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The first thing Pizza noted when he woke up was the unfortunate ache all over his body. Then, that he couldn’t open his eyes without a thunderous, sharp pain going through his head, starting from his eyes and then quickly spreading to the rest of his body, making him dizzy. He groggily tried to remember what had happened the last time he had been awake and conscious. He shifted slightly, and a flashing, flaming pain across his back gave him a quick reminder.
He, no, they had been-
They had been in the forest in the middle of their travel to the next town, already quite close to their destination, when suddenly they had been chased down by a particularly mean-looking Fallen... He, Cassata, and Cheese had fought it... it had been a messy and chaotic scene, and suddenly Cheese had cried out in pain, and-
Pizza had told Cassata to run away and hide with Cheese, as he himself had stayed to keep fighting and distract the Fallen, but then...
Pizza’s head hurt again. He had probably gotten hit. Everything after that was a blank, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember what happened after that.
Where was he now, anyway? Did Cheese and Cassata come back to get him and bring him to an inn? Or was he still lying alone on the forest floor?
Well, at least he was more or less alive for the time being.
He finally managed to open his eyes, nausea rising rapidly in his throat as blinding light filled his field of vision.
After a series of furious blinking, and moments of searing pain behind his eyes, his sight finally adjusted enough so he could make out his surroundings.
He wasn’t in the forest, but on a wooden floor of a room that didn’t feel like an inn. He was in a cottage of some kind, apparently. The room wasn’t very large, and didn't have much furniture. There was only a small dining table with two matching chairs in the middle of the room. To his right there was a doorway, presumably leading to another room, or to a small hallway. To his left, there was a window without curtains, that was the source of the light hitting his eyes.
The sun was was already high and bright, so it was probably some time after noon. The floor was dirty with a visible layer of dust. Some of it danced in the light, and every time Pizza breathed out, it sent more flying in a small spiral.
With a pained groan, he slowly and carefully shifted to lie on his side instead of his stomach. His body felt so heavy he had to take a moment to catch his breath, when he noticed something hanging from the ceiling. He took a curious glance upwards.
The sight made his blood run cold.
Above him, near the ceiling, there was a thick wooden beam running from wall to wall, and attached to that beam, was a pulley of some sort. A long rope was attached to the pulley, one end attached to a winch secured to the wall. The other end of the rope, however...
Pizza tried to move his arms so he could push himself up to see better.
His arms moved a little, yes, but he couldn’t separate his hands, or bring them to his front. His wrists were tightly tied together behind his back, Pizza realized in ever-rising horror, his breath quickening as panic settled in.
This place most definitely wasn’t an inn.
Whoever had brought him there didn’t have any intentions of letting him leave, he thought somberly as he desperately tried to twist and free his hands. The rope’s rough texture rubbed the delicate skin of his wrist raw, and even little movements stung the wound on his back. Sighing heavily, he decided to give up for now. He closed his eyes, and tried to calm himself. Maybe this was just a bad nightmare, and he would soon wake up to Cassata and Cheese worrying over him. Then, he could just joke and laugh it off, and everything would be alright-
A door opened behind the wall.
Pizza’s breath got caught, his heart pounding deafeningly in his chest as he listened to the sounds of door closing, and someone sighing lightly before walking down the hallway. Pizza quietly turned onto his stomach again so he could pretend to be asleep if he needed to, careful not to let a sound despite his back aching like it was on fire.
The footsteps came closer, the soft click of low heels on the wooden floor feeling familiarly ominous. Curiosity got the better of him, and he tried to sneakily lift his head to see the source of the footsteps. However, the sudden crane in his neck sent a jolt of pain through, and his head hit the floor with an embarrassingly loud thump. Pizza let out a whine at the sudden pain, instantly wrecking all of his plan involving him pretending to be asleep.
“Ah!” came a delightfully surprised voice above him. “You’re finally awake, I see.”
An ice cold chill travelled through Pizza’s whole body, settling to his legs as a panicked ache, every hair on his body standing up in shock.
