entrancelogs | [OPEN] you know what kinda eats? the kinda red-hot treats

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[OPEN] you know what kinda eats? the kinda red-hot treats

Who: Ned (the Pie Maker) & YOU
Where: The diner, the coffee shop, the hallways
When: June 12 - June 15
Rating: PG-13 to R for gruesome flesh-eating?!
Summary: As if things weren't bad enough already being someone who can touch dead things and bring them back to life, having to eat dead things in order to live makes it worse.
The Story:

[The facts were these:

Being simultaneously of a variety of undead - or "alive again," as the Pie Maker preferred to be called - and possessing an innate ability to touch dead things and bring them back to life often made things difficult. These small difficulties, such as having to mitigate the caveat of his gift and also being unable to ingest anything that did not come from a human, often compromised Ned's non-confrontational and pacifist philosophies. No one ever asks the diner's baker why he never consumes any of his own pies.

Conscious of Wonderland's blessed contributions in the form of ready-to-eat "meat" and content that he could indulge the unconventional fondness he has for baking, the Pie Maker was therefore stunned when he opened the icebox and discovered it was devoid of the morning helping of long pig. (To this day, while lacking any fondness for his affliction, it is wholly unsettling to have to acquire dead flesh, reanimate it with a single touch, before destroying it again with another.)

The cravings began shortly thereafter as he swilled caffeine in the diner and the coffee shop a couple of floors down, politely excusing himself from Chuck's company to avoid temptation he could feel clawing at the back of his throat and in the pit of his stomach. Nervous pacing, compliments of an anxious nature and compounded by hunger so searing and sharp it could cut him in two, sends Ned on frantic, one-track journeys around their little restaurant: to and from the counter, to and from the freezer, to and from the stove and ovens and soda fountain and booths.

Little round tables in their semi-circles like decorations on a cake are prowled around by a man in an apron trying very hard to be inconspicuous while sweat beads on his brow and the stuttered stream of customers - human, live customers - makes his teeth hurt.

While hunger was not an unfamiliar sensation to the Pie Maker-cum-Ghoul more than three days in sees him wishing there was a local hoosgow wherein he might be incarcerated, for the safety of others if not his own, abandoning his post at the diner to stalk the hallways in the hopes that physical exercise might deter him from doing something he might regret.

It won't, for long.]

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[Sirius hasn't been to the diner in a while. Going and not seeing Tohru's smiling face almost makes the trip useless-- especially given the fact that there are other places to eat. But he hasn't seen Souji in a while, and the diner's always a safe bet for finding the silver-haired, slightly weird chap.

He's on his way to pay Souji a visit when he passes Ned in the hallway and raises a hand in greeting.]

I was just heading towards the diner. You taking your "break"?

[Sirius grins, amused at the idea. As if they need breaks or work shifts in this place. Ha.]

[In a similar fashion, Ned has found the lack of Tohru's presence in the diner an absolute travesty. While he is in the enviable position of having Chuck's smiling face every morning, afternoon, and evening, the Pie Maker did not think he would feel such an empty sensation inside of him at the loss. Tohru left too soon, but she deserved to be home.

These thoughts are, however, incapable of making their way through his head at the current juncture.

Ned, who is currently experiencing an unprecedented, insatiable hunger, one which cannot be satisfied with coffee or other varieties of caffeinated beverages, very nearly screeches to a halt at the hallway greeting. The facial tic so often used when lying (poorly) resurfaces and he takes a steady, careful breath.]

.....no.

[Flat and devoid of inflection the word settles uncomfortably on his tongue, which is desirous of a decent meal.

The Pie Maker swallows hard.]

I'm. Not.

[Ned's always been a bit odd, so far as Sirius has seen. He'd just assumed it was a nervousness and caution with others like the kind he'd seen in Peter. But this-- the way Ned's looking now --is different. Something's wrong.

Sirius presses his palm to his pocket, feeling for the hard line of his wand against his hip. Then he glances beyond Ned, looking for any sort of cause of Ned's increased oddness.]

You alright, mate?

[His eyes return to Ned. He isn't sure what he expected to see, but he doesn't see it just now. Maybe Ned can enlighten him.]

