It was dangerous to linger in one place too long, especially if it were crowded; if anyone got a good enough look at him, if they looked too closely, they might see the suspicious little nubby lumps underneath that hoodie. They might notice that those teeth look much sharper than the average human's. Or that underneath that thick layer of make up, underneath those sunglasses, lay bright red eyes with yellow sclera and grey skin. His disguise only worked if he went unscrutinized. But he was starving. He hadn't eaten in days, and he'd been politely escorted out of the grocery store he'd been meaning to lift some supplies from on account of "suspicious loitering" earlier that day. The life of a fugitive was not a glamorous one, and he took what he could get, but he'd rather not eat out of the trash if he could help it.
An alternative what he could get aside from rifling through bins was get served a hot meal in a cafe that asked for payment after the food had been consumed. It was risky. But fuck if he was going to die of starvation; he'd come through far too much for that. He'd ordered big. He wasn't paying, after all. He didn't wait until he was asked to pay before running, though. He'd dropped his utensils and fucking booked it the moment he'd decided he'd had enough.
He didn't bother to check if he had pursuers. Looking behind you slows you down and makes you more prone to stumbling, he'd learned.
no subject
It was dangerous to linger in one place too long, especially if it were crowded; if anyone got a good enough look at him, if they looked too closely, they might see the suspicious little nubby lumps underneath that hoodie. They might notice that those teeth look much sharper than the average human's. Or that underneath that thick layer of make up, underneath those sunglasses, lay bright red eyes with yellow sclera and grey skin. His disguise only worked if he went unscrutinized. But he was starving. He hadn't eaten in days, and he'd been politely escorted out of the grocery store he'd been meaning to lift some supplies from on account of "suspicious loitering" earlier that day. The life of a fugitive was not a glamorous one, and he took what he could get, but he'd rather not eat out of the trash if he could help it.
An alternative what he could get aside from rifling through bins was get served a hot meal in a cafe that asked for payment after the food had been consumed. It was risky. But fuck if he was going to die of starvation; he'd come through far too much for that. He'd ordered big. He wasn't paying, after all. He didn't wait until he was asked to pay before running, though. He'd dropped his utensils and fucking booked it the moment he'd decided he'd had enough.
He didn't bother to check if he had pursuers. Looking behind you slows you down and makes you more prone to stumbling, he'd learned.