That voice...
“You!” Pizza whispered breathlessly, mustering as much venom in his voice as he could.
A hand grabbed his hair and roughly yanked his head up and backwards enough that Pizza had to scramble to get on his unstable knees. He looked into the set of too familiar, too bright red eyes, that were like flames behind the glinting glasses.
“Me?” The man asked, his tone dripping with false innocence.
Pizza swallowed thickly as he glared at the cursed man, despite the dread that had crept into his mind with the realization that he had failed, he had somehow been captured by this man and, knowing him, it didn't mean anything good.
In other words, Pizza was in a deep, deep trouble.
“Whiskey!” Pizza hissed, trying to break his hands free with a newfound vigor, only to be met with the raw burn of the rope.
Whiskey watched Pizza struggle for a moment before dropping him back onto the ground. Pizza barely noticed the pain of his jaw hitting the floor, his whole body seething with rage, muscles pulling taunt as he tried his best to struggle free, or even get a hit on Whiskey.
Whiskey took a step back to a safer distance before lowering himself to a crouch.
“It is good to see you remember me,” Whiskey said in a mellow tone, not at all trying to hide his amusement. “It would have been troublesome if you had forgotten me.”
He chuckled at Pizza’s angry glare.
“What a scary expression you are having there.” Whiskey brought his hand to stroke Pizza’s soft hair, making him flinch.
“I saved you, you know? You’d be quite dead if I hadn’t interfered just at the right time,” Whiskey said matter-of-factly. “Unlike your so called “friends”, who left you all alone to fight that Fallen. A little heartless of them, if you ask me.”
Whiskey was taunting him just so he could get a rise out of him, and Pizza knew it.
The knowledge, however, did nothing to stop Pizza from getting furious.
“Stop!” Pizza seethed through his gritted teeth. “You don’t know anything, so shut it!”
“You are right, maybe I don’t.” Whiskey agreed, standing up. He took a couple of steps to reach the table. He opened his suitcase, and Pizza heard a bottle being opened and something being poured into a glass.
Pizza had a bad feeling as Whiskey came back, the glass in his hand. It was full of some liquid with a pink tint.
“What is that?” Pizza asked, despite himself. Whiskey smiled at him, glasses glinting dangerously.
“It’s just a simple medicine. It eases the pain, and helps your wound heal. Sit up.”
Pizza shifted, but didn’t sit up.
“And?” He demanded.
Whiskey gave him a puzzled look.
“And what?”
“What else does it do?” Pizza asked, a little hysterically.
A look of understanding appeared on Whiskey’s face.
“I have to admit, this is a bit of an, ah... experimental formula.” Whiskey bent down to lift Pizza up by a shoulder. “So... we are going to find out.”
Pizza shuffled backwards and tried to get up and run away. But, in addition to his hands being tied behind his back-
They were also tied to the rope attached to the pulley, stopping Pizza in his tracks after just a couple of steps. He slumped back onto his knees.
Whiskey loomed over Pizza and took a hold on the back of Pizza’s neck to keep his head in place. He raised the glass against Pizza’s lips, and Pizza could smell a sickeningly sweet, nauseating smell emitting from Whiskey’s “medicine”.
“Here, drink up.”
In answer, Pizza thrashed and turned his head violently with all his might. Some of the liquid spilled on the floor.
“No! I refuse, I absolutely won’t drink any poison you give me, you-“
Whiskey’s smile never faltered, and he took a stride toward the winch and calmly turned its handle, tightening the rope that was tied to Pizza’s hands. He cried out as the tightening rope forced his arms upwards, taking the most of his weight. A searing pain burned through his back and shoulders, and he hastily gathered his legs under himself to protect his shoulders from further harm. The wound on his back ached as he tried to position his arms as comfortably as possible.
He couldn’t see Whiskey’s expression, but he could only imagine Whiskey’s gleeful smile at his slightly bent form.
“Be careful, your wound has yet to heal. We wouldn’t want it to tear any more open than it is, would we?”
