There was a shout through the wall.<br/><br/>Whelp, at least now he knew who the mystery bacon donor was!<br/><br/>Clay picked at another piece half-heartedly, not so much as eating it as playing with it. A small portion of his brain wanted for all the word for it to live. To breath. To squirmâ€¦<br/>Naturally this was shunted to the back of his skull, with great force, but it was already too late. The weird sensation was like a dose of sickness to his mood and it spread at an alarming rate. Enough that he avoided eye contact with anyone for a moment, particularly as Mateo slinked in. Something about the boy had always set Clays hackles on end, maybe it was because of the serious edge to his personality, that weird, sharp sense of KNOWING the kid seemed to carryâ€¦<br/>â€¦ Maybe it was because his genetics were played with making him inedible. Chemicalâ€¦<br/><br/>Zombâ€”noâ€”<span style="font-style: italic">Post Living Ambulatory Syndrome</span>had a funny in built sense that kept you aware of these thingsâ€¦<br/><br/>Half distracted he tuned back into darling Boos conversation, Well, it was more of one long continuous heckle. A two man heckle. Not without feeling a tad guilty and disorientated. Sinceâ€¦ well, brushing grave dust from his Sunday best like cookie crumbs, his concentration has got it in the neck.<br/>Carpe Jugulum.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">â€œâ€¦should go out and give them a hand. Y'know, literally." She winked, a barely visible flutter of eyelashes. "If the road is suddenly paved with flesh and not asphalt, I think they'd hurry to get away."</span><br/><br/>Clay cracked into a lopsided grin, â€œImagine their faces! Bet thereâ€™s nothing in the manual for that!â€. The humour wasnâ€™t lost on him, dayum! Gurl was quick as a jack hare and only half as ugly, butâ€¦<br/><br/>That mornings dreamâ€¦ nightmareâ€¦ memoryâ€¦<span style="font-style: italic"> whatever</span>crept back through the cracks in his mood. Like freakinâ€™ kitchen mould, you could blitz it and scrub at it, but it always grew back in the same damn places!<br/>â€˜Fleshâ€™.<br/>He had to supress a shudder, that dark, deeply ingrained WANT stirred and uncurled in his belly like a sleeping animal. The boy dropped his gaze to the shredded bacon, tiny, glistening, fatty crumbs, like drops of phlegm, gumming up the small space under his nailsâ€¦ the smell wet his appetite and that knocked him sick in turnâ€¦<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">â€™Dayum, boss,â€™</span>his inner voice purred,<span style="font-style: italic"> â€˜you got issues coming out the wazoo! Stuff â€˜em back in with a few nice fat pills. When did you last take your horse pills?â€™</span><br/><br/>Yesterday afternoon, but never you mind, you lazy bum! Donâ€™t you judge me!<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"I just scorched the wallpaper and door frame." Drake snapped him out of it, "Oh, and your clock is a smoldering pile of plastic." he finished with a satisfied grin, "You're lucky you get a new one every time you break it from the government or you'd be sleeping in every day." </span><br/><br/>Clay glanced up and shot the boy a cheeky wink, trying to force himself back to working order. Normal service will be resumed shortly. â€œJust the walls and door?! Well I AM getting SLACK! Gonna have to up my game, huh sweet pea!â€<br/><br/>Drake wandered for a few moments before greeting Helena with what seemed to be the traditional greeting these days.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Helena, is he bothering you again this morning? You want me to light his ears on fire or something?"</span><br/>â€ƒ<br/>â€ƒ<br/>Conversation started to bubble, but Clay couldnâ€™t keep up, his grip on the moment was slipping. Just zombie stuff. Once you noticed the P.L.A.P mind set and all it encompassed, the more power you handed it. It niggled and niggled, little urges, little twinges, little sensations and the more you tried to avoid it the more prominent its effect. It was like trying to ignore an itch.<br/>He swallowed dryly, gritting his teeth and pulling his knees to his chest.<br/>Finally, after what was probably seconds masquerading as hours, a little firm voice in his head announced that it was medication time with glorious intercom clarity.<br/><br/>He hoisted himself to his feet, â€œWhelp, you lot are boring my balls off!â€ he announced cheerily, â€œSweet Pea, Mat, Ronnie MEIN FUHRER,â€ because it was a well-known fact you couldnâ€™t greet a German without shouting WWII (WHICH YOU LOST!) references at them. Then added in a slightly softer tone, â€œDidnâ€™ notice you creep in! Morning! Boo,â€ he shot Helena his award winning grin, â€œsee you on the other side!â€ he them a wave, Veronica a salute, and jogged back upstairs, trying to ignore the squirming sensation under his skin.<br/><br/>Never again would he skip a pill. At least not until the next time he remembered to forget anyway.<br/><br/>Clays door clicked shut behind him.