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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Festy_Dog" data-source="post: 3936538" data-attributes="member: 2561">Judas Archer cleared his throat, and a faint taste of blood settled in his mouth. Listening to Frank in the kitchen made him wonder if he should try eating anything again. Maybe if the food was strongly flavoured enough it wouldn't just taste like ash. To be honest he just assumed the taste was ash, kinda the same way people assume to know the flavour of bodily wastes. Regardless, he decided he would start with the spicy stuff, assuming there was any there. Frank was the only one who actually used the kitchen regularly anyway, being the only one who ate. He seemed to be a decent cook too, as far as how the food looks and smells is concerned. Archer wasn't in a condition to go out and buy some food, or 'research materials', himself so he had to obtain some of Frank's, preferably through negoatiation. Not to say that he wouldn't just throw it all up later if he ate, he just wanted to taste something again other than blood. Anything.He hated dealing with Frank though. Trying to draw any kind of friendliness or humour from him was like squeezing blood from a stone. A smile touched his lips, it was a funny analogy in the context of the present. He was tempted to simply turn on the television and wait for Celeste to get back so that he could continue asking questions about about every aspect of the living dead he could think of. He knew he had to limit himself though, he didn't want to come across like a curious toddler. Barraging one's seniors with questions quickly removes you from their favour.Archer realized he was distracting himself. He had some spare time so he had to use it well. Further research into the vampiric condition was warranted, obstacles be damned. If he had to share the kitchen with Frank so be it. He'd wear down Frank's attitude as water erodes stone. Gradually. Archer knew patience when it was required.He stood up and checked his reflection in the window. The wound in his neck wasn't healing up properly, and it weeped and oozed now and then. The entry wound was small, and more or less closed. The exit wound was not so simple. The bullet had broken into three pieces and left things a mess. One of the first things Celeste had taught him was how to close his own wounds. The process was still foreign. Judas had followed her instructions, and the wound stitched itself back together to an extent, enabling him to speak and feed and whatnot without difficulty, but it wouldn't go beyond the point it was at now. Expending more blood on it would simply make the injury bleed. He felt like he was doing something wrong. He couldn't go into public until he had determined a solution, society tends to frown upon such inconsistencies as a severely injured man strolling about nonchalantly. Again, that could wait. Now? There were experiments to be conducted.He took one more look at the new, deader Judas, and adopted a movie-style, dramatic tone of voice, "You've died the way you wanted to. A bullet. Now, you must live with the concequences," he chuckled and proceeded towards the kitchen. It was time to see if Frank was willing to share.</blockquote>

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