Illicit Beverages and an Incidental Bite

“No one here can love and understAAAAAAAnd me / Oh what hard luck stories they all hAAAAAAnd meee~” Dorian Zibowski meandered down the caves of the Lackadaisy speakeasy, singing a song almost in tune. He was a striped orange cat with markings like a caracal, and a bright red suit-- or at least, the hat, waistcoat, and pants of one. His shirt was partially unbuttoned as well, allowing a fluff of cream fur to escape. By his sound and disheveled appearance one might guess he was a washed out musician. But no, he was still employed at this very speakeasy. Zib was simply drunk, which was not at all an unusual state of being for him. Even his choice of location for his late-night stroll wasn’t that unusual; the tunnels offered a guaranteed solitude and freedom to drink he certainly wouldn’t find on the street. No, the only unusual thing was happening much further in the tunnels.

In a tunnel to the left and a ways down, there was a storeroom. Rather squirreled away, it would be difficult for most to find beyond random chance, or to even know what was inside. Everyone except for a few members of the Lackadaisy... and its former associates. Mordecai Heller was one such former associate, now triggerman for an opposing organization. He was dressed sharp as ever, if monochromatically so between his black and white suit and fur. The only things that stand out were a red tie and piercing green eyes. He was working on a lock holding a chain around a large wooden door’s handle, the second of the locks preventing his entrance. It really didn’t take much time at all, since there was nothing special about them. He pulled the chain out as quietly as one could and pushed the door open with a creak.

The storeroom he was sent to trespass into was the Lackadaisy’s armory. Not for any violent reasons, at least not at this time. In fact, he had come to relieve them of their weaponry, as to dissuade unpleasant encounters down the line. Judging by the look of the room once he turned the singular light on, it didn’t seem like they were even checking on it anyway. There were cobwebs abound and even the spider that made some of them, crawling onto Mordecai’s sleeve!

Mordecai jerked his entire body back, letting his stoic demeanor disappear while he dealt with this existential threat. The spider hung on tightly, so Mordecai shifted to swinging his arm around wildly. This was also ineffective. In fact, it even disappeared inside the sleeve of his jacket. Immediately he stripped it off, throwing it to the ground. The spider emerged once more, crawling across the ground-- but Mordecai wasn’t one to leave an adversary alive. He removed a shoe and held it one hand, eyeing his target. Then he slammed it down-- missed, slammed again-- another whiff, slammed a third time-- and he got it.

His frazzled tail finally calmed down, but he was still disgusted by the encounter. He replaced his shoe and looked down at his jacket, now surely covered in dust and whatever other horrors were lying on the floor. He sighed and put it aside, neatly folding it as he did. Now, for what he actually came to do. He brought his duffel bag in from just outside the door, unzipped it, and pulled out a second one. Ideally, these should be enough, but he felt comfortable making more trips if need be.

There were a lot of guns. Lackadaisy may be short in cash now, but there was a time they weren’t. The room was chock full of rifles, pistols, Thompsons, and plenty of ammunition to go around. He began methodically removing them from the walls, making sure to do so in the most optimal order possible. Not tossing them in like an uncivilized imbecile. Neat. Logical. He thought this place could use a proper dusting as well. If he was going to clean it of its inventory, it may as well look unused. Fortunately, he had a duster in his car that was outside.

Unfortunately, he heard the distant sound of a voice echoing down the tunnels. He stood up straight as his ears twitched and head turned in its direction. It was indistinct and there should not have been another person down there, but he heard it nonetheless. He unholstered his pistol and stepped out of the room to see if he could determine who it was. After a few moments came the voice again: A hideous wailing that was doing its best impression of someone murdering a violin. He groaned and put his gun back in his holster.

That was certainly the sound of none other than the leading man of Lackadaisy’s band. No one else would be that drunk, this late, ‘singing’ at the top of his lungs. Zibowski was a non-issue. He posed no threat whatsoever, and even if he did walk by, it sounded unlikely he would remember. Not to mention, it didn’t matter exactly when they found out about their stolen weapons. They were bound to some time or another. Mordecai returned to his satisfying work, reorganizing the guns into his bag.

Through no conscious choice of his own, Zib did end up walking down the very same tunnel the heist was taking place. As he came around the corner, he saw the light coming from the side room. He interrupted his lyric to say, “Well well well, just what do we have here?” He swayed towards the direction of it, taking another swig from his flask. He was always down for a fun time, especially if the danger had yet to penetrate his insobriety.

