Harley -- Dream 07 -- Anyone have a Dis-ache? (at the end of the HUNGER event)

[justwantsafety]

Several scenes only present themselves long enough to get an idea of the events and situations that must've led up to this. In the first, Harley's looking through the fridge, reaching in to pull out something to eat.

In another, he's pulling something down out of one of the cupboards. It looks an awful lot like medicine; the other DDS characters, Danny, and whomever else hung out at Washu's lab might recognize at least some of what he pulls out as being the components for the cannibals' supplements. Clearly, he's taking some more of that.

...Only, it must not have helped much, because another scene shows him checking on a roast in the oven impatiently. Scratch that. Several roasts, and hams, and... whatever other meat was in their freezer, apparently.

Cut to a scene of him at the grocery store, not even waiting attempting to get home before tearing open a package of deli meat, several other similar packages' plastic wrappers on the floor there too.

Finally, he made it home again, an unknown span of time later. He headed upstairs to his bedroom, slowly, using the wall for support while he clutched his stomach, and Noireau jumped down off his bed to greet him.

More. Devour more!

Something was definitely wrong, and it wasn't the pup. Harley's stomach made another sound, and the mark on the back of his hand glowed a little again. He whimpered and pushed past her into his room, shutting her out behind him.

She whined, from the other side, and scratched at the door to be let in, to play as they hadn't in a few days... and he twisted the little lock on the doorknob.

"Don't. Don't come in, Noireau. Please... I'm sorry."

He crossed the few feet to his bed, where he curled up on the pillows, frustrated to tears, biting his lip against the conflicting feelings from his stomach and the pitiful, begging whines of the puppy. As much as his stomach was hurting, protesting the sheer amount he'd packed into it, another part of him was very insistently demanding more. Worse still, he could smell the dog, the scent of what foods she'd eaten, her fur, half damp from the snow outside, and something that was no longer quite in the back of his mind insisted that despite the fullness of his stomach already, she'd be a fine little morsel to--

He made a sound, curling up tighter as he pushed the thought firmly, firmly away, and somehow, after some time more, he managed to fall asleep.

He was in no hurry to wake up. The sun was already high in the sky by the time he yawned and peeked over at where his Dreamberry lay on the nightstand. The fact that it was on puzzled him a little, and he moved to reach for it, to turn it off... only to quickly realize that doing so would require moving more than he was comfortable with. He made a face and curled up again instead, and once it connected that the device's activity meant it'd broadcast what had just gone through his mind, pulled a pillow over his head. At least the mark on his hand had quit glowing.