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Foster Van Denend (
2017-05-12 08:07 pm (UTC)
There is no way, realistically speaking, to return at least 15 years of someone's life to them without destabilising the very essence of who they are. It's a viscerally disturbing experience, and Foster had more or less settled into a sort of dissociative fugue. Memories surfacing by association, triggering each other one by one by three by eight, porpoises surfacing to spray saltwater and breath before reverting to silhouette beneath the surf.
Superficially hidden, but impossible to fully conceal under the waves.
Which is all a very poetic way to say Foster is really super fucked up right now, and Jimmy's arrival would probably be extremely unwelcome if it didn't come with a reminder of something Foster had been neglecting really badly: that is to say, food.
It's the smell that really hits him--there is no greater reminder of how much you haven't eaten or how badly you need to than the smell of hot food.
At least he's since been treated for his mushi infection: Jimmy has Foster's full--and, uh, salivating--attention from the very minute he comes in.
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