tip, tap, tip, tap, Eso's fingernails clack against the emptied plastic cup, in tune with the dying rain dripping outside the cafe's wide outfacing window. he ran out of nails to whittle down with his teeth after the first twenty minutes of waiting, same with the skin all around them. he's at his peak of time left sober now, at eighteen hours and twenty-three minutes, it takes most of his brainpower just to keep his muscles in stiff place while he waits. he's just thankful they have free water, even if it's the filthy tap water that everyone in the city gets- being thirsty as well as tweaking and starving sounds more horrid than anything. sweat trails down his head like the peeling vomit-green wallpaper all around him, mocking him. the steaming smell of moist, hot coffee beans creeping into his nostrils collapsing his throat, a pungent aroma of dry milk and shitsugar making all his hairs stand on edge and sternly reminding him of every inch of the gastrointestinal complex writhing inside. and then, a ding, a bell screaming 'new! new! new!' rips him away from the casual gurgling misery, and his head to the door. a man in a suit stands in front of the door, even taller than it- or maybe just as. eso rubs the watery tears out of his eyelids so he can see better. the man seems to notice him first, and approaches his table. eso locks eyes with him, and closely examines his expression. one iris blue, one orange. he looks empty. unrevealing. maybe "stoic". he reaches out a hand before sitting. eso takes it in his and immediately feels his finger bones being crushed under the man's grip, more being pulled into the handshake than actually shaking his hand. he winces involuntarily and is quickly released.

"nice to meet you, esophagael."

"it's, just eso.." he can hear himself shrinking.

"right, eso. you can call me Operat."

"well, Operat, i have the-"

"when's the last time you ate?" the hairs on eso's neck stand straight, it feels like he's being studied, closely.

"oh. um- well. i don't- really keep track of- that kinda thing- maybeaweek?idontreallyknow"

Operat suddenly gains a burst of animation, like eso had accidentally triggered his sleeper phrase. "oh! hold on, that absolutely won't do. let me buy you one of the sandwiches here or something."

eso's mouth opens to fight it but he's already stood up and walking to the counter by the time the first outstretched "no" pours out. he has to sit there and watch for a solid five minutes as he goes up to the counter and picks out who knows what from the menu. and *sure* he's salivating but- his abdominal hold crushes in on him, his eyes roll, daggers pierce through his stomach until he can successfully stop thinking about it. he looks down at the erratic spiraling wood garnish of the table below him and plays with his hands until operat returns.

a dry, apathetic slab of bread interspersed with melted and stiffened deli meat and cheese falls onto the table in front of him. it's not even close to the most unappetizing thing he's seen up close, at least. "boy's gotta eat." Operat smirks, clearly very pleased with himself.

"i was trying to say i *can't* eat.. i have- things that make it hard- almost impossible- to keep food down." an understatement, but a much easier explanation.

"mm, shit, that's a shame." he sits down again, crossing his arms on the table, staring eso down. "eat anyway, will you?" "i really dont think that's a good idea, i'd like to not- y'know. but i have the stuff-”

suddenly a sharp hand pins his wrist to the table, pulling the voice right out from his throat. Operat hisses low enough so only eso can hear it beneath the clamouring. "shut the fuck up. while we’re here we're on a date, got it?"

he nods hard. Operat releases. his conditioning is houndlike.

"good. now." he studies eso up and down like meat. "how about i give you ten bucks if you eat? would that help?"

it would. ten dollars means he wouldn't have to walk all the way to where he's squatting, and he could maybe have a night without blisters. he nods again, already feeling the anxiety ride up his throat as stomach acid. if dread could be tasted this would be it. he's a sort of 'dark empath' in that way.

