She's not sure where it came from, staring warily at the basket that has been left out in the open through the open framing of her own Paraquat. It's colorful, filled to the brim with carefully wrapped treats and other such goodies. But now she's cautious about it.
Who left it there?
She looks to Vati, the Tazerling spotting it and shrugging. A hand is extended toward the Slug, who takes it readily before her handler strides with that subtle limp toward the suspicious basket. She'll always trust her Slugs' reactions to things more than her own, knowing that human nature is to err. Slugs are more perceptive, and Vati's input is valuable.
The Tazerling sniffs at the basket, trying to detect anything wrong with it. Apparently, nothing seems to be, the little Slug giving a shrug to denote that she sees no problem with it. A fast check over the thing reveals no note, no card, nothing to show who it's to or from. She decides it needs more extensive research.
Right on cue comes her wafting companion, that tall [and reckless] Prussian. The test subject found, even though she knows the taller would probably murder her if anything is wrong with them.
Something small is selected from the brimming basket, a short whistle to catch the ebon-maned menace's attention. As expected, War turns on a dime, a shift of weight against the heel supports to make a sudden and sharp about-face. The piece is tossed to her, caught with little effort.
She looks over it, confused. "Ze Hell ist zis…"
Famine shrugs. "No idea. It vhas left here."
"How do you know it's not … poisoned or somet'ing…"
Of course, the one day War actually has some sense of self-preservation. Figures…
"Does it look poisoned or drugged?"
Another flick of the piece over her fingers, a deeper visual analysis. "No discoloration or ot'er veirdnesses…" A sniff. "…Smells normal…" The wrapper is removed with that same careful observation to both wrapper and candied piece of what looks like fruit before popping it into waiting fanged jaws. A small noise of appreciation is given. "I don't know, tastes pretty gute." A shrug is given to sum it up before she walks away again.
A slow nod from the Russian, standing up to return to her work and stealthily keep an eye on her taller comrade. For fifteen minutes, she watches, ample time for anything wrong to go wrong. Nothing happens in that frame; no doubling over, no passing out. Simply War going about her usual day in camp. A look toward Vati, once more the Tazerling shrugs. A shrug back before the stocky Russian slips out again to retrieve the basket.
It takes her and her small team of three Slugs the better part of a week to finish the contents with little adverse effects; Wilt gets a stomach ache, of course, but that is to be expected when something that small eats four pieces of caramel in under an hour.
A/N: In which Famine is more devious than one expects. Yes, let's subject the juggernaut to potential poisoning, why don't we. And without Death in sight.
She's had better ideas.