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A banquet is thrown the night before their departure from Hongyuan, a final celebration of Limbus Company's cumulative good deeds. Wooden tables stretched out within their dining area, organized in rows like a corn field, every meal they have ever desired in the past and could try in the future on display. Breads and pastries and bite-sized cakes are stacked on trays with a similar look to scaffolding, transitioning to rice and grains and potatoes and further still to a steaming display of meats and vegetables. Kielbasa to balut to skewered pork and fried chicken cutlets, Au Jus or gochujang or aioli or any other sauce or emulsification imaginable displayed in little cups on a table just parallel to a fiery grill blanketed with barbecue. Perpendicular to drinks, from soda to wine, beer to whiskey. A crowd floats around them like ocean waves, constantly drifting to the food and away, a dent in the never forming. Metaphorical sand never washing away.
Gregor settled on the edge of the hall, where giant doors swing open to an artificial sunset. Two drinks nestling warm in his stomach, an all-too comfortable buzz settling in next to his meal. Rodion is up for her fourth helping, now. Though it could have been more- at this point, her tall stature doesn't begin to explain where it all could fit. It's a bit unnerving, he decides, praying that Dante would be around to rewind if her stomach needs to be pumped. A cigarette burns out between his lips, eyes drifting shut. Might as well enjoy this final guaranteed night of peace before they're back on the road in the early afternoon.
A tug on his collar eventually gets him stirring. He hadn't noticed himself drift off.
“Greg, babe. Gonna turn in, wanna come with?” She groans. “Next time, I'm gonna have you cut me off five plates in, got it?”
“Five plates is your idea of a reasonable cutoff?” Gregor teases, gathering his coat regardless. Better to drift off in a bed as opposed to a dining table. “Don't really want to play babysitter, anyways.”
Rodion laughs weakly, face pale, taking long strides on their way back to their respective rooms. One final staircase leads them to their familiar hallway, and Rodion stops once she finishes climbing them. A palm moves to cover her mouth, Gregor hesitating beside her once he notices the strange behavior.
Just minutes after his explicit request against playing babysitter, he finds himself kneeling beside Rodion with his one good hand knotted in her hair. All he could grab in a rush, some strands stick against her sweaty forehead and drool slick chin. He only just leads her into the bathroom and closes the door behind them when she's vomiting, porridgelike slurry splattering across the seat before she holds her head over the bowl.
“Scheiße- hang on-” A pinkie and thumb hook up to get ahold of more brown hair. Rodion opens her mouth as if to try and joke her way out of the humiliation, eyes shadowed and dripping with tears. Her face is flushed redder than it's ever been, streaked with mascara. Only one syllable squeaks out before a gag overtakes her. Back muscles shutter as a mouthful of vomit splatters in the water below, her nose dripping with orange bile. Powerless. Disgusting, even. Something she's never been before, and that Gregor's all too used to. “Yeah, I'll have to keep an eye on you next time. Or at least make sure someone else is nearby when the overeating catches up.”
“Puh- d-damn.” She spits in the toilet, tears streaming down her cheeks. Attempts to blink them away prove meaningless as more spill out. Drool drips alongside them, wet strands hanging off her lips. Lipstick staining her teeth. “C'mon, won't be a problem, hah…. I-I can handle it-”
Another gag cracks her body, a small trickle of vomit slipping back her lips, still thick due to overindulgence and painful to get out. Gregor looks away when the wave starts back up again.
“Lucky me to be around for the one time you can't ‘handle it’.” He grumbles. “Don't you think I'm going to do this all night.”
Must be hard for her to not quip back. Gripping the porcelain seat, wracked with gags that refuse to be productive. Feels oddly good to hold something above her for once, even if the current circumstances sour his satisfaction.
“Ugh- gross. Bleh.” She sniffs and scowls.
“You're telling me?” Gregor catches a glimpse of the mess on her chest, dripping on the bowl and down to the floor. He'll be damned if she tries to strongarm him into cleaning it up. There were enough humiliating odd jobs in his past, and he’s not going to relapse when there's no rent to scrounge up money for. Nothing to lose besides maybe a day without shared awkward pauses and extra jokes at his expense. “Manager bud’s not gonna be happy.”
Rodion groans again, putting her head in her hands. “Gimme a break. Never had access to this much food in- ughh- my life. Can't a gal have fun-” Her argument falls apart quickly as her stomach fails her again- cutting off with a whine and a splatter. Still, Gregor gets what she means. He's too soft for his own good, always folding when given hints about her rough past.
“Nothing screams fun like puking your guts up.” He sighs, rubbing her back with his elbow, hand preoccupied. “Fine… deal. Five plates next time, assuming there ever is one. Think you've learned your lesson.”
Rodion regains herself, falling back on her haunches with teary eyes, drool and vomit and makeup messing up her face. He lets go of her hair, giving her an awkward pat on the back.
“Y’know, the first meal the company gave me ended up down the drain, too.” Rodion admits. “Didn't eat in forever, so can ya blame me for not knowing my limits? ‘Cept I didn't have anyone around to hold my hair and tell me it was okay.”
“Didn't say it was okay,” Gregor says, mostly to be a wise ass. Rodion scoffs, coughing and spitting again.
“You thought it, didn't ya? Still a master at reading people with my back turned. Urgh- so thanks.”
“Yeah, alright.” Gregor sighs, an odd warmth blooming in his chest. Maybe he was lucky, in a sense, to see her in a light nobody else had a chance to. Lucky enough to have someone willing to pull him aside in one of their most embarrassing moments. “Don't mention it. And I mean that- don't want Don Quixote to seek me out next time that stew ego acts up on the bus.”
“Just for me, huh? Flattered, babe.” Bloodshot eyes linger on him, suddenly darting off as humiliation ebbs in. She shoos him out, quicker than she's ever done before, grimacing and whining all the while. Before settling, he brings a glass of water and wordlessly leaves it by the entrance. Nobody did this for her before, he assumes. It's satisfying to take yet another of her firsts.