Mordecai zipped up the first bag and started dragging it outside of the room to take back. It turned out that much weaponry and ammunition neatly packed weighed quite a bit. He could hear Zibowski walking up on his right, but paid him no mind. At least not until he bumped into him. He started to say, “Watch where you walk you--” but was cut off by something much worse than a mild collision.

Moments before, Zib was just a few steps away from unwittingly bumping into Mordecai. The red-clad cat had his head tilted towards the ceiling as he thought of his next song to belt out. Then, right as he opened his mouth wide for the opening lyric, he tripped. He tripped right onto Mordecai face-first, completely lacking the reaction time to close his mouth. And to Mordecai’s horror, he slid directly into Zib’s mouth, his head pressing against his gullet.

Horrid saliva immediately made itself known by slicking down his fur and hair. The drunkard’s breath felt like it was permeating his skull, not to mention the humidity and heat fogging up his pince-nez glasses. Zib’s mind soon caught up to the present, but the ridiculousness of what was happening didn’t join it. He was nearly kneeling on the ground now, with a whole other cat (except his head) hanging out of his mouth. A muffled sound of surprise came from him, and then a half-voluntary swallow. As Mordecai’s body was pulled further inward, he thawed from the initial shock.

His hand shot down to his holster and pulled his gun-- even without vision, despite his strange position, he knew where to find it. In a surprising display of reaction speed, Zib’s eyes caught the glint of it. He swung his hands down, the flask in particular smacking the gun away, though he also lost grip of his flask. Zib whined a bit as he heard it land somewhere behind him. He couldn’t move to save what little alcohol remained while whoever was in his mouth was still in there. He just had to keep swallowing at this point.

Mordecai flailed his arms and legs as long as he could, but he was going nowhere but deeper. He couldn’t believe that this was happening, that it was even possible. It was utterly absurd! And yet... The smothering, fleshy walls all around him informed him otherwise. Zib kept swallowing, even though all those fancy clothes weren't very tasty. It was a mostly natural process at this point, but he also didn't care about stopping himself to save whatever poor soul was sliding down his throat.

The frazzled feline inside soon found himself being deposited into a more open space, but if anything, this was worse. Yes, he only had flesh pressing on two thirds of him rather than his entirety. However, the place had new horrors. There was liquid at the bottom that he couldn't tell for certain was alcohol, acid, or some other horrible concoction. The smell of liquor was now eye-watering, somehow overpowering the acridity underneath it. And lastly, it was all enveloped by an utterly stifling and unbearably hot humidity.

Despite the large morsel now filling his belly, Zib hardly treated the whole thing any differently than any other food. If anything, it was just annoying how long it took. Not to mention his accidental meal's tail swinging around and bothering his nose. Before he could slurp that in, he did notice one potential issue: Those shoes. He stopped swallowing for a moment to pull them off before continuing. He knew from... experience that shoes in a digestive system weren't very pleasant.

Somehow, Mordecai found Zib removing his shoes even more of an insult than swallowing him whole. His body had contorted in a U-shape as he filled in, ending up tightly packed with his back facing against the bottom while he waited for his legs to join him. And unfortunately, they soon did. He felt the last of the outside air disappear from his senses, and soon after he was completely tucked away inside the stomach. He was able to shift into sitting up, with his back against the outside wall. He jabbed his elbows into the sides as much as he could and shouted, “Let me OUT this instant!”

Zib sat down with a sigh of relief as the last of that cat slid down his throat. He was settling pretty nicely into his stomach. As he looked down, he realized his shirt was straining at its buttons-- and right as his meal jabbed him from inside, they popped off. Some had the convenience of shooting into the ground just ahead of him, but others shot off down the hall and ceased to exist. It wasn’t like he was going to reattach them anyway. This shirt was beyond repair, but he didn’t care right now. He just rubbed his belly, it having ridden up his undershirt as well. He let out a lazy buuuorp before saying, “Don’t think I will, whoever you are.”

The stomach gurgled around him as he responded, “It’s MORDECAI, Zibowski! I’m not just some common food to fill your disgusting stomach!” He would’ve gone longer, but he was cut off by the sense of tilting forwards. He tried to hold onto the sides of the slippery stomach to no avail-- the stomach was holding onto him much tighter anyway.