[Feeling that hunger grow to utterly unsatisfying proportions tips Ned's head to one side, appraising the fellow down the hall in a predatory manner that the Pie Maker adopts with...no one. Literally no one. He is unsafe and he knows it, the last fragments of sheer will pinning him to one spot.]

No,

[he forces, aggression coiling around him.]

You- ...you should go.

[ She's been avoiding people like the plague. Deep-set hunger ravages her insides like a caged animal and more often than not she's curled up in the basement moaning and wrapping her arms around herself. This is nothing new, but it seems worse, somehow, and that doesn't improve as she goes without eating.

Well. Eating from a very specific diet, that is. Ellie keeps to herself and avoids the network, pacing and blurting out into expletives and kicking crates. Why does this seem so much worse? She tries a few things from a nearby closet and vomits before too long, the taste awful and the nourishment nonexistent.

Desperate for a distraction by ways of change of scenery, the little girl finally gives up her hiding place and surfaces. She looks like a ghoul as much as she is one, eyes shadowed and expression dark as she plods through the halls. She doesn't really intend on eating anyone, but... there's no harm in looking at the menu, right?

Except, this one's another ghoul. Ellie licks her lips briefly, surveying Ned from a safe distance. ]

You look like shit.

[Avoiding people is an excellent pastime, and one that Ned has excelled in for years.

While maintaining (and partly loathing) a strict diet of human flesh is simple enough with Wonderland's assistance, the closets are bereft of meals that tickle and titillate the ghoulish tongue, which has led to...problems. Problems of a starving nature are not unfamiliar to him, but when the grand majority of Wonderland's inhabitants are innocent folk he'd rather not tear apart, well, one does what one must.

Which is to say, one isolates oneself from the situation until circumstance dictates otherwise. A young girl in the hall, eyes carrying dark baggage, expression as gaunt as her cheeks, makes an altogether accurate observation and Ned laughs dryly.

He feels as though his throat is full of sandpaper.]

You...don't look so great yourself, if you don't mind my saying so.

I mind. Sheesh. [ She scrunches up her face, hands planted on her hips.

At that moment, her stomach growls loudly, a feral animal locked up for much, much too long. ]

So, how about that weather?

[ He hasn't eaten, either, but she isn't scared of him. Maybe he should be more afraid of her, since Ellie hasn't decided whether or not it's worth it to try and chew on one of his arms. ]

Cloudy with no chance of meatballs,

[he responds woefully, a hand pressing to his own empty stomach in sympathy. As a large person Ned is accustomed to a certain amount of food and the lack thereof has made him irritable, at best. Schooling this aggression into something more productive he swallows, grimacing as he adds:]

...you want some coffee?

[ Ellie offers her tongue in response with a sound like "blech." ]

I'm done with puking for today, thanks. [ ... But then she seems to consider it, wrinkling her nose again, and she heaves a huge sigh before admitting defeat. ] Fine, yeah, coffee. Alright, big guy.

[Souji has watched Ned pace the diner for the the better part of two days. Even when no one else is there, Ned paces, and he seems, to Souji at least, to be avoiding him as much as he's avoiding anyone else. It makes it a little awkward to work a joint shift when they can't seem to be less than ten feet from each other at any given time.

Eventually, after his curiosity fades into concern, Souji wipes his hands on his apron and leaves the shelter of the counter to go over to where Ned is currently, dithering by the soda machine.]

If something's wrong, we can close early.

[His voice is maybe a little too reasonable, considering Ned's behavior, but he doesn't want to be pushy.]

[The Pie Maker avoids regular people on a daily basis, but understands it must be somewhat suspicious for him to be skirting around Souji as though the teenager had somehow contracted an exceptionally catching strain of influenza. Viruses are, unfortunately, not his concern, and he only realizes how obvious he's been when Souji points it out.

The young man isn't unkind about it, but that won't keep Ned from salivating every time he swings into his peripheral.

This close it's almost like dangling a medium-rare steak in front of a starving person.]

U-Um, it's...I mean, it would...help...probably, [he grits, pointedly looking everywhere but at Souji.] But nothing's wrong, I-I mean, I'm fine, I'm just- I'm not fine. I'm sick.

