"Could you give it to me if you did?" Len lounges back on the couch like it belongs to him, one long leg crossed over the other. Poised in spite of the flakes of tuna around the collar of his sweater and constant vertigo.
"Please, no tuna."
Len catches the sandwich in one hand, peels back the cling-wrap almost delicately, and admires the almost-fresh content. It's been days since he's eaten anything, the kitchen was a bust, and if never sees another Tupperware for the rest of his life it'll be too soon.
He could say something witty. Posture. Pretend like he isn't half as hungry as he is, and part of him is tempted to play it cool. He doesn't. Len tears into the sandwich with the ferocity of a starving lion descending on a wounded antelope.
No words until he's finished, and the sandwich has disappeared without a trace. In spite of his hunger and the fact he's already a disgusting mess, there are no crumbs. Len's particular like that. You'd be hard-pressed to find a single strand of DNA at any one of his 'purported' crime scenes.
He dabs at the corners of his mouth, shifts to the edge of the couch, and stares down Kabal.
"Don't be a baby. I was seeing how deep the damage goes. If I wanted to hurt you, I'd hurt you. So take off your village-people jacket like a good boy, and let me see what kinda freeze-dried beef we're working with."
Len starts pulling off his gloves with his teeth, finger by finger.
"Just an FYI, this is going to be ugly. So get ready for it."
no subject
"Please, no tuna."
Len catches the sandwich in one hand, peels back the cling-wrap almost delicately, and admires the almost-fresh content. It's been days since he's eaten anything, the kitchen was a bust, and if never sees another Tupperware for the rest of his life it'll be too soon.
He could say something witty. Posture. Pretend like he isn't half as hungry as he is, and part of him is tempted to play it cool. He doesn't. Len tears into the sandwich with the ferocity of a starving lion descending on a wounded antelope.
No words until he's finished, and the sandwich has disappeared without a trace. In spite of his hunger and the fact he's already a disgusting mess, there are no crumbs. Len's particular like that. You'd be hard-pressed to find a single strand of DNA at any one of his 'purported' crime scenes.
He dabs at the corners of his mouth, shifts to the edge of the couch, and stares down Kabal.
"Don't be a baby. I was seeing how deep the damage goes. If I wanted to hurt you, I'd hurt you. So take off your village-people jacket like a good boy, and let me see what kinda freeze-dried beef we're working with."
Len starts pulling off his gloves with his teeth, finger by finger.
"Just an FYI, this is going to be ugly. So get ready for it."