Game 2Game 2 Outline| Game 2 |
Game 2 Outline |
He's filthy. His clothes are smeared and torn and his fur is caked in dust. And spattered in blood. There's a cut along his arm, and his face is grazed. Irrationally, all of this makes you very angry at him. How could he go drinking just having pounded you, when you feel so bad about it?
You eventually manage to haul yourself to your feet. You need to get Fred cleaned up. Not necessarily gently. You ask, "Fred? Could you help me to the bathroom?" After repeating yourself much more slowly, Fred accompanies you. Once there, you unceremoniously haul Fred over the bath and turn the shower on. You don't bother with hot water. Fred howls in anguish.
"Don' wanna bath!" he splutters between repeated soakings.
"Well, you're having one!" You lather his fur up with shampoo, scrubbing him briskly and provoking more yelps.
"Not gonna!" he snarls sulkily, trying to pull away from you. You snap.
"Yes you are, because I'm not sharing my home with a filthy, stinking, drunken sot!" Dropping him, you storm to the airing cupboard to get some towels. You are brought up short by a choking, gasping noise. If he's being sick...
He's crying. Fred is huddled in a puddle on the bathroom floor, trying not to make a sound, but failing. Big, wet tears are glistening around his shut eyes. "Nobody likes me." he whimpers, then throws his head back and howls, "Poor ole me!" He sinks down into heartbroken bawling.
Guilt stabs your heart. After a few stunned moments, you tentatively reach out. "Fred?" No response. "Don't cry, pal. I like you."
"You don't!" Fred sobs.
"Yes I do, Fred." You gently try to hug him, but he shies away.
"You don't! You hate me. You must hate me: I hit you. Even I hate me!"
His crying redoubles, and he curls up into a tight ball. When you hug him again, he doesn't fight you. You cradle this hurting, sopping wet cub against your paunch, frantically telling him over and over, "I like you, Fred. It's alright. You're my best friend." Fred is inconoslable.
Eventually his howls turn into sobs, which become noisy hiccups. You wrap him in the warmest, fluffiest towels you can find, and just sit there with him in your pudgy arms.
What an earth are you going to do?
Written by Lupine