Pizza raised his head as much as he dared and glared, summoning as much rage as he could into his eyes.
Whiskey, back from the winch, brought his free hand on Pizza’s cheek to stroke it. Pizza jerked his head away from the touch.
A silent moment passed, and then Whiskey’s voice lowered almost to a whisper.
“I’m feeling generous, so I’m offering again. Here. Drink up.”
As an answer, Pizza spat on his face.
Whiskey let out a deep sigh. Pizza held his breath as Whiskey wordlessly walked to the table, putting the glass on top of it. Then, just as wordlessly, he walked to the winch and turned the handle with force.
It was like air had been punched out of Pizza’s lungs as the rope tightened once again and yanked him harshly upwards. His shoulders felt like they were on the brink of dislocation, and he hurried to fix his position to a less painful one , but there was not much he could do. He was bent as far forward as he could and was standing high up on his tiptoes, breathing harshly as Whiskey stopped and locked the handle from turning back in the other direction.
“I’l be gone for a moment,” Whiskey explained calmly while wiping his face. “I will offer the medicine to you again when I come back. Now, be good and stay there.”
Then he walked out of the room.
The door opened and closed.
Pizza was alone, only his heavy breathing and occasional whines echoing in the room.
The sun gradually lowered in the glowing sky, slowly but inevitably travelling towards the reddening horizon.
Pizza had no idea how long he had been in the position.
He was practically hanging on the rope by his hands, and even though he had found the least draining position, he wasn’t sure how long he could actually last.
Pizza wondered if Cheese and Cassata had already been able make it to a a safe place to spend their night.
He wholeheartedly hoped so. They would start to search for him, and if he could afford to endure Whiskey’s antics until then-
Pizza’s rage flared. He had sworn that his friends would never be hurt by Whiskey ever again, and now they were going to get involved in the result of his carelessness.
He was angry mostly at Whiskey.
But also at himself.
Pizza whined as his calves ached in protest, and he shuffled a bit to ease the burn. Whiskey had left him in a devastatingly agonizing position. He had to be on his tiptoes, and he could move and lower himself only minimally before his shoulders felt like they could dislocate at any moment.
His ankles hurt and, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was starting to hope that Whiskey could come back soon. His legs trembled, even though he tried to rest his calves, one leg at a time. he swayed anxiously from one foot to the other with the minimal leeway he had. Sweat started to fall down his forehead, his chin, and his back, where it stung his wound uncomfortably.
And time passed. And passed. And passed.
It was hot.
Drip... drip... drip...
He counted the drops of sweat that fell on the floor.
Drip... drip... drip...
He lost his count at sixteen.
Drip... drip... drip...
His feet hurt.
Drip...
He had sweat on his eyebrows, his eyelashes, everywhere.
The air was stagnating.
Drip...
Oh, that wasn’t sweat anymore, he was crying.
In a fit of desperation, he yanked and twisted his wrists, hoping the sweat would make them slippery enough to free them.
It didn’t. Instead, his shoulders burned and he howled in pain and frustration.
He shifted his weight onto his left foot, rising the other to let it relax in the air. The muscle spasmed painfully, and he stretched the limb the best he could before he had to put it back down, and let the other rest in the same manner.
He took a shuddering breath.
Breathed in. And breathed out.
In... and out.
He could almost pretend that it didn’t hurt.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
The front door opened.
There was a barely noticeable breeze of fresh air that cooled Pizza’s damp skin.
The door closed, followed by footsteps.
Whiskey waltzed into the room, humming a tune to himself. As if as an afterthought, he turned to look at Pizza.
“I’m back. Did you miss me, perhaps?”
Pizza didn’t say anything, just hung his head, trying hard to just endure.
“...”
“Is that so? Is there anything you need from me?”
“...no.”
“Oh. Are you sure?”
Pizza nodded jerkily.
Whiskey walked to the table and sat down on one of the chairs.
“Alright. I’ll be here, just tell me if you need anything,” Whiskey hinted, and lit up a couple of candles for extra light.
