𝘀𝗲𝗺𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝘀. owen grady

⟩ 7

Muffins and Stuffies ⤵

I woke up that morning sweating under the thin layers of clothing and thick comforter that was graced upon me by a well-built raptor trainer. After finding that there was nothing too eye-catching in the fridge, I opted for a shower and a walk to the park. 

No, even with all the food I was given, I still wasn't given a vehicle. One that would put me at less of a risk when traveling through an island of dinosaurs. With a T-Rex, especially. 

It was a lazy morning, a lot of groaning and throwing myself around. Beating my bruises to a further extent, a larger area of purple overtook my calf. The sting and stab of the coffee table still ached against my sore, flabby skin. Although I'm not fully skin and bone, and actually have a bit of flesh to spare, it still hurt as badly as it would to anyone else.  

Now, I caressed my bruise with my thumb while I ate away at a muffin. I was thankful that they had my favorite one, otherwise I would've been shitty today. Not like I would be any other day. 

I read over a text from last night, one that came in from Ian. Hile reading the text, I couldn't help but imagine himself saying the words to me. As if we were speaking face-to-face. His distinctive stutter, the occasional 'uh' between words. The way he'd lift his index finger to prove a point, or move his hands is rather robust ways to further exaggerate something. 

With the simple warning of a text, he sent an image. It was a T-Rex, a plush from a nearby store, that he held in his hands and brought closer to the camera to look menacing. It's cloth teeth were bent and it's reptilian skin looked soft and cuddly if anything. 

watch out for the trex, came with the image. 

While thinking of a clever way to respond, by use of a common known language that exaggerates ones words with higher mocking tones; the chair across from myself had made a terrifying noise across the floor. Nobody else was bothered by it. Except me. 

''Look who's back and at it,'' The man sat down, settling himself heavily against the chair that I doubted would hold all his muscle weight. ''just yesterday you looked drunk off your shit, now you're here eating muffins.''

''Correction, I wasn't drunk. I was sleep deprived. There's a difference.''

''Doesn't seem like it.'' 

His head bobbed around his shoulders, expressions aggravating me to a certain extent. He was mocking me. Owen was about to make another sarcastic comment when he narrowed his gaze towards my muffin, currently being lifted to my mouth to take an overly large bite out of the side. 

I suddenly grew self-conscious, something which I hadn't been introduced to in a long while. People watching me eat was something I couldn't stand. And the way he stared only made it seem worse. Was I eating wrongly? Was eating out the side of muffins illegal in America? Heck, living with the dinosaurs, I'm sure everything is legal. 

Before I could question Owen's intense gaze, he turned away and mumbled, ''Now that I think about it..'' He turned and lifted his hand curtly into the air, lazily, using two fingers as if a wave to someone he knew from childhood. 

A waitress walked over. She wore the same uniform as the other workers in Café TriceraMuffintops. Sporting a jungle leaf printed apron over a black blouse and matching skirt. Simple enough. 

She smiled, pulled her blonde hair over her shoulder and held the pen between her manicured fingers. In the other hand, she got ready to scribble down whatever Owen ordered against the fresh white paper. ''What can I do for ya?''