A pair of mini drabble like musings on the Robin and Much and food after the war. (And no, neither belong to me.)
He eats too much, talks too much. He is constantly stuffing his mouth with words and bread, anything that might fill the gnawing emptiness in his belly. That hole has followed him from the Holy Land, chasing after him, taunting him with hunger and terrible silences, until all Much can do is eat and speak and try to keep that strange starvation at bay.
He never eats, never talks. Though he takes care to hide this fact with empty words and restless pacing, he rarely can stomach a full plate of anything, be it woeful honesty or questionable 'chicken'. The taste of blood and sand are always roiling in his stomach, 'til Robin is full to bursting with violence and the sound of screaming, and cannot swallow another meal or another weighty conversation.
Odd and short I know, but it just stuck in my head. As always reviews are appreciated!