[Souji listens to this more-incoherent-than-normal ramble with mounting concern. Coupled with the way that Ned is so pointedly avoiding eye contact, whatever is wrong, it seems immediately out of his depth.

That doesn't stop him from offering to help, however.]

What kind of sick? It might be something I can heal.

[Not at all in the way you're thinking, Souji.]

No!

[The twitchy anxiety that plagues the Pie Maker's current perspective on things suddenly has him considering a friend as a source of food.]

No, it's- it's not that kind of sick, I should probably just close out for today and maybe makesomepiestomorrowmorning, you know?

[Ned adds hastily, skirting around Souji with all the grace of a crippled penguin.]

Besides, it might be, uh, contagious.

[Souji turns in place to watch Ned as he skirts around him, his eyes a little wide in mixed curiosity and concern. As Ned moves away from him, he follows like a very tall duckling.]

Are you sure you don't need any help?

[Jefferson isn't sure what has been getting into people over the last few days, but he'd been taking particular precautions to avoid nearly everyone and keep himself out of trouble. Things had been crazy and weird even by ~~his perception of~~ Wonderland's standards, and he wants no part of it. His situation is bad enough as it is without all these complications.

Jefferson has never been down this hallway before. He's never seen this flour-dusted man before. Something raises the hairs on his neck in warning, but that's probably just his paranoia associated with every stranger nowadays. Sticking his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, he nods a greeting, not saying anything at first in case he can avoid the social obligation of conversation altogether. By his body language, the other man doesn't appear to be feeling well...]

[The Pie Maker knows precisely what's been "getting into people" over the last few days, and what's been "getting into people" is, in fact, people.

After a fashion.

Ned has been down this hallway many times, but he has never seen this well-dressed individual before. The man is neither tall nor short, though by default he is short compared to Ned (everyone is short compared to Ned).]

I'm sorry,

[the Pie Maker says without pomp or circumstance, the gnawing sensation in his gut growing to astronomical proportions in the presence of a free meal. He intended to make it through this turmoil unscathed, to force more coffee down his throat and resist the strong temptation to fall prey to his own visceral urges.

Unlike the norm, his hands are out of his pockets, fingers curled into fists at his sides.]

We. Haven't met. Before.

[It's the stupidest idea Wirt's come up with in a while, but he's running out of options here.

He makes sure to get to the diner very early that day, and he does his best to ignore the pounding in his head. The diner doesn't smell overwhelmingly of humans just yet, aside from lingering traces from the day before and any diner employees who happen to be human, but this is ideal. He's not sure how he'll fare in a crowd today, and not for any of the usual reasons he avoids the heck out of big crowds.

Between the kitchen in Wonderland and his mom handling all the food-gathering at home, Wirt's never actually had reason to attempt human food before. Maybe...it's not as bad as he's been told? His mom always made a big deal about never eating it, the same way human mothers warn their human children against drinking bleach, but if it's the only thing around to eat then...maybe it'll be okay?

So, he deliberately makes himself flag down the only diner employee he knows and the only diner employee who doesn't smell like dinner - the Pie Maker.]

Uh. H-Hey, Pie Maker! What kind of um-- [Wirt clears his throat, and manages to be the only person who can make himself more awkward by trying to be as casual as possible.] --what kind of...pie, do you have?

[The boy with the gnome hat is, blessedly, free of the overwhelming smell of humanity. Wirt slides into the diner and the Pie Maker is aware of his presence in the same way that a feral animal is aware of competition for a good meal, but neither of them are confrontational people and, for that reason, he welcomes the boy in as friendly a fashion as he can manage.]

Hey.

[Fidgeting with his apron strings as he knocks back the third cup of coffee since he woke up with stomach cramps this morning, Ned slinks over to the counter, grateful for the lack of early bird customers.]

Uh. Raspberry tart. Strawberry rhubarb. Cherry.

[Never mind the fact that all of these pies are red, red as the insides of a human when you tear them open.]

[Wow, those sure are all red pies. Wirt absolutely notices, not because it's strange that the Pie Maker only chose to mention red pies, but because there's something deep inside him that craves those same red insides.