he nods again, and can feel the heat rising to his face. operat doesn't respond this time, only waiting seemingly, moving in his seat like he's getting ready for a movie. eso has to choke down his fearful tears. it's worth it, sometimes you have to make sacrifices, he thinks. he grasps the buns in his claws, which make no indentation in the crusted bread. he opens his mouth and bites himself for not saving some of that water from before. he bites down, taking a quarter of the sandwich. Operat's eyes never stop staring into him like he's made of glass. his esophagus quickly clenches on the foreign invader, trying to keep it out, but the movement of his muscles keeps it down, sliding through the fleshy wringer, mashing the mystery meat and bland american cheese down. his tiny throat bulges out, and somehow he manages to get it down without choking or worse. Operat's empty expression turns to a warm smirk, motioning with his hand for him to take another bite.

he does. he closes his eyes and bites the other corner off and imagines a crisp 10 dollar bill in his mind's eye. bright green in a pool of ichor black, rotating around, and then- overtaken by technicolor vomit. hallucinatory ejecta making him gag on it in realspace. he gets to the point where it tickles the back of his throat and he is overtaken by terror as he is suddenly aware once again of the busy, public space Operat chose for them, and all the bodies that surround them to an almost unbearable degree of sweatiness. yet despite himself, he swallows. he's getting used to it now, as much as it swimming in his gut is making his body want to collapse, the next two somehow go easier than the first. and as he swallows the last piece of mostly crust, dragging down his slick, slimey throat, coating itself in him, he finally feels the regurgitating of the piecemeals in his intestines. he whines, and his own voice sounds clammy and fully foreign to him. he physically cannot hide his discomfort no matter how hard he tries to push it down. Operat chortles at him, before moving a grizzly hand into the fluffy black hair sitting atop eso's head.

"good boy."

he nods his head. every word he lets out exudes a steam of the soon-to-be waste. he has to say something, though. "can i- have it now?" he covers his mouth with his paw.

"of course. let's go outside first. you don't look too good-" is he teasing him? eso can't seem to peer through his exterior.

Operat grabs eso's bag and heads for the door. he wants to protest, but he couldn't breach through the crowd's voices, and so he follows, like a dog. on the street he's even more aware of their height difference, his eyes meeting directly with Operat's chest. the street is dirty, fogged and trash-ridden and busy with life. the alley he drags them to is even more disgusting, if still deader for it. he makes sure to use his body to block the alley from outside view, trapping eso with the trash. he watches as Operat slowly opens his leather and gold-bound wallet, meticulously rifling through it for a bill, which he holds patiently between his middle and index finger. "kneel."

"what?"

"you heard me, kneel."

"why?"

"because i said so?" he sounds genuinely confused at the question.

eso questions his ego. how much could he possibly debase himself willingly? he avoids the public so he doesn't have to be in situations like this. yet, looking at the dull green paper waving in Operat's hand, he knows exactly how much. cursing himself as he falls to his bare knees, sinking into the asphalt soaked with rain-washed trash juice, pebbled ground digging into his kneecaps. it's not worse than the effluvia breaching his tonsils, though. once he's settled in the gravelish floor, the bill finds its way falling into his lap. he picks it up right before it soaks into the water, anxiously shoving it into the pocket of his shorts. at least he did it, now he should be okay-

something digs into his scalp. he looks up from the ground and sees nothing but sleek black fabric, racing upwards into a void where a face should be. "what happened to needing to throw up, vom boy? you nervous?"

"um well i feel okay now actually, it's notabigdeal thank you for the money and food though-"

"huh? that's not how this goes. you promised there'd be a show."

"what? no it- its a fucking medical condition ok? i don't control it."

he sounds stupid defying anything, while simultaneously genuflecting for a man he just met. but his body aches too much to stand up now. the hand in his scalp reaches behind him, tickling down his neck before wrapping around it, like he's holding the scruff of a baby kitten. firm, saying 'let me handle you'. he shivers and it broils the food impatiently stirring in his insides, hydrochloric acid bubbling up like magma, fiercely fighting back against his body in ejecting solar flares of waste and rot, pooling in diverticulum after diverticulum. Operat's reminders acting like carnal triggers. the hand brushes over the sides of his throat with his thumb and index, teasing soothing torturing, one of the three or all at once. then, it pulls him up, forcing his eyes to meet the vibrant colour of the dead eyes sitting in that void. he was wrong, it doesn't feel like he's looking into his soul- it feels like he's capturing it. he racks his brain for any words but nothing comes, and his mouth sits stupidly open, breathing ragged breaths full of cadaverine mist.