His predator was leaning back, reaching for his flask. He hadn’t caught the first part, both because he was focused on reaching for his drink and his noisy stomach drowned it out. If he was a little more sober, he might’ve thought knowing the name of his late-night dinner was important-- but right now, he didn’t. When he grabbed his flask he immediately drank the end of it, washing down his meal and prompting it to get feisty again. He sat back up and patted roughly where the head was. “Well no-name, considering you are filling my ‘disgusting stomach’, I figure- hic- that makes you my food.”

The other contents sloshed around Mordecai as Zib stood up, preparing for his walk back. Mordecai’s mind was still struggling to believe the reality of what had happened. What was still happening. The fact he’d been... swallowed whole and alive. By a bumbling oaf who had exactly no intention or awareness he was even there. A drunk musician, not even someone with the physique that one might expect from a predator. Not that he knew this was even possible before, but if Viktor had gotten him, or maybe Nicodeme... it would’ve been slightly more understandable.

He shook his head. Rationalizing this was ridiculous when he should be using his mind to find a way out. Even though such an escape seemed... improbable, as much as he hated to admit it. His gun didn’t make it in with him. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any blades on him at this time either. The best he could hope for would be making Zib nauseous... But moving at all was a struggle. The stomach walls held him tightly in place, even grinding against his fur and clothes. While they may have been elastic enough to fit him in, they didn’t want to give another inch.

Zib’s walk back to the speakeasy proper was rather leisurely. He got another song in his head and began singing loudly and unevenly again, much to the displeasure of his occupant. Zib hardly paid much attention to his gut besides finding it amusing. Gurgles and groans and his own singing drowned out most of the complaints coming from it, not that he cared to hear them anyway. The only real difference from earlier was a dry flask and the occasional lurch in his walk or belch in his lyric.

He walked behind the stage, ignoring the few late-night patrons that glanced in his direction. His destination was an even nicer armchair, the best bed he could think of since he didn’t plan on waltzing back to his apartment. He plopped right into it, legs dangling over one armrest while his upper back laid on the other. A sigh of relief came out as he leaned back, just now realizing how tired he was. The stuffing in his gut wasn’t helping keep him awake. Especially since it’d become more peaceful as he walked back-- he supposed he’d tired himself out. He yawned and stretched, kneading his gut with one hand. “Good night, dinner. See you in the” his speech devolved into quiet gibberish as he slumped into slumber.

While Mordecai had certainly worn himself out by trying to resist the muscular organ around him, sleep was not arriving for him anytime soon. The terrible sensations were making sure he stayed awake, especially with how wet everything was starting to feel. He wished he could take off his outer layers of clothing, but there was no way he could move in such a way. He at least tried to roll up his sleeves, though it felt strange. He went to do it again and it felt... thick. Like he was moving his hands through a sludge.

An awful realization hit him like a truck. He must be digesting. He knew it was practically guaranteed, but he didn’t realize how soon it would be. If he wasn’t so utterly horrified by the prospect of dissolving into a mess inside another’s guts, he might be thankful it somehow didn’t hurt. He channeled up renewed strength to try and push his way out, but his newly soft body wasn’t pushing much of anything. Not to mention Zib’s snoring now rocking through his body made him seem very unlikely to respond to anything he did.

At least, consciously. His hand certainly found its way to his massive belly a few times, even if it was just to rub or scratch it. Burps or hiccups escaped him as well. Occasionally, he would even shift position, just making things ever so more uncomfortable for the one occupying his guts. Mordecai’s sense of time deteriorated as the night went on. It could have been hours or 30 minutes-- but eventually one last thing happened. Zib, having teetered on the edge of the chair for a little while, fell off of it. Mordecai experienced a brief moment of dizzying weightlessness before he felt the ground, then Zib’s body on top of him, and then nothing at all.

*/^\*

“Zib. Zib, wake up. Get off the floor.”

“Ggmhmghwhhh...?” Zib’s eyes cracked open for the first time in a century, according to his body. He was crumpled on the floor, half his body on cold stone while the other half was on a rug. He turned his head behind him and up towards the person waking him. Of course, he didn’t really expect it to be anyone other than Mitzi. No one else that could come back here would care, really. “Mitzi... Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine.”

Her head tilted slightly to the side with a mix of disapproval and fatigue on her face. “Hardly. Especially since the sun’s already going down.” She prodded his still-bloated gut with a heel and asked, “Anyone I know in there? Was in there, I should say.”

He groaned, feeling awfully achy and heavy. He laid his head back down and rested his hand on his stomach. It was certainly soft now, and not just because whoever was inside had been churned into mush. Some weight seemed to have found a permanent home on his gut. He dug through his memory for anything informative, but it was a futile endeavor. “I have no clue. Hopefully not.”

