Stareeeee.
Chestelle and Lickthorn locked onto Finn like predators spotting fresh meat. Especially Chestelle—her eyes were wide, unblinking, and laser-focused straight into his soul.
Finn gulped. He already knew where this was headed.
He stomped his foot down with resolve. "I'm not interested in your slime snacks."
"You sure?" Chestelle asked, already skewering more slime onto her nails like some grotesque appetizer tray.
"I am very sure." Finn's face was deadpan. Stoic. Determined.
But then…
GGGGRRRRRRWWWWLLL.
His stomach growled again—louder this time. Betrayal. Complete and utter betrayal.
Finn winced. His dignity hung by a thread.
He looked at the slime.
Then at the pain in his gut.
Then back at the slime.
He didn't want to eat it. Every part of his soul screamed no. But the other parts—the pathetic human survival parts—were slowly breaking down his resistance.
Chestelle smiled warmly. "Your stomach is yearning… for the slime delicacy."
