and the point fell off
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"Sometimes Dave returns bringing his own dinner in the same sack, and you both eat and talk about your time spent before going to sleep. Tonight he had fairly crawled back from the dj thing, trailing the sickly-brown reek of those awful cigarette things humans like. Underneath that, you could smell that he was deeply bone-tired, a scent like rainclouds approaching and dust just under his skin. You finished one more volley in an online argument with Vriska and blocked her for good measure before closing the husktop so he could hand you a huge paper bag. It crinkled in your grasp, redolent with wonderful odours."
An exploration of Terezi's senses and food, heavily pT-influenced, that kind of tried to become a consideration of adaptation on both personal and larger scales, because I am apparently incapable of fluff.