She sighed. “Well, hopefully we didn’t just lose another member of the band.”

Zib started trying to lift himself into a sitting position, but every part of him seemed to weigh twice as much as usual. And... it did, actually. He noticed the outer sides of his pants had started to burst along the stitching, revealing fur and underwear beneath it. His sleeves were mercifully spared, but they felt tight around his upper arms (and his shirt was still broken anyway). His middle had shrunk to a bit more than a muffin top, but in return he found extra cushioning further up his chest and on his rear. Even his cheeks felt fuller and a new chin was beginning to form. “Ugh, cripes... I guess my digestion isn’t what it used to be.”

“No, I suppose not. You look like you got stung by a nest.”

“Thanks for the kind words.” He hefted himself up using the chair, wobbling a bit as he started to really feel the pull of gravity. He picked up his flask too and frowned when he felt that it was empty. Looking across the room, he nodded towards the four bandmates playing cards in a corner. “Well... I see at least a few of the fellas are fine.”

Without looking up from his hand, Sy said, “At least as far as not being part of that paunch goes.”

“You’re welcome. See anyone else out and about boss lady?”

Mitzi crossed one arm across her waist while holding up her cigarette holder in the other as she put some thought into the matter. “Viktor is ‘tending’ to the bar as usual. Ivy’s been around... Horatio... I think that’s all I’ve seen.”

Zib sighed and stretched his back a little, which prompted a light burp. His suspenders sounded like they were straining now, but stayed together. “Great. That’s most of the important folks... Guess I’ll make myself scarce.”

“Probably for the best. Don’t want to scare off the few guests we have left,” Mitzi said as she headed out of the ‘lounge’. “Get yourself some new clothes, too. Doubt most of your wardrobe even fits, now...”

Zib groaned again as he followed Mitzi out. While she walked off to attend to other business, he scanned the hall for any signs of other life not already named. No one seemed to- oh, no, wait, there was Rocky, coming right down the middle. As he got closer he shouted, “Zib! Why you’ve grown since last I saw you yesterday!” He didn’t really want to deal with Rocky this soon after waking up. Without responding besides a grunt, he headed over towards the bar to refill his flask. Rocky followed, curiosity clearly getting the better of him. “Indulged in innumerable intoxicants? A feast worthy of the gods? Oh Zib, spill the secrets of your sudden swelling for us!”

“Look kiddo, to be honest, I don’t even remember.” The identity of what caused his weight gain, anyway. “I’m going to go home, drink myself to sleep again, and probably spend a small fortune getting clothes that actually fit now.” Rocky graciously stepped back and gestured towards the exit with a more dramatic flourish than was really necessary. Zib just sighed as he walked on past him, gut jiggling with each step. At least he could check Rocky off his ‘potential victim’ list.

Their usual patrons weren’t around yet, but the only one whose name he really knew was Wick. He supposed he needed to make sure J. J. was still around too. That said, he didn’t really feel like waiting around. Even if it was one of them, what’s done is done. And sure, he’d feel bad about it for a while. But it happens. C’est comme ça. The doorman, Horatio, offered a polite good-bye, though he paused for a moment seeing Zib’s new physique. He knew he was plump, but Zib had changed overnight, and his body clearly wasn’t well-adjusted to the new weight.

Outside the speakeasy and the café above it, Zib found that it was, indeed, the evening. It was better for him this way, the sun gave him a headache. Especially since his hat had vanished at some point overnight, it seemed. Zib followed some alleyways back, doing his best to stay out of public spaces. He didn’t want to get in trouble for indecency or whatever law would be pulled out because he was walking around with destroyed clothes and an ample belly hanging out. People who saw him stared, of course, but he was at least able to avoid the law as he headed to his building.

He huffed as walked up the stairs. The Lackadaisy had stairs, but they had the courtesy of going straight up without interruption. Who thought living on the third floor of a building without elevators was a good idea anyway? ...At least it was affordable. He would be so glad to pass out again in his chair, or bed, whichever he settled in first. As he exited the stairwell, he bumped right into someone-- who he quickly realized was J.J. Zib chuckled and said, “Just get out of bed, sunshine?”

He rubbed his head, nursing some sort of headache. “Seems like you’re one to talk. Any of the guys in there?”

“Nope. Don’t know who, but none of them.”

“Well, that’s good.” J.J. moved past Zib into the stairwell, patting his bloated gut as he did. “Stay true, Everett.”

