[b]Day 1[/b]
Milk of magnesia to reduce constipation 
(2) 400mgs of Cimetidine(Tagamet), 12-15 tablets of Imodium every 5-8hrs

“Take the medicine and you won’t be in so much pain.”  Braulio stood outside the bathroom door, listening to Cherise’s pained groans and moans as the cramps began hitting her hard.  

After passing out in the house the undersized possum had been unconscious for almost three hours, and he had taken almost an hour explaining the situation to her.  She had interrupted him by jumping to her feet and running to the bathroom in the middle of his explanation of her symptoms and what she would have to expect.  She had been keeping her cramps quiet, he guessed as he wondered how long it had been since her last use.  

“F-FUCK!”  The girl’s high pitched voice cursed in pain from the other side of the hollow door.  

“Let me in so I can give you medicine!”  Braulio hollered again, rubbing his palm against his forehead in frustration.

“I-MMM!!-I CANT!”  She screamed between pained squeals and groans.  

“Why?”  Braulio asked as loudly as he could while retaining a calm voice.  

“M-My legs!  They hurt!”  

Braulio ground his forehead into his palm in frustration. “The cramps will go away if you take these pills and drink some water.  If you could just make it to the door and let me in…”  

“I CA-A-A-ANT!”  She screamed between sobs.  

“Get to the bathtub or the sink.  Drink some tap water and you’ll feel better.”  As she cried out another reply, Braulio heard noise from the main room of the hotel.  He turned to face the bedroom door and shook his head.  “I’ll be right back.  I think room service or cleaning or something.  Try not to scream too loud.”  He patted the door lightly and walked out of the bedroom to the short hall.  

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Inside the bathroom Cherise laid in a heap on the floor.  Her shoulder-length dirty blond hair splayed out across the terra cotta tiles as she hugged her knees tightly to her chest and her feet and toes tensed and spread and flexed and clenched as the cramps in her lowers seized her in unbearable pain.  Her eyes watered, tears pouring down her face and her nose dripped, though she wasn’t crying that hard.  She’d been through pain worse than this before and kept her composure, although this pain was different from what she’d ever felt before.  More than a few times in her moaning and groaning she came close to choking on her own drool and snot.  

She heard Braulio and knew he was right, she’d been without before, but not this long.  A day was the longest she’d been before and she was close to 30 hours already.  She’d gotten a small hit before Braulio stormed in, but only enough to stave off her symptoms for a few hours at most.  Water would help her cramps, enough to crawl to the door at the very least.  She released her hold on her legs and screamed as the feeling of every muscle in her legs ripping apart at once shot through her.  She reached for the edge of the bathtub as well as she could, hoping once she found her way there she could get to the toilet, and from there to the sink.  

Her small, boney paw gripped at the red-brown tiles and her arm flexed, trying to pull her up.  The other arm went beneath her, supporting her from beneath.  Her arms were weak, shaking violently as they struggled to support her weight, but she made it high enough to rest her body on the edge of the tub, her hollow stomach almost completely folding over it.  She rolled over, somehow getting onto her behind to sit on the edge.  She swayed slightly back and forth with nothing to support her back, but for the moment progress had been made.  

The door handle started to wiggle and she sighed slightly relieved.  [i]I knew a guy like that could open a door...[/i]  She had regretted locking it in the first place, but she didn’t expect her legs to come out from under her so quickly.  She knew if he only gave her a chance she could get inside his head.  It never took much for her to figure out how to push a man’s buttons to get what she wanted, and what she wanted now was for this pain to stop; the only thing that would do that was more heroin.    If she could get her phone back, or get to any phone, she could even get some delivered.  The lock clacked open and she opened her mouth to speak, to play the pained, sympathetic little girl that he wanted her to be.  She nearly screamed as the door swung open quickly and the strange-looking bird stepped in.  

He had a broad, somewhat flat looking head with huge, bright yellow, almost golden eyes boring into her.  He was wearing a pink T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and the sides cut completely down to the hem, giving room for his wings.  The design on the front was thick black lines and text, an outline of a bell and the word “end” written under it.  His pants were dirty, stained, and ripped grey sweatpants.  She stared at him for a second, confused and slightly unsettled by his oversized, unblinking eyes.  

“Who the hell are you?”  He asked her as he stepped into the bathroom. 

“Wh-who are you?”  She scooted back toward the corner, doing her best to be the scared innocent.  [i]Maybe he’ll distract the dog and give me an opening.[/i]  She thought as he neared.  Braulio was still stalking around looking; she hadn’t heard a struggle.  

