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Childe tossed the reports on his desk and leaned back in his office chair. A pained hiss leaving his lips and he tried to massage his aching stomach.
He tagged along with some other fatui members for lunch where he tasted the local delicacies liyue had to offer. But that was nearly 4 hours ago,so why can he still feel all that food sitting in his stomach like cement? He did eat a tad more than usual. And perhaps some of the foreign dishes weren't agree with him. But just because he could make sense of his pain didn't mean it helped him feel any better.
Childe's could feel his stomach cramp beneath his palm. Desperate to get some sort of relief he pressed firmly on his bloated stomach, causing him to burp harshly. Unfortunately that did not help.
"This is ridiculous" he muttered to himself. all the discomfort was making it incredibly hard to finish reading his reports. Despite the clawing pain in his stomach, Childe picked back up the papers and continued read. He had fought on battlefields in worse conditions than this and he is not going to let a stomach ach stop him from doing something so menial as paperwork.
He made it another 20 pages through a report before a particularly bad cramp caused him to double over in his chair. He panted though the pain with his mouth slightly parted, and excess saliva dripping down his chin. You see, at page 3 his stomach started to gurgling sickly. At page 10 nausea had taken hold of him. And by page 15 he knew we was going to vomit at some point tonight.
'That's it, Ive had enough' Childe declares to himself.
He picks himself up from his chair and walked with his arms holding his stomach to the office's private bathroom. If he was going to be sick he might as well get it over with, he begrudgingly reasoned.
Childe dropped himself in front of the toilet and tiredly lifted the lid. With one arm still draped across his stomach,and the other gripping the bowl, Childe tried gagging into toilet. Quietly at first, the nausea building inside him, then more forcefully as nothing was coming up. Tears had begun to well up in his eyes as he spit into the bowl. How can he be this nauseous and nothing come up!? He was getting frustrated at this point.
He tried rubbing,and pushing his stomach to release the air trapped in his stomach. Each burp gets lower and longer. God he feels so close to puking. But still nothing let's up
It's been 10 minutes of unproductive heaving and burping. Childe feels as if he is swaying on a boat. His stomach is so torturous and he swears all his defeated enemies have come back to life to personally wring his stomach like a rag.
He has one last tool he has yet to try, and at this point he desperate enough to try.
Childe brings his hand to his mouth and removes the glove with his teeth. The faint smell of leather making his stomach clench uncomfortably. With his bare hand Childe reaches to the back of his mouth, his index finger lightly touching the soft skin on the back.
Immediately he gags in reaction,but nothing enough to move anything in his stomach. He pokes back there again,and again. More and more saliva dripping from his mouth with each try. He can feel warm liquid crawl further up his throat . Hes so close. So close.
'Please, for the love of our Tsaritsa, please let this be over soon' Childe beggs.
Childe reaches back one last time, leaving his fingers back there as long as he can before finally retching.
His body jolts forward over the toilet as his stomach seizes forcefully, his hand still in his mouth. With a loud, painful retch a little bit of brown liquid trickles from his gaping mouth and down his hand before dripping into the toilet water.
Gasping, Childe stares into the toilet
'That's it!?' He yells in his head.
He tries again until his throat is sore. Absolutely nothing more comes out. Why!?
Childe crumbles forward lightly crying. His stomach was absolutely killing him.His frustrating determination to get this over with long forgotten and replaced with the desire to be held and to fall asleep somewhere warm. Unfortunately neither options available to him.
Defeated Childe returns to his desk and collapses in his chair. his clock read 5:30. Just 30 more minutes until he can go home. Tiredly he opens the second drawer at his desk and pulls out a bottle of pain killers. If his stomach was so instainstant on holding onto the contents in side, then it might as well keep pain meds down long enough to give him some relief.
Childe pops the pills in his mouth and swallows them with out water before laying his head down on his desk for a short nap. Hopefully when he wakes up he will feel better enough to survive the walk home.
------Later, back at home-------------------------
Childe finds quite a few sensations alarming when he wakes up in the middle of the night. First would be the way it feels like he's out on the storming sea rather than tucked into his cozy bed.
The second would be how he feels horribly damp and cold. But the most alarming would probably have to be the warm and sticky liquid on his pillow. His brain feels hazy and he is still trying to make sense of what's going on,when the scent of sour vomit from his pillow sends him sitting up right in a cold sweat.
He doesn't even get the chance to process that he is going to puke before he projectile vomits a forceful stream of liquid all over his blanket and black tshirt. Childe sits there dazed and stunned at what just happened. Now that he was more awake,he starts trying to think of the best way to get out of bed without making more of a mess. But another stomach contraction sends even more burning liquid shooting up his throat. Thankfully this time Childe is able to hold it in his mouth,cheeks puffed full, until he can fling himself over the side of the bed.
He opens his mouth and let's the fowl liquid fall onto the floor with sickening splash. Even through the sound of his dry coughing the sound of vomit hitting the hardwood floor sends shivers down Childe's spine.
He has a few moments to gulp some air before his stomach continues to carry out its torture. His stomach convulses and his tongue juts forward
Hureeek *cough* *cough*
Nothing
Huureeeeeeehk *pant* *cough* *spit*
Nothing again
Childe gaged pitifully once more before wondering if he was empty.
But of course it wasn't.
With a loud guttural retch Childe heaves forward again, Nearly falling onto the floor. Childe's back arches as his stomach trys to eject itself out his throat. What can only be described as burning hot mush, crawls is way up his throat so slowly that its painful. It take several more heaves for it finally come up all the way and into his mouth. Childe coughs to expel the large mouthful of vile and chunky sludge from his body. It hitting the puddle of vomit below with a plop.
Finally done, Childe gasped for air in between sobs of pain. He had slid even further forward off his bed during his last round of vomiting. Leaving him half hanging off the side of the bed with his face just an inch away from the pool of vomit beneath him. With all the energy zapped out of him, Childe is forced to dangle there with his brown bangs dipping into the mess. The sight of the half chewed shrimp and grains of rice disgusted him. And so he closed his eyes and tried to breathe.
He was considerably weak and shaking after all the vomiting. But somehow he managed to hoist himself back up onto the bed before falling back onto his dirty pillow. And then just like that he passes out.
When Childe wakes up again, he wishes he were dead. He is going to be sick again but he can't find the strength to move. Saliva fills his mouth and he whimpers at the thought of what's to come. He would beg for mercy if his throat wasn't so sore.
He tries to breathe slowly. He tries to think of something else. But that's hard given his current situation. Ontop of him are wet blankets soaked in his own vomit. His dirty black shirt sticks to his skin from sweat and bile. And the awful acidic smell of vomit on his pillow constantly fills his nose.
Childe really wishes he could get up and go to the bathroom, but he can barely move.
As much as he wants to he really cant hold it back anymore. Childe rolls over to his side as another chunky batch of vomit pathetically pools from his mouth onto his pillow.
Childe clutches his stomach with his arms and curls up into a ball, it only eases his pain a little.
He wants to go home. To be back in Snezhnaya, in his childhood room, with his mom taking care of him. Her reassuring smile telling him that everything would be okay….. but he doesn't have that right now. He in a foriegn country alone, laying in his own sick. It feels childish,but he cant help but cry and cry until he falls back asleep.