Work Text:
The living room was silent. Glazed unceremoniously with Toot's remaining illness were the couches, tables and walls, as well as a few knives most likely used for cutting meat. They needed a bit of drying and cleaning, as did everything else. Xandir insisted he'd solve the problem.
A clicking stuttered through the open air as Ham put his trotters up on a nearby table, knocking a few things onto the floor below. He wiped off the wooden cutting board and stood still like a statue. His stomach had slightly receded over the week, however, he was still rather corpulent, thus gravity only made his entire body seem to weigh more as he stood on his front-hooves and "feet".
On the other end of the kitchen was a swipe of yellow and white as Wooldor scraped grime off of a meat-carving knife. He tapped the knife on his hand, the metal making a satisfying "ping" sort of noise. His green eyes seemed as though they bore into Ham's as he turned his neckless head, finally shuffling over to the table with a red marker in the opposing hand.
"Spanky, I can't do this with you fully clothed." Wooldor pushed out his lower lip, looking annoyed. Ham could've sworn this was some weird attempt to see his bared ass, but in the end, Wooldor wasn't intelligent enough to think of that.
"Right. Right." He nodded, rolling up one of his sleeves-
"No, you need to get naked."
"I tried to avoid it. I tried." He sighed, pulling down his pants over his grubby feet. His pettitoes clicked against the table as he put each foot down. On the floor his shirt and underwear met the others, as well as his shoes, which weren't on in the first place. He felt decent. Very decent, he was rarely ever dressed to begin with, it just felt normal at this point.
The marker-point was cold and moist, creating an inky mark in a pale red. A dotted line scuttled across his buttock and around his stomach, sectioning each part of his body into different segments and marking each one.
A little squishy noise emerged from the knifepoint wound. His legs began to wobble and he decided it would be easier to support himself with his knees down. Wooldor spread the thin wound apart, digging the blade partway beneath the skin and slowly peeling it away. The floppy piece of flesh was tossed unceremoniously into a green, plastic bowl, and he dabbed a thin tissue on Ham's bloody ass-wound before resuming his work. And as he cut he did hum that stupid fucking song.
Bullies are people who hate themselves. Abused at age six or molested at twelve.
Gore dripped along the surface of the table, sticking down in a brownish-reddish residue caked on and thick like plaster. The fleshy strips were rolled up into little spiraled curls, with toothpicks and olives jammed through each pink slice as though it were hairy prosciutto. On the bone remained a layer of fat, meat and muscle, glazed slightly with bodily fluid of various kinds. The exposed inside was tender and painful to the touch.
Wooldor uncleanly used a gluestick to hold a few dish towels to Ham's torn ass. No amount of bandaids could cover that kind of space. He then covered over the towels by using a masking tape to hold a pillow against his backside.
"...That is so stupid."
Wooldor didn't respond. Ham prepared to put his clothes back on, but annoyingly, his underpants wouldn't actually go over the pillow. So later on he stowed away and tore it off. Ouch.
Later on Toot stole most of the ham rolls.