Guro Challenge #13: Sickness
#7 of 33 Day Guro Challenge
Groddil left his chair and backed up, trembling, trying not to drop the flagon. Dark wine trickled down his chin, and he licked his lips guiltily. "I'm so sorry, sire, I'm sorry. It-it looked just like my water jug, I wasn't paying attention... I'm sorry." He offered the flagon to the looming wildcat, hoping he would be spared injury. Trunn's eyes were glimmering unpleasantly and there was a smirk spreading under his whiskers. Groddil fell to the dirty floor, covering his head. Trunn nudged him with a footpaw.
"Sit up, Groddil. No, stop shaking, there's no need to panic." When he spoke like that, there was every need to panic, but Groddil sat up. The cat seemed amused, perhaps he'd escape. "You like my wine, eh? Well, then you must have some more."
"Ah, sire?"
"Drink it," Trunn said, almost kindly, pointing to the flagon in the fox's paw. He picked up his plate and offered the half-eaten seagull. "In fact, try this. See how well this wine goes with it?" Groddil knew this was not going to end well, but he picked a few shreds off the meat. Trunn glared at him and pushed the plate in his face, and he took a whole leg and bit into it, slowly at first and faster when Trunn's expression started to darken again. It tasted far better than the unseasoned fish Groddil had been eating, but fear sapped the enjoyment from it.
Trunn pushed the rest of the fox's own meal at him, and he finished it up, washing it down with the wine. "Keep drinking," Trunn told him, watching with interest as the fox raised the vessel to his lips again and swallowed, again, until the last drops hit his tongue. "Done?"
"A-aye, sire," Groddil said, pushing himself onto all fours and moving to stand up, feeling more full than he had in seasons. "Thank y-"
Trunn's footpaw hit him hard just under the ribs, and he doubled up, gasping. He tried to get up and was kicked again, grabbed by the scruff and shaken hard. He fell and landed on his back, and the cat's heel come down onto his belly. Groddil panted, feeling his pulse quicken and his stomach churn. He swallowed and coughed, his mouth dry, as Trunn kicked him over onto his front; he tried again to get up and fell, Trunn's footpaw ground into his back, and his face lay in the sour-smelling dust. He saw the drained corpses of insects where the spiders had dropped them, felt the swaying of the moored ship, imagined what Trunn could do to him... Finally, it was too much. Trunn stepped backwards as Groddil coughed again and started to bring the food and wine back up. Slow, hard heaves painfully racked the fox's body, and his eyes watered as acid and alcohol burned his throat raw. By the end, he was shaking, weeping, leaning on his elbows and letting the last trickle fall from his lip. He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself.
"Don't leave that mess there," Trunn purred, teeth glinting. "They do say the dog returneth to his vomit, and a dog-fox is close enough. I hope you won't be returning to your folly."
Groddil swallowed hard again, and comforted himself by recalling other common sayings about the interactions of dogs and cats.