<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0c/Doomtown2-Recovered2.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Walter Sinnett (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9812108#msg9812108)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 13th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Walkin' into the Gates Ranch<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Letty, Open.<br/><hr/><hr/>Watching Walter eat was far from a pleasant experience. When most people ate... dare I say when normal people ate... however hungry they were they at least took a moment or two to savour the flavours of the dish they were eating. Walter... well, Walter didn't. In fact, he didn't so much “eat” as he did “devour”. And he didn't pick at his food, he poured it. The bowl was brought close to the face, tilted up and the spoon was merely used as an implement to effectively push... or more accurately shovel... the stew into his gaping maw. It was not a pretty sight, nor one that was kind on the ears as Walter chewed and slurped noisily. Walter ate like a man who had seen no food in days and was unlikely to see it again. He ate like the child he had been not the man he (sort of) was. He was like a raging bushfire, consuming all that came into contact with it in seconds, unaware on unconcerned by the damge he left in his wake. Or, in this case, the stew that leaked out to cover his chin or the rabbit flavoured spittle that flew from the corners of his mouth. There were occasionally breaks from the rapid spooning of stew into mouth... but that was only so Walter could grab the half loaf of bread and take a rather huge bite out of it, barely chewing before he'd go right back to forcing more stew into his gob.<br/><br/>No, not a pretty sight.<br/><br/>The donkey had immediately perked up at the distinctive sight of carrots and come trotting over to Letty. The poor woman may have been thinking about trust and putting the animal at ease and all that bollocks but that was for bloody horses, not Walter's donkey. Walter's donkey had seemingly, picked up some bad habits from the man himself and so its mental process was far simpler. The woman had carrots. He wanted a carrot. Tense, relaxed, happy, sad, smiling, frowing, it didn't make a soddin' difference... she still had carrots and it still wanted carrots. So over it went. Simple. Rather like Walter. Although there was a moment... just a moment... where the donkey glanced over to Walter and his quest to devour as much food as possible in as short a time as possible, appeared to shake its head before looking back at Letty and rolling its eyes in a mark of exasperation. Although the donkey did rather itself open to claims of hypocrisy when it pretty much ripped the carrot out of Letty's hands and devoured it whole.<br/><br/><strong>*Burp*</strong><br/><br/>To say Walter belched doesn't quite describe what happened there, in the same way describing a hurricane as a little breeze doesn't really capture the essence of it. It was long, it was loud, it was proud and it rippled. It was also the sign of a man who had rather enjoyed his meal even if he'd eaten it about as quickly as it was humanly possible to consume food. A sign reinforced as Walter patted his stomach, wiped the back of one of his hands across his face in a vain attempt to clean it (spoiler; it just matted it even deeper into his filthy beard) and belched once more.<br/><br/><strong>“Damn good feed that love. Damn good bloody feed.”</strong>