John is still more man than beast, and the bucket of raw meat was unappealing. It was still all he had ever been given and, when he'd gotten hungry enough, he'd eaten a strip or two of it.

All that had happened was that he'd gotten really, really sick.

The Ringmaster didn't care, though, had seemed amused by it, and just reassured John that he'd get used to it. John tried not to eat after that.

He glares blearily at Bane, eyes catching on the hated bucket before he averts his gaze. "No," he lies, sullen.