"let me help, then." he's not asking. merely replying to the silence.

from the other side of him, Operat reaches his remaining hand out. it's rough and calloused, at least twice the size of eso's. it cups his face surprisingly gentle, wrapping around his cheek, two outstretched fingers tracing his jawline. he doesn't know if it's the food or the touch but his stomach rolls over and dies as Operat's fingers reach his chin. the pain forces him to keel, slumping into operat's legs. his eyes well with tears of choking taste. he's not able to hide the gagging now overtaking him fully. he tries to pin it back down but he can practically taste the acid flooding up to his trachea. he manages to choke out a "water-" but its either not heard or ignored.

"shh. it's okay." the two fingers reach his open mouth, dribbling spittle all over the ground and his shirt. they wrap around and over the crest of his bottom lip, immediately slickened with his drool pooling behind it. Operat laughs loudly at this, and eso's soul shakes with one infinitesimal death throe. the hand he uses for grip pulls eso's hair into a tight handhold, while the other slowly pushes towards the back of his throat. they taste like sweat and tobacco. it's sort of.. soothing- until they reach his uvula, where all he can taste is his own bile. not that it matters, they continue past it, past the tear-wrought clenching of his opening, stretching open his esophagus with his fingers, pressing into the softer, most malleable tissue inside him, dragging through the acid-slick walls until his stomach and brain finally link together to acknowledge the annalidal intruder reaching inside him. on instinct he lurches forward towards Operat, who scratches into the back of his head making sure he's firmly aimed towards the pavement. a gurgle like the sound of a dying animal retches, and the chunks of the only thing he's eaten flies out of him. transient with the water he drank, almost fluorescent- diluted with the rot-warm colours of crying intestines.

"gooood boy." he coos. as if it makes it alright.

eso sinks, his energy sapped utterly, and Operat lets him. his skin sticks to the puddle of vomit like glue. he can't keep the sounds of his tears down any longer. a voice towering above him mutters something he can’t make out. and then comes the familiar sounds of a zipper opening, then plastic ruffling, and several things being discarded at his side or in the spreading pool. "there we go! look at that. good job.” then the zipper closes, and the knapsack lands with a deflated thud, next to eso.

Eso looks up from his cold trashgrave, and Operat looks back, clutching a little baggie in his palm. scalp being pulled, forced up against the brick wall. Operat grabs his chin with his free hand and makes him stare back. he knows what's coming but he really really really doesn't want to think he does. holding the baggie up to his eyes, operat speaks didactic, "the next one's going in here." he points to eso's mouth, as he gasps for air, still unsure if there was only one deluge in him. "i like you y’know. this whole thing is... well, unique." and with a whole fist, he shoves it into eso's mouth, making sure it reaches the back of his tingling throat before releasing, forcibly clasping the boy's mouth shut. whispering ‘swallow.’ into his ear until he does, choking down the thick, painfully striated packet.

operat finally backs up, taking a look at the scene splayed out before him. eso can't move. the unceasing stinging in the front of his skull coming from the rupture of his carapace tears him down, keeps him looking down, away from the searing sky. he hears a sickly satisfied chuckle, "i'll see you next week, kid." followed by heavy, stomping footsteps. when he looks up next, no one is there except the occasional person walking past, entirely unaware of his existence right under their noses. the vomit has dried into crust beneath him. he brushes it off but his skin knows he didn't get all of it. his eyes swirl underneath a veil of saline. a piece of paper crinkles in his pocket as he trudges onto his knees and elbows. immediately crumbling back down. with no other choices, he shuts his eyes, and waits to be alive again.