Hickey eats with the vigor of a starving man. Soup, meat, potatoes, it doesn't matter, he is eating it. He is hungry, his last meal not doing that much to satiate the hunger that broils and churns in his gut, the hunger that grows inside you when you've starved for months. There is food here and he's eating it because who the hell knows when his next meal will be.
That being said, there is one thing that Hickey seems to be studiously avoiding: the tinned vegetables. As he slurps down the last of his soup, he nudges the person next to him who, let's be real, has probably been dodging food particles for the past five minutes. "That soup came in tins. D'you know where they put them afterwards?"
arrival - methuselah's feast, pt. 2 His knife is there. A boat knife, with the word 'Hickey' carved in the handle. Hickey picks up the knife as well as two other items close by it. A bedroll, rolled up, for sleeping on the ground. And a small ring on a chain.
Huh. He never really expected to see that again.
Hickey picks up the ring, looking at it, quizzical frown on his face. The next person who approaches him gets asked, "I gave this to somebody else. Why the hell's it here?"
A question for the ages.
hope nobody needs this, possible cw for gross body horror/corpse abuse Cornelius Hickey is looting a body. Granted, it's a little bit hard to loot the body when it's cold to this extent. Rigor mortis has set in and then some. But that body is holding a gun. Hickey wants that gun.
He's squatting next to a body, wearing a hat and a muffler that you might have seen on a different body. They're not using it anymore. More for him. Waste not, want not. And here, in this new world that annoyingly is so fucking close to the world he left behind? He's not wasting anything. He's not going to let it get like it did before. Here? He's going to thrive. And he's going to thrive with a gun.
When he spots someone walking down the street, Hickey calls out, "Oi! Got any warm water on you?"
Cornelius Hickey | The Terror (AMC)
There's food here.
Fucking finally.
Hickey eats with the vigor of a starving man. Soup, meat, potatoes, it doesn't matter, he is eating it. He is hungry, his last meal not doing that much to satiate the hunger that broils and churns in his gut, the hunger that grows inside you when you've starved for months. There is food here and he's eating it because who the hell knows when his next meal will be.
That being said, there is one thing that Hickey seems to be studiously avoiding: the tinned vegetables. As he slurps down the last of his soup, he nudges the person next to him who, let's be real, has probably been dodging food particles for the past five minutes. "That soup came in tins. D'you know where they put them afterwards?"
arrival - methuselah's feast, pt. 2
His knife is there. A boat knife, with the word 'Hickey' carved in the handle. Hickey picks up the knife as well as two other items close by it. A bedroll, rolled up, for sleeping on the ground. And a small ring on a chain.
Huh. He never really expected to see that again.
Hickey picks up the ring, looking at it, quizzical frown on his face. The next person who approaches him gets asked, "I gave this to somebody else. Why the hell's it here?"
A question for the ages.
hope nobody needs this, possible cw for gross body horror/corpse abuse
Cornelius Hickey is looting a body. Granted, it's a little bit hard to loot the body when it's cold to this extent. Rigor mortis has set in and then some. But that body is holding a gun. Hickey wants that gun.
He's squatting next to a body, wearing a hat and a muffler that you might have seen on a different body. They're not using it anymore. More for him. Waste not, want not. And here, in this new world that annoyingly is so fucking close to the world he left behind? He's not wasting anything. He's not going to let it get like it did before. Here? He's going to thrive. And he's going to thrive with a gun.
When he spots someone walking down the street, Hickey calls out, "Oi! Got any warm water on you?"