Simon was well aware of Parker approaching him. His senses seemed to always be turned on to the max, keeping track of each person walking by or conversation that was just within earshot. If he hadn’t heard Parker he would have leapt out of his skin.
Simon did tense though, eying the man up and down. Woah, okay, there was a lot of man sitting right there. That man could definitely chuck him across the room like a football if he so pleased.
“I’m..good?” He sounded more confused to be questioned.
Simon was just staring at his food for who knows how long so he supposed the didn’t look the most normal. His stomach was wanting him dead but wasting food was like a cardinal sin. He didn’t understand how people threw it away so easily.
His frail frame, eyebags, and clothes sewn together about fifty times didn’t help his case either. This sweater still had the blood stains from when his arm hand been burnt off. Despite that, he was cleaner than he’d been in a while but still, he was in need of a bath.
@yorick-the-vanguard
“You’re lookin’ at your food like it’s gunna make y’ keel over on the spot.”
His expression didn’t waiver, but it softened a bit, like he’d decided Simon wasn’t gunna bite his hand off if he got too close or pressed something a bit to much.
“What is it? Don’t think I’ve seen em serve soup before. Or I just never found myself ordering it.”
He shrugged slightly, trying to let the man know he could lower his guard. Sure he looked like he could break Simon in half with his bare hands, and he certainly had the confidence that came along with it. But, he acted gentle.
“You don’t… have t’ eat it. nothing gets wasted here I don’t think. They got a compost bin you can scrape the extra bits into if you don’t feel like finishing.”
His accent was fairly noticeable, though it wasn’t too dissimilar to the other accents he’d heard from other guests on occasion.
“Got plenty use for it too. You don’t gotta stress over those things.”
He shot the man another warm look.
“‘Should introduce myself- I’m Parker, Parker Yang. Nice t’ meet you.”
Simon sunk into wooden chair a bit more, still unsure of this whole interaction. People here approached him much freer than they ever did on Eden or in the prison and with much more kindness. This could just be a trick? Manny was some kind of creature, demon-thing after all.
“Uh— chicken noodle soup. My stomach isn’t exactly the strongest,” his eyes scanned for the three exits he already had planned out. “She goes easy on the chicken normally, gives me some saltines to go with it.”
He slide the crackers across the table as an offering, “And no, I can’t toss it. It just feels weird. It’s wasted labor still and just feels disgusting. I’d rather puke it up later.”
The story with that was much longer than he cared to share with a stranger.
He chuckled, “I guess that’s a lot of information on my shitty digestive system for not having my name. I’m Simon, and I don’t got a ‘last name. Nice to meet you too.”
“I only ended up here recently, just tryin’ to get my head around this place and the people in it. It’s nice to meet you Simon, I hope we can be friends.”
He wasn’t lying. An admission for an admission. He’d met plenty of people that operated that way. Usually the jumpy types, which… fit the bill with Simon.
“The point is t’ get some of the food to stay in. Puking it up makes it so it doesn’t feed anybody. Eat what y’ can, leave the rest. It ain’t wasted, just saved for later.”
He paused a moment, thinking of his next words more carefully. He hadn’t managed to be a P.I for years without knowing how to get people talking to him.
“… I ain’t asking for y’ crackers, those’re yours. Plus if that’s what helps keep the food down that’d just make me feel shitty for taking em from you.”
It was a weird feeling to see a man looking half starved offering his food just because another guy started talking to him about his food. It was like there was a pit forming in his stomach.
“…You didn’t have an easy life did ya?”
Ah, that made sense. A lot of people around here seemed a lot more extroverted than he ever— wait, what.
His shoulders tensed at his last remark and maybe, he should find a way out of this conversation. His hand came to rest on his harness where his knife was carried, nails that were brittle and chewed down rubbing along it.
“Why do you ask?”
If he were a cat, he’d be hissing right now, just a warning. He didn’t dare reach over to grab the saltines nor address anything else mentioned, not when this was on his mind. If he reached over, this man may grab him and he couldn’t get away.