The sun was already quite low, the last rays of sunlight purpling the evening sky.
Pizza’s whole body was shaking in exhaustion, but he wasn’t going to give in.
He really wasn’t.
At the table, Whiskey was studying and writing on his notebook. The soft susurrus of pen sliding on the paper’s surface tickled Pizza’s ears. He concentrated on it in an attempt to distract himself from the pain.
It helped only for a moment.
How long was Whiskey going to let him hang there? He wouldn’t leave him like this for the whole night, would he?
...Whiskey would totally do it.
Pizza’s feet twitched, and he let out a low, raspy whine.
The writing stopped, and Whiskey got up. Pizza closed his eyes tightly as he felt Whiskey’s presence near.
Whiskey’s whisper tickled Pizza’s ear.
“Did you change your mind yet?”
Pizza drew a shuddering breath.
“...It hurts.”
Whiskey hummed knowingly.
“I can imagine it does.”
A beat of silence.
“I can let you down,” Whiskey said finally. “But I want something in return.”
“Wha-?”
“You already know what it is.”
Of course Pizza knew what Whiskey wanted.
“I’ll-” Pizza started, voice rough from the exhaustion. He so much wanted to yell never, I’ll never surrender to you, I’ll fight you, you bastard, but his calves and shoulders were still burning, and every cell of his being was screaming please, I’ll drink it, I will do anything, anything, just untie me and lest me rest, I swear I’ll be good, I swear-
His feet twitched again, violently, threatening to collapse.
“I’ll...”
Pizza gritted his teeth and hung his head low in defeat.
“I’ll drink it.”
Whiskey chuckled.
“And how do you ask nicely?”
Cheeks and ears burning in shame, Pizza took a deep breath and swallowed nervously.
“Please.”
“Please what?”
Tears of frustration escaped Pizza’s eyes.
“Please... let me drink the medicine,” Pizza pleaded tiredly, trying no to lash out at Whiskey’s teasing. “And let me down.”
Relief spread through Pizza, as Whiskey walked to the winch and turned the handle.
Instead of loosening, the rope tightened, elevating Pizza slightly from the ground, and he screamed, his shoulders feeling like they were being torn off his body.
With a silent oops, Whiskey opened the brake on the winch. Pizza collapsed on the ground, his knees hitting the floor hard. He writhed and whimpered as his muscles convulsed, and his back and shoulders burned.
Pizza gasped as Whiskey hoisted him roughly up, raising the glass from earlier to Pizza’s open mouth.
The angle was not an easy one, and the liquid’s strong taste was too much, making him cough and spit half of it on the floor. He watched the liquid seep in through the seams on wooden floor, anticipating Whiskey’s reaction.
Whiskey let out a deep sigh of fake exasperation.
“Look at you, you’re such a mess. You can’t even drink properly.” Whiskey’s grip on Pizza’s hair tightened. “Here, let me help you.”
Whiskey himself took a sip from the glass. Before Pizza could even begin to wonder what was going on, Whiskey suddenly crashed their lips together and forced the liquid from his mouth into Pizza’s.
Pizza was too shocked to even struggle, and had no choice but to accept and swallow the too thick, too warm liquid so he wouldn’t choke. After the last drops, Whiskey’s tongue rubbed Pizza’s mouth curiously for a while before he finally withdrew.
Nausea rose up Pizza’s throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to throw up. The horrible, sweet aftertaste of the medicine lingered on his tongue.
Mixed with the taste of Whiskey’s-
Pizza shuddered and tried not to cry.
Little sobs escaped his lips when he was picked up and positioned so that he was cradled in Whiskey’s arms. Whiskey’s vest was surprisingly soft and smooth against his cheek.
Fatigue was getting the best of him, and the edges of Pizza’s field of view blurred as he started falling asleep. He was vaguely aware of how Whiskey kept whispering soft praises into his ear and carried him out of the room.
“I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun together for a while.”
It was the last thing Pizza heard before everything faded to black, and he succumbed to a deep, much needed sleep.