Of course he's eating, Deputy Pratt is always eating. He keeps eating and he never feels full, never feels satisfied, and still looks emaciated like he did under the care of Jacob Seed. He isn't sure what the problem is, there's plenty of food and it's not like he does anything to burn off the ten thousand calories of mashed potatoes he eats. But that's one of those existential crisis issues he's not prepared to deal with.

He has a few plates around him, garlic bread, french fries, eggplant parmesan, mac and cheese, not a piece of meat in sight.

Which is why the question about who might go psycho cannibal catches him completely off guard. He visibly recoils and stares, wide eyed, holding his fork with white knuckles. "Uhhhh."

Eloquent.

He forcibly sets the fork down, looks around them at the various other people sitting at their tables and unaware of the internal screaming Pratt is doing right now. He's fine, he's cool, he can handle this.

"Well. Guess that depends how long we're out of food for uhm, most people can only go about six days and even then your body starts eating itself and it fucking hurts." For how skinny he is he looks like he might know firsthand. "But uhm."

That isn't what he asked Deputy. Go on then. Answer the man. Who would be the first?

Pratt glares nervously over his shoulder at a hallucination that Jeff can't see or hear. And he knows isn't real, Jacob Seed is dead, but Pratt still can't fully ignore him, and glaring at him never works.

"Well. Probably me."