“I asked you first, little lady.  Didn’t anyone teach you manners?”  He bent down slightly, getting a closer look at her from where he was standing.  “What are you even?  Some kind of rat?”  

“Y-you’re supposed t-to introduce yourself first…”  She stuttered lightly to feign fear.  “A-and I’m a p-p-possum…”  

“A p-p-p-blblblbllbbllblblb!-possum?”  He exaggerated her stutter as he stood up straight again, tilting his head around.  “Do you have a speech impediment, or is that some animal I’ve yet to hear of?”  He had a way of moving that seemed… unnatural, or odd.  Not just in that strange way that all birds move, there was something unexplainable and unsettling about him, in the air and in his voice, and in his eyes that never seemed to blink. 

“I’m a possum… My name is Cherise…”  She dropped the act, a real fear beginning to settle in her.  

“And I’m Joao Silva.  Isn’t it nice to be familiar?”  He stepped walked towards her casually, somewhat hunched over.  “So what are you doing here?”  

“What do you mean?”  She moved back, nearly tripping over the edge of the tub, putting her back to the corner and her feet in the tub.  

“Well I can tell you’re on Heroin.  Or you were.  Nose running, sweating, teary-eyed.  Been there, done that.  You’re in for a week of fucking hell.  But why are you HERE?”  He sat on the toilet beside the tub, making a grab for her tail.  She squeaked and pulled her tail away in time to escape his grasp, making him chuckle a bit.  “You’re too young for him, he hates druggies, and you’re definitely below his quality standard.”  

She growled under her breath, meaning to be silent. “I do what I have to do…”  

“Hey!”  He said standing up, and giving a light laugh.  “Haha, I can’t judge you!  I kill people!  You’re just a whore!  So when we’re burning in hell together you’ll be a little bit cooler spot!”  He turned to face her again, staring her down hard, his tone changing harshly.  “But that still doesn’t answer the question, why the FUCK are you here?!”  

“EE!”  She squealed shortly and hugged her legs up to her chest.  The edges of her vision started to blur around the edges and her head started to light as she began to fall back into torpor.  Joao suddenly flew backwards, landing on his ass on the floor.  Braulio stood behind him, glaring down at him with a large, mirror-polished pistol in his hand.  The last thing she saw was the inside of the tub before everything finally went black, and the empty, dreamless sleep took her.  

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“Caralho!”  Joao squawked the deep, warbling squawk as he looked up at the dog, one hand rubbing his ass.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?”  Braulio stepped over the bird to the tub, taking Cherise up under her arms and checking her head and neck. “You’re lucky she didn’t hurt herself…”  

“Haha, did she faint?”  Joao laughed as he picked himself up.  “Delicate, isn’t she?”  

“She didn’t faint.  Her species goes into torpor.  Playing dead due to stress or a perceived threat.”  He laid her down in the tub and started removing her clothes gently.  “She’s soaking wet with sweat…  She needs water and to take pills for her cramps.  And now she’s fucking unconscious…”   

“This isn’t a bad thing.”  Joao said sitting up on the sink.  “Let her be in [i]torpor[/i] as much as you can.  The more she’s out the less pain she’ll be in, and the easier she’ll be to deal with.”  

“Yes because undressing a sleeping fifteen year old is fun.”  Braulio growled lightly as he lifted her shirt off of her. 

“Heh, a little bit younger than your usual fare, but I’d bet as experienced.  Any idea how many dicks a smackhead has to suck to stay high?”  He chuckled slightly, but it was feigned.  Braulio knew Joao well enough to know he was being serious, and was only masking it because he knew it would frustrate Braulio even further.  “Anyway…”  

“You’re early by almost a month.  Why?”  Braulio laid her shirt on the side of the tub, beginning to unbutton and unzip her pants.  

“My… former habitat became inhospitable.  I figured you were here, you always get the biggest hotel room they have, always have a spare bedroom or two.  So why not drop in on you a while early?”  He smiled, as much as a bird [i]can[/i] smile, and fanned his tail idly.  

“Oh God damnit… Don’t tell me that airport in Newcastle…”  Braulio sat her pants on top of her shirt and started pulling off her panties.  

“No!  No-no-no-no, that was a bunch of ragheads.  I just showed them how to build it.”  He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.  “If they want to give me money to teach them hypothetical methods for creating explosives, and hypothetical methods for obtaining materials for said explosives, who am I to turn them down?”  He jumped down and headed to the bedroom.  “I’m going to get a drink, want something?”  