Unfortunately for the Pie Maker...Wirt is an early bird customer, albeit an unlikely one.]

Can I, um. ...Can I have a slice of...cherry, I guess?

[Wirt is at least smart enough to know it probably won't matter what flavor he orders, but he remains stupidly stubborn about making himself eat it. He doesn't look the pie maker in the eye when he orders though.]

A-And uh. Coffee, please. Black.

[Ned nods swiftly, decisively, as though he weren't thinking about how much he'd like for those pies to have a little something else in them. People, mostly.

It's people.]

One cherry pie, coming right up, [he agrees, turning on his heel and sliding the case open. (While Ned prefers a tiered display of baked goods, food safety is a serious issue and he respects people's concerns. His own meals are a little less...particular.)]

I...take it you're having the same pantry issue, as in, the lack of the usual. [A beat, while he slides a slice of pie in front of Wirt and reaches for the coffee pot.] ...it's weird, I don't think we've ever had this problem before? I've had a lot of coffee this morning so I apologize for speaking so quickly.

I-It's okay. I have too. I've kind of had nothing but coffee for days?

[It's early enough in the day that he's not jittery exactly, but the Pie Maker should have seen him after cup eight yesterday. It wasn't a pretty sight.]

But, um. ...Y-Yeah. I don't think we have either? I mean, not unless there was an event, but...usually there are other things going on when that happens? It seems...kind of weird for this to be the only change.

[Which leaves the horrifying possibility that maybe it's not an event and they're just never going to be able to get food without murdering anyone ever again, but Wirt doesn't want to think about that. However, he really appreciates that the Pie Maker doesn't say anything when he orders human food and allows him the quiet dignity of making a terrible decision and living with it. Wirt mutters a thank you for the pie, but he doesn't immediately dig in. Now that it's in front of him and still doesn't really seem like food, it's starting to really sink in that this isn't a good idea but...maybe he can just summon up the nerve, somehow. ...Maybe.]

[ Hannibal doesn't often go into the diner. With a fully stocked kitchen at his disposal he would rather make his own meal than subject himself to the homespun lower-middle class styling of the all you can eat menu and kitsch aesthetic. In light of the shift in what is being provided by the closets and, in turn, the kitchen's refrigerators, the situation has changed. One might find, just this one, Hannibal Lecter sitting a perusing a diner menu.

Why, do you ask? He's not a ghoul, he's not dependent on human meat, and other meat has been provided in plenty as per usual. No, the reason is simple: he's not here to eat, but to watch. He can sanitize his hands later; the opportunity to watch isolated starvation in action is far too compelling.

He catches Ned's eyes, and smiles. ]

[Ned would happily point out that not only is Hannibal Lecter unwelcome in his establishment, but that they don't even offer anything "All-You-Can-Eat", because buffets make him uncomfortable on a spiritual level. As the sort of person who makes the grand majority of his own meals for a number of reasons better left for a therapy session on another day the Pie Maker is probably one of the best chefs in residence, barring the man who murders innocent folk and then turns them into artistic renderings.

But at the current juncture it's a little difficult to be critical of people-eating when he himself is forced to partake.]

Can I help you?

[he asks through a grit-toothed smile, feeling his stomach scream not for the first time today that it would like something more than coffee.]

The strawberry rhubarb pie should be cool, if you're interested.

Edited 2015-06-18 15:09 (UTC)

[ Some witty and morose comment about having his pie and eating it too would be appropriate, surely. He keeps it to himself for the moment, putting the menu down. He checks himself, mentally, knowing he'll need to sanitize his hands as soon as he's out of this place. ]

That would be perfect then, thank you. How are you feeling today, Ned?

[ He asks with a look of curiosity expecting any answer to be self deprecating and therefor terribly satisfying. ]

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[OPEN] you know what kinda eats? the kinda red-hot treats

June 14th | The hallway leading to the diner

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june 13 ; hallways

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Evening of 6/13, in the diner

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midday June 15 | hallways

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June 14th, early.

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June whenever. Wherever it fits.

June 13

June 13