Zib laughed sarcastically as he continued down the hall to his dingy little room. He always had to fight the door to get it to open all the way, something that was not making his life easier now that he couldn’t slide through it half-open. Eventually he got it, stepped inside, and slammed it shut behind him. It wasn’t a very large place, but it was his. He sat down in the first furnishing he saw-- a worn and torn red loveseat he’d gotten somewhere. It creaked slightly, but survived his weight. He filled nearly all of it now, especially when he laid down across it.

Being still was nice. It was Zib’s preferred state of being, really. Even if his own weight was attempting to crush him a bit. He rotated onto his side, stomach sloshing noisily into its new position. It gurgled as if complaining. Shortly thereafter, he lazily let out a buuuaaaarrp. He felt something come up and fly out as he did, clattering across the floor somewhere. Even though it might be something helpful for identification... He didn’t feel like getting up now.

He was nearly asleep again when he heard a knock on his door. He didn’t open his eyes, hoping that if he just didn’t acknowledge them, they’d go away. From the other side came, “Zib? I hope this is the right apartment... Zib? I, er... Brought you your hat. Mitzi said I should come deliver it, so...” Zib groaned. Of course she would. ‘To ease your conscience’ or some such thing. The chair creaked as he got up from it, same as the floorboards as he walked back over to the door. He pulled it open to its normal halfway position.

On the other side, there was Wick. To be full, Sedgewick Sable, mining magnate, but more relevantly, Lackadaisy’s most common (and wealthiest) patron. A friendly and handsome guy, too. He at least wasn’t quite dressed to the nines, but he did still stand out in the dilapidated building. True to what he said, Zib’s hat was in his hand, his own tucked underarm. Wick’s bright blue eyes perked up when he saw Zib. “Ah! I’m glad I found the right one, then. ...Are you well? You seem extra...” His eyes shifted down to Zib’s heavy gut filling the gap in the doorway. Wick’s last word dragged out to silence, but his mouth didn’t close. It was only when he saw Zib’s mouth curl into a smirk in his peripheral did he regain his self-awareness. “Extra, um, out of sorts.”

“Oh, you know, just had a late night.” Zib pushed the door all the way open with a grunt of effort, his body involuntarily shifting forward and bumping his belly against Wick for a moment. He didn’t move a muscle. Zib wasn’t sure he was even breathing. “I appreciate you bringing my hat all the way out here. At least one part of my wardrobe still fits.”

This statement caused Wick to stammer before coming out with, “Yes, well, I figured it would be polite. Not sure why Mitzi insisted on it.” Zib knew it was to let him know that he hadn’t digested one of their few friends, which fortunately eliminated anyone he really knew of from the list of potential victims. However, this seemed like something that should remain unspoken for the time being. Wick’s eyes stole another glance down, but this time they came back up much quicker. His face shifted to an embarrassed and polite smile, then he began to say, “Well, I should be going. Have a good e--”

“Why don’t you stay a while? You came all this way, after all.”

Wick’s lips parted, then closed again, then he said, “I-I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Zib turned on his charm, attempting to lean sexily on the doorframe, until his new weight nearly made him fall over entirely. He casually acted like that didn’t happen and replied, “Nonsense. Come on in, hang out a while. I make a better host than that gruff slab of beef down at our normal spot anyhow.”

This got a chuckle out of Wick before he responded, “Oh you do, do you? I trust you actually have something to serve?”

He manifested a flask from his waist and sloshed it slightly. “Freshly refilled. I figure it has enough for a couple glasses or so.”

Wick’s smile turned warmer and he said, “Well then, I suppose I’ll stay for a refreshment.”

Zib turned to allow Wick in, though his belly still blocked part of the entrance. “Just the refreshment?”

He swore he caught a blush on the other cat’s face as he tried to squeeze by. He didn’t come up with another playful response before something cracked underneath Wick’s shoe. “Oh dear,” he said, lifting it up. They both looked down at a mess of glass and thin metal. Wick asked, “Er... sorry if that was something of yours.”

At this point, it was completely unrecognizable to either men as a partial and broken pince-nez once worn by a man of sharp dress and character. Zib simply shrugged. “Never seen it before. I’ll sweep it up later.” Wick continued inside and Zib closed the door behind him, the two of them looking forward to their little unexpected rendezvous. A few illicit beverages would eventually have Wick tenderly exploring Zib’s newfound girth, neither of them quite knowing the whole truth about what caused so much weight.