Tasha, John, Open
"Not a bad comparison," he acknowledged. John's chin rested on his palm as he watched her pick up the chicken wing with her fingers. Not much about him qualified as fastidious, but he never understood picking up a food that was sticky with condiments bare-handed, or the urge to lick one's fingers. Someone else's fingers... that was a more appealing visual.
"When you're turned 'n you wake up, one'f the first things you notice is the quiet." He shook his hand dismissively between them. "Not- not the quiet of the world. The quiet of the dead. Living bodies are full of noise. Wh'as the word I'm looking for?" He rubbed a middle finger at his forehead in thought. "Ambient. Ambient sound. You won' believe the quiet. 's maddening."