#no beta we still die like connor hdfjkshflkdj

[sodascribbles]

two weeks of whump: day four

(read on ao3 here!)

Definitely not late! For @.promptsforyourwhumpfic's Two Weeks of Whump Challenge!

Belt | Gas Mask | Cage

characters — murray, the contessa, misc. guards, sly mentioned

contains — cage <3, stress position i think??, again the furry equivalent of dehumanization

notes — some helpful inspo :] ok don’t question the logistics of non-sentient and sentient animals co-existing we KNOW that’s canonically how it works (see muggshot’s bulldogs, rajan’s elephants, various nonsentient rats) but. don’t. don’t think about it too hard okay

In a fucked up way, he's almost proud.

Sly’s learned how to keep his head down. Murray has not. He fights his way through a good half of the guards on-duty before they can pin him down, bruised and battered but smiling, shouting, “Is that all you’ve got?!”

He’s wrestled into a space much too small for him, kicking and screaming all the while. It’s a cage, a literal fucking— Murray doesn’t know a lot about the technicalities of things, but that can’t be legal, right? (Eventually, both him and Sly will figure out that it didn’t matter. In the prison, the Contessa was the law.)

He’s not even really able to stand, hunched in on himself in the tiny space. It’s like he’s a caged animal— well, okay, Murray supposes that technically he is a caged animal, but semantics really aren’t his concern right now. Small as it is, he’s curled in the corner.

It’s almost vulnerable. Murray’s kind of a big guy, and to be forced to feel so small…

Physically it sucks, too. He doesn’t really know how long he’s been sitting in here, but he’s started to ache; his back’s protesting, throbbing outward from where his shoulders are pressed to the wire. He thinks his knees are bruised, too, both from the cage itself and from sitting so long on the cold concrete below.

The blood on his snout has dried, crusted uncomfortably against his upper lip. He reaches up to rub it away— but there’s still not a lot of room to move here, and he elbows the wire and knocks himself in the jaw. He eventually just drops his hands back into his lap, sighing.

At some point, the skitter of too-many-fucking-legs lets Murray know that somebody’s finally come to visit him. (Not that he really wanted her of all people to visit. He would have much preferred Sly.)

The Contessa tilts her head at him, smiling. She did that a lot, he’d noticed, always sickeningly sweet. He can’t wait to whack the look right off of her. “That’s quite the predicament you’re in!” She steps forward, and Murray draws back, face twisting into a snarl. He must really look like a caged animal now, huh?

“Do you want out?” Her tone pitches up, light and mocking, and Murray realizes that’s exactly what she’s getting at. She’s talking to him like one might a particularly stupid (wild) animal. He winces at the thought and tries to straighten up, but the cage makes it impossible.

The Contessa laughs. “Oh, you must,” she says, watching him strain against the wire. She reaches up to reveal a ring of keys in her hand, taking one between her claws, and for a moment, Murray dares to hope.

“You’ve been causing quite a lot of trouble for my guards,” she says, her smile unfaltering but her jaw tight. “I think you should do something to make up for that, first.” His hope pops like a bubble on a blade.

She pretends to muse over this for a few moments, analyzing him. “Perhaps we’ll start with asking nicely.”

Murray narrows his eyes at her, internally weighing his options. The idea of it burns, red-hot and nauseous— he’d taken down a whole squad of wolves, and now he was considering playing nice because, what, she’d asked him to?

…but he aches. If he wants to fight his way out of here (and what else could he do?), he’s going to need to be in top shape. And this? This is not top shape.

Unsatisfied with his hesitation, the Contessa clicks her tongue. “So be it,” she sighs. She reaches forward, reaching a claw through the wire to tip his head up— Murray winces as his head’s pressed to the top of the cage. “I suppose this does take care of some things. You’re quite a bit more… tolerable, like this,” she coos, smiling once more.

Oh, I’ll show her tolerable, Murray thinks, and then he bites her hand.