Flycatcher Downs Ring ring, the bartender please?

It was a long while of impatient shuffling and the occasional expectant mumble before the man returned with something clearly swinging from his jaws. To a woman who'd spent the past few weeks living off stinking corpses and the occasional harvest of berries, fresh meat was a delusion she'd never thought of seeing again so it came to no surprise that her mouth was a salivating machine as soon as the scent hit her.

In a flash she was onto the strip; a gobbling monster as it was thrust down her gullet in few ravenous chomps. Yet such drastic movement for Elora didn't come without its pitfalls and the wench was left staggering, hunched over as the liquid inside her frame and stomach sloshed threateningly. Unfortunately, It seemed the meat had only stirred the nauseating moment into a sickly crescendo. 

"More," she gasped between breaths, her bandy legs a shaking mess as her green gaze turned on Sriracha in an almost feral manner. "Cotillita. Hungry. But oh so disgusting."