“Don’t go get drunk, damnit!”  Braulio grumbled under his breath, knowing that Joao would ignore him.  As bad as he was sober he could be so much worse when drunk or high.  Once he had removed Cherise’s panties he took a moment to look her over.  He shook his head looking at what he saw as a child.  She was small and weak, her growth stunted by drug use.  He couldn’t understand the kind of man that seeks out children.  No, he could actually understand them.  Insecurity, weakness, predation, fear, the things that make a man target children and weak women were familiar to him.  

He sighed and patted her gently on the head.  [i]Now’s as good time as any...[/i]  He put both hands on her head and began combing gently through her hair, or as gently as his thick fingers could at least.  She hadn’t come from the most hygienic of circumstances, and looked sickly besides.  A good first step to getting her better would be finding where she preferred to inject and getting them disinfected and cleaned up.  Her scalp was clean, expectedly, but you can never tell where those types like to stick their needles.  The rest of the fur on her body was relatively short, and somewhat thin from what had to be an unhealthy diet, so checking the rest of her wouldn’t be too hard. 

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Half an hour after Joao had walked out, Braulio finally left the bedroom and went to the kitchen.  Braulio hadn’t seen or heard anything from the bird since he’d left him alone with Cherise, and time had taught him that silence from Joao meant trouble.  As he rounded the doorway into the large main room, he saw the island completely buried under everything that had been inside the fridge, along with pots and pans arranged in all manners of stacks, towers, and piles.  He swiped his palm from his chin, across his face, and up to comb through his hair as he sighed, grateful for the cleaning ladies the would have to deal with this later.  “What are you doing, Joao…?”  

“I wanted to show you something!”  The bird said as he stood in an apron that seemingly materialized from nowhere.  The front of it was printed with an image of a particularly muscular(and well endowed) equine male with a comically large endowment wrapped in a hotdog bun.  

“...” Braulio’s eyes bored into the back of the bird’s head as he formulated his next question.  “Drugs or explosives?”

“Come see!”   Joao said as his tail fanned idly behind him.

Braulio shook his head and walked around the kitchen island to Joao’s side, easing up behind him to see whatever it was he had his hands in at the moment.  As soon as he peaked his head over the bird’s shoulder he found a broad wooden spoon thrust into his maw.  He swallowed instinctively, his throat and stomach instantly turning and roiling as the texture of cooked fat and the overwhelming iron-y flavor of blood filled his mouth and nose.  He barked and hacked at the thick taste of blood, retching as he backed away.  “Puta que pariu!  What the fuck is that?!  Morcela?!”  

“Black Pudding!  One of my friends in England taught me how to make it!”  Joao laughed as he returned to stirring the dark brownish-black concoction.  

“You know I hate the taste of blood.”  Braulio growled out as he walked to the refrigerator, digging deep until he found the only thing he had that could wash the sickening taste from his mouth.  Withdrawing the vaguely hourglass-shaped bottle from the refrigerator and quickly thumbing off the cork with his claw, he turned the already half-empty bottle up to take a few loud swigs, the bottle glugging as the clear spirit poured down his throat.  The peppery, apple-y, salty flavor filled his nose and burned his throat, but also washed away the taste of Joao’s disgusting brew.  He dropped the bottle onto the island and took a deep breath as his stomach slowly stopped turning.  “Where did you get that much blood anyway?”  He slightly panted, still not having his breath.  “They don’t exactly stock that in American supermarkets.”  

“I met a friend on my way from the airport who gave me a hand.”  He said as he put the large pot off of the eye and hung a long casing from the head of the sink.  

Braulio growled slightly and pulled one of the tall bar seats out from the island and sat down.  He picked up the bottle again, the silver cachaca, and swirled it by the neck as he shook his head at Joao’s back.  “Of course he did… So...”  The bird smiled as much as he could with his beaked face.  “Since you’re here, tell me I can go ahead and put you to work?”

His tail fanned and the feathers on his neck ruffled as he began pouring the mixture into the casing via a wide-mouthed funnel.  “What do you need me to do, Brau?”  Steam rose from the sink and the casing flopped wetly around inside it as it was filled, and the smell of blood and spices started to spread.  

Braulio’s nostrils flared and he took another drink of his white spirit to fight the stench.  “Kimbel…  I need his inventory checked.  Then I need Kinoshita’s checked.  One of Kimbel’s boys was at the lizard’s house and made it sound like he was cutting our stuff.”  The bird finished, shaking the pot for it to release the last of its contents, before letting it clatter down into the other bay of the sink.  

