by squirming organs, and others simply closed into hibernation for the season. He has amassed enough to last for some time in the little cabin he shares, or to hand out to others should circumstances become dire again. But a man who snubs food from the diner and home-cooked meals isn't likely to be swayed by whatever this place is serving up now.
Except that, inexplicably, he finds himself drawn to the buffet.
Wrench is no stranger to organ meat. Brains are a delicacy and liver a staple, but something tells him the origin of these are a little more questionable. Still, the gurgle in his stomach is demanding. He's about to grab a plate when his attention is drawn by a familiar sight from an unfamiliar woman.]
no subject
Except that, inexplicably, he finds himself drawn to the buffet.
Wrench is no stranger to organ meat. Brains are a delicacy and liver a staple, but something tells him the origin of these are a little more questionable. Still, the gurgle in his stomach is demanding. He's about to grab a plate when his attention is drawn by a familiar sight from an unfamiliar woman.]
Why? You've never heard of T-R-I-P-E before?