The invitation is taken without analysis or suspicion, whether of being humoured or anything more sinister. That Jude is comfortable to be around is one thing; that Marcus is already often immune to possible social transgression is also a part of it, inclined to take a person at their word or gesture.
He sits. That shockiness, slowly leaving him, enough to make room for fidget—pulling the damp lengths of wet hair out of the collar of his sweater, rolling a shoulder against some twinge of complaint at stiff, sore muscles. He carefully breaks the cookie into halves, and takes a modest bite of one.
Remembers crunching with powerful back teeth through deer flesh, cracking rabbit bones, shearing apart river fish. The texture and sweetness is immediately wrong, but he swallows, slides the rest back into the bag. Later.
Picks up the jerky.
"Why?" A beat, considering whether he should elaborate, and then more directly, "What are you?"
no subject
He sits. That shockiness, slowly leaving him, enough to make room for fidget—pulling the damp lengths of wet hair out of the collar of his sweater, rolling a shoulder against some twinge of complaint at stiff, sore muscles. He carefully breaks the cookie into halves, and takes a modest bite of one.
Remembers crunching with powerful back teeth through deer flesh, cracking rabbit bones, shearing apart river fish. The texture and sweetness is immediately wrong, but he swallows, slides the rest back into the bag. Later.
Picks up the jerky.
"Why?" A beat, considering whether he should elaborate, and then more directly, "What are you?"