“Quiet or loud?”  The bird asked, turning his head to look at his canine boss.  His eye had a predatory shine in it, but a hopefulness too, like a child asking for his dessert before dinner.  

“Quiet, unless you’re ready to completely purge this place and start anew…”  He looked at Joao with an eyebrow raised in frustration at the realization that the bird was honestly considering just killing [i]everyone[/i] this early in the game.  “It’s too early you fucking psycho.  We’ll see who we can use and who we can’t before we start getting rid of people.”  

“You’re never any fun.”  The dejected man turned back to his cased blood and started to tie it off into links.  

“Never.  How much more work do you have to put into those things?”  Braulio asked as he stood from his stool, walking across the room to the waist-high table that separated the kitchen from the living room.  He picked up the universal remote and turned on his television to the local news.  “You see our friend?  The spotted dog?”  

“I saw a glorious predator in her element, talons shining like onyx, scales like bronze, eyes like gold glowing with rage and hate and feral hunger…”  The potoo churred deeply before taking a deep sigh, catching his breath.  “Yes, I saw the pup get his face cracked in.”  He replied shortly as he refilled the pot with water.  “And these need to cook solid.  Not boil, but cook for awhile.  Why?”  

The stout dog leant over the counter watching the local weather, “My whole hotel room smells like blood now.  And if you’re going to work you should go now.  It’s going to rain later tonight.”  

“Will you keep these simmering for me, then?”  The bird dropped the cased blood into the pot and backed away, taking off his apron and laying it across the island.  

“What will I have to do?”  Braulio asked, turning around putting his elbows on the counter as he leaned back, stretching his back.  

“Just be sure that they don’t pop, and if one of them does turn the heat down.  Take them out after around an hour.  And if you wouldn’t mind warming me up.  I haven’t had a fight in almost a month and I feel cold.”  Joao walked between Braulio and the door of the motel room, waving to it.  “Take to the roof?  Not make a mess of your nice hotel room?”  

“Caral- You want me to leave her alone in this hotel room while I let you take me to the roof and kick my ass?  Are you crazy, old bird?”  Braulio moved up onto his feet and adjusted the straps of his undershirt with his thumbs.  He took a few steps into what interior designers call a “high-traffic area,”  a part of the room that, though it was an open floor plan, was designed to be the main open walking path, and as such had a long straight of empty, free space.  “How about we do it here?  It’s nice and long, not too much room for side-to-side play.  Like a fencing court, almost.”  

Joao laughed and shoved his hands under his oversized shirt.  When they swung back down from under the oversized fabric guns materialized in them.   In his right hand was a gun Braulio was certainly familiar with, Joao’s custom-made Ithica-37.  It had the frame shortened for two-inch rounds which gave him extra room for shells, a side-saddle on the left side of the gun, giving him 7 in the gun and 6 on the side.  It was also cut very short, and had a somewhat aggressive break on the end, for intimidation more than anything else.  The furniture on the gun was wood, shined up and checkered aggressively, and the finish on the metal was a dark, deep, reddish Rust-blue, and the front sight was a large ivory bead.  

In his left hand was a Ingram M-10, original Military Arms Company production(as opposed to the garbage reproductions).  This machine had been somewhat rusty and abused when he’d got it, leaving him with relative freedom when it came to configuring it.   He had had an offset lever welded to the charging handle to make room for a full top M1913 rail, a set of MBUS irons(where the originals had been broken off from abuse and misuse) with an Aimpoint Micro co-witnessing, a bright red finish with dark wine-colored tiger stripes and gold Titanium-Nitride innards and controls.  The original suppressor had looked like it’d been run over by a truck, so the barrel had been fitted with a Silencerco Octane 45 in its stead, which had been painted to match.  He held them both out straight armed, his avian arms stronger than perhaps they normally should be.  

“Need to take these off, huh?”  He laughed and walked to the foyer beside the door, where the customary small table was sitting as they always are. The guns clattered heavily as he sat them down and turned back to Braulio.  “Good?”

Braulio was already emptying his pockets.  The SlimjimXL he carried in his sock was in his bedroom along with his socks(he’d been barefoot for a while now), as was the kiridashi he had worn around his neck.  He sat his Benchmade 53 and the Bradley Mayhem on the counter and started taking off his watch and the few modest rings he wore.  “Get that pistol out of your waist band, too.”  

