Setting: Sitting Room
Time: Mid-Day 008, at the same time as the Mio memory invasion thread
Summary: A hungry cannibal meets a hungry cannibal. :|bb These two are either going to tear each other to shreds or be BFFs, for srs.
Warnings: Cannibalism? O mai~ :o
Zetsu felt sick.
Three weeks locked in the basement tunnels with little food could only have helped that along. As could the fact that there had been little to no light whatsoever, even if he'd still had his leaves to derive energy from it. It was brutally cold down there too, to someone like him, and he was still exhausted from being denied his proper hibernation, not to mention the general lack of sleep such intense paranoia generated..... Overall, his desire to collapse was rivaled only by the need for food and warmth, and slightly but insistently hindered by just wanting to throw up and slide into a fever.
Mio had wanted to go rest in their bedroom, which he could wholeheartedly agree with, if his stomach hadn't been evidently trying to cave in on itself. He had spared some chakra for a quick, simple combo--a replacement jutsu to swap himself out with a shadow clone to accompany her, for protection and her own comfort, if nothing else--and ducked away, headed instead for the new house. He needed something more substantial, badly. As tired as he was, cooking seemed like a bad idea, and somehow the bodies in the sitting room always seemed fresh.... It was disrespectful and quite possibly dangerous, but at this point, he didn't care. He'd make sure not to touch the guns at all--cut their hands off instead, if necessary--, but if they were still there, he wanted them.
As it turned out, they were still there, and he could see that at least one had a gun laying beside it, rather than in its grasp. He dragged the corpse out of the circle, giving the gun a careful birth as he relocated his prize a few feet away for safety's sake. That done, it was a simple matter to sink into a comfortable position on the ground, pull off his cloak to prevent staining, and dig in. He had no leaves at the moment, so hands and teeth would just have to do; right now, he cared nothing for table manners. The plant man took an arm into his hands and tore into it without restraint, gouging out satisfying chunks of muscle to wolf down.
Had he been less hungry and more picky, he might have taken the time to shear away some of the skin and fat--but right now, he just didn't care. Food was food, as long as it didn't reanimate itself and try to kill him.