I noticed something about Daxter the other day. He eats differently. Grips his bowl a little tighter, lowers his eyes a bit more. Hunches his shoulders a little, that kind of thing. If there weren't any food in his mouth while he was chewing, I could swear he was simply saying "thank you". Thank you thank you thank you thank you. Up down up down up down. Chew chew chew. Thank you.
Kid used to be able to down an entire table full of food meant for a whole party of people. Now he only eats in sections at a time. Half a loaf of bread, stop. A few spoonfuls of soup, stop. A gulp or two of alcohol, stop. Can't eat much 'cause his stomach isn't used to the presence of food. Got used to the hunger pangs, I think, and started getting hunger pains instead—now it just hurts to eat.
How did he survive two years like this?
He's also extremely neat. Nothing out of order. Not a hair, not a napkin, not a lug nut. If a sandwich came wrapped in paper, he'd be sure to fold the corners perfectly over and over, rubbing the waxy surface as flat as possible until there was just a small square of material in his hand before throwing it away. It's almost like he sets the paper neatly in the pile of garbage, but hey, he's still Daxter—sometimes he misses.
He spends his time making pyramids of bolts and screws; lining up miscellaneous supplies by size; touching the tops of metal poles when we walk by them; touching his thumbs to his fingertips one at a time. He never mutters or mumbles directly but sometimes I can hear the sounds of his tongue and teeth clicking together as he talks to himself on my shoulder. I think I've heard the word 'garage' a few times, once or twice he's probably mentioned alcohol and Tess. Sorting out his day, I suppose.
I think disorder scares him.
After all, he didn't want to go to Misty Island.
I would never tell him this, but I had my last meal planned out and everything. It was probably only a fantasy (as if the Baron would offer such a thing), but I'd picked out something from Sandover. Dax and I made it all the time when we were kids since there was no one but ourselves to take responsibility for us. It was simple—fish and some edible plant we'd found. I felt like it was fitting; so what if the Baron didn't want anything for us but peasant's food? Then we would gladly take it.
If that were the case, I'd probably be saying thank you every time I chewed, too.