Joao chuckled lightly and reached into the waistband of his pants at the centerline of his body and pulled out a S&W 329 Nightguard with a hip-grip, another somewhat aggressive compensator, and like his M10, some of the controls had been gone over with TiN, but the rest had been left the factory black.  “You think I’m going to shoot you, Braubrau?”  

“No, I think you’re going to cock me across the face with it like you did in Cùcuta.”  The dog chuckled as well and took a few steps closer, closing the gap just enough but not too much.  

Joao sat the pistol on the dresser along with his other guns and turned his shirt inside out, removing it and throwing it on the ground off to the side.  His chest bore a few scars; a clawmark running from his shoulder to just the right of his navel, an almost unnoticeable gunshot scar on his right chest, and one large, particularly ragged penetration scar where he had crash-landed onto a piece of rebar.  “You can’t blame me for that.  You walked up behind me, it was dark, I was a little drunk~”  

“We were on a damned stakeout…”  Braulio growled slightly, letting his right foot fall back and his stance lower.  Fighting by the same rules, he’d have an easy time with the bird.  Joao was naturally weaker, smaller, completely unable to contend with Braulio in a match of power.  On top of that, Joao was untrained, self-taught, poorly practiced, sloppy, and formless, and was no match for Braulio in skill.  

Braulio lunged forward and wrapped both arms around the bird’s waist.  Before he had a chance to either take him down or suplex him(which was the intention), he felt a sharp pain in the back of his skull.  

That was the problem fighting Joao.  He didn’t play by the same rules.  He was nice though, driving his wing-spur into the back of Braulio’s head [i]instead[/i] of using it to separate his spinal cord from his skull.   “You’ve gotta remember those, pup!”  Joao yelled before bringing up one of his bony, scaled knees into Braulio’s chest.  

Braulio couldn’t release the hold fast enough.  He’d forgot that trying to wrestle Joao was the biggest trap one could fall into, and if it had been a real fight he would’ve been killed with the first counter.  He didn’t recoil completely, instead taking one of his fists and burying it in his partner’s slender torso.  Joao squawked loudly as the blow landed and his legs buckled, just for a second, and that was enough for Braulio to feel it and instantly switch gears again, putting the bird on his back.  Hoping to end this quickly he shifted quickly.  Braulio had learned young and learned well how to move on the ground, and in less than a second he had Joao in a double kneebar.  He didn’t forget Joao’s talons like he’d forgotten his spurs, and took both legs easily.  

Joao screeched at the sudden pain but quickly began to laugh.  His hands reached behind him and gripped Brualio’s feet, digging the claws of his thumbs into the sensitive flesh at the bottom of the dog’s feet.  “Submission?!”  Braulio barked loudly and his legs instinctively withdrew slightly, enough Joao to wiggle one leg free.  Again being polite, he curled his talons in and kicked Braulio in the muzzle hard, still holding his paws and burying all five claws into the most sensitive spots they can reach.  “I don’t submit!”  He kicked Braulio in the chin again and shuffled free, finally releasing his feetpaws to flap with his wings and pull away, lifting himself to his feet in a swift motion, leaving Braulio on the floor.  

“Fucking… You damned cheating chicken…”  Braulio spat out a mouthful of blood as he sat up, pulling his feet inward.  

“You ALWAYS fight me to submit, Brau!  Why?!  It’s boring!”  Joao kicked his shirt up into his hands and threw it back onto himself, then grabbed up his shotgun and SMG and shoved them back into place.  

“Because I need you.  You have work to do, and you can’t do it if I break both of your damned legs, now can you?”  He rubbed his feet, the gouges in his pads not being as deep as they felt, but still bleeding significantly as wounds to the foot usually do.  

“You think ahead too much, Braubrau.  Now go take care of your drugged out little rat.  I think she’s awake.”  He turned and opened the door as Braulio made his way to his feet. 

“You’re actually taking the elevator?”  Braulio asked, wincing quietly as he got used to being on his feet again.  

“To the roof.  I can make it most of the way to Kimbel’s stores from this roof at a glide.”  He shut the door at that, leaving Braulio alone.  Alone, that is, besides the blood that he’d been left with and the girl asleep in the bathroom.  His ear twitched and he heard pained moaning and dry retching.   Joao was right.  

“CHERISE!  ARE YOU AWAKE?!”  He hollered as unintimidating as he possibly could to still be heard as he ran back to the bathroom to try and get her to take her medicine.  

TO BE CONTINUED

Credits:
Credit to Daveb63 for firearms expertise
Credit to RayOElGatubelo for Brazilian Portuguese help
http://www.novofogo.com/products/gold?position=1 Novo Fogo Silver