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Xerxes Break was no stranger to pain. Discomfort was an old acquaintance, though a wholly unlikeable one. Over the many years of his existence Break had experienced many an ache, sting, or cramp at the hands of many a foe. Occasionally by his own hands. The pain he felt now certainly was not the worst he had experienced, not by a long shot. The strobing, aching, ebbing, flowing, searing waves of pure distilled agony that blossomed from the vacuous pit of a freshly plucked eyeball stood out starkly in his memory.
The pain he felt now was not one of mere recollection and the unrelenting, nauseating churn in his gut seemed to mirror the event which haunted his memories and nightmares. It was inescapable, the damned cramp in his lower abdomen which rather felt like it was held like a vice in the maw of some hellish chain. The sensation radiated up his spine and down again toward his legs, making even the suggestion of standing unthinkable. And so Xerxes Break tossed and turned among the downy sheets of his large bed, writhing in an agony he was disquietingly familiar with. Perched on the edge of his bed was another disturbing presence, one which was accompanied by mismatched gold and scarlet eyes.
“Nyaaaaaan…”
Break almost wished his pain was enough to summon pounding blood to his ears. So that he might be able to ignore the incessant sounds being made by a certain sewer rodent. Break groaned in annoyance and pain. Vincent Nightray made a paw with his fist and carried out some foul movement imitating a cat. “This must be hell,” Break thought bitterly. “This must be my ultimate punishment.” It seemed to him that this was a very cruel and unusual punishment. For all his self loathing he didn’t think he deserved this.
“Meowwww,” came the grating call of a pure madman who had never shed his own uterine lining. “Hatter-san,” he began languidly, “have you heard that a cat’s purrs are meant to have healing properties?” The vile grin that spread across his face was very much like that of a proud and mischievous cat. He reached a paw up and licked it, that devious smirk never faltering. Break fixed him with an unimpressed glare and furrowed brows. How fitting it was that he was being tormented by a cat again, or some creep pretending to be a cat.
Break gathered all of the burning pain in his body into his eye as he glared on at the absurd apparition before him. “Certainly I have heard, but you are no cat, Vincent-sama.” A cold and harsh smile formed as he bit out that mocking title. Vincent was unaffected by the severe weather of Break’s expressions. In fact, he only grinned wider, his eyes shone all the brighter with glee. Break curled in on himself once more, attempting to smother his torso into comfort. His torturer just laughed a high pitched, tittering thing as he leaned closer, unnoticed by the man who was beside himself in pain and currently bleeding out.
The bed acquiesced and bowed beneath the scheming form of Vincent Nightray who brought himself closer to the squirming bundle of nerves and flesh called Xerxes Break. The writhing came to a sudden halt as Break felt a solid pressure against his side. He deigned to look over and was met with the horrifying sight of this sewer rat pressing his face against him. This display of affection only created an additional pit in Break’s stomach which was neither here nor there and he didn’t care to dwell on it. Then, by some unholy power, Vincent began to purr. “It is good to know,” Break thought distantly as the shock cemented him in place, “that I can still be surprised.” Then his pain-addled, foggy brain caught up to him and he shrieked.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
“And, furthermore, how in God’s name had he managed to do that?” Perhaps it spoke to Vincent’s reputation that this party trick was instinctively met with repulsion by the object of his affections and attacks alike. Vincent peered up through a curtain of fair, shiny hair and a decidedly grotesque performance of cluelessness marked his fine features. “I thought you knew of this remedy. I was only trying to help my dear friend, the Hatter,” Vincent replied with a barely hidden mirth. Break’s eye narrowed and twitched minutely. He shifted tactics.
“Why,” he emphasised, “are you doing this?”
“I’m a cat.”
A well known groan of irritation graced Vincent’s ears. “You are not a cat.”
“I’m quite literally playing and drinking milk and washing my fur.” Another lick to another paw was made to illustrate such a statement.
“I am going to put you down.”
Terribly exhausted and awfully irritated, Break sighed heavily and shot a desperate pleading look toward Emily, his sole ally in this bedroom who was tucked in neatly to the section of the bed that had not yet been thrown into chaos by his undulation. She did not answer and only stared blankly at the horrors unfolding before her. Perhaps she was more irked than even he had been by this deviant conduct. As Xerxes Break held fast to his own sides having been wracked with a fresh wave of unpleasant hurt, he thought he saw a pair of cat’s ears appear on her head. “How foreboding.” Another pang in his abdomen redirected his thoughts of doom once again, and Vincent meowed victorious.