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3 October

I think I've probably been here for something like a week now. I don't really know. Doc's made me a pretty comfortable corner in the cellar under the steps, but there's almost never electricity, and he sealed up the outside door so well I can't really even tell morning from night. I've got a couple candles, though, and he's found some more recently. And now this little book and pen!

Doc says it'll be good for my psyche to keep a journal. He also says it'll help him monitor how I'm doing.

I'm not entirely sure what's going on up outside, but Doc says it's not safe for me to go out yet. He's got a mask, so he goes out and checks on things, and looks for supplies, and probably looks for folks that might need medical attention. He thinks it was a chemical bomb. I'm lucky I've been staying with Doc for a few months - I'd never know what to do with myself and I probably wouldn't last five minutes.

I just hope Doc can find some food soon... It's been pretty hit or miss what he manages to bring, if anything. Sometimes I think we go days without anything to eat and only a little water between us... but when we do have food we somehow have a whole lot of it. Doc says I ought to eat as much as I can whenever possible though, since we never know when we'll find food next and don't have a reliable way to keep it cold.

Smart guy, Doc. Met him making rounds at the community housing center when I had a little sniffle. For some reason he seemed to like hanging around me though, so he eventually put me up on his couch.

Then all this stuff happened. Holy shit, I don't even understand when he tries to explain politics and the war to me. I keep telling him to stop trying, just stick to the basics. Mama always said I was dumb as a stump and it isn't about to change now.

Reggie slapped the notebook shut and tucked his pen into it, fur bristling slightly in the light of his candle. The calico moved deeper into the fluffy pillows in his corner under the steps, grooming his whiskers like he could wash off a lingering bad smell. Soon he'd calmed himself down, but wasn't ready to pick up the notebook again. He'd already killed enough time, surely. Maybe a nice nap...

Upstairs in the kitchen, Doc had come in a while ago, but still hadn't bothered to take the mask from his beak. At this point it was part of the crow-type griffin's daily garb, and he would feel naked without it, and he had no desire to walk around in the nude. So a trenchcoat, a mask, a hat, and he rarely took it off. It made him feel better to have his patchy black fur hidden away. Griffins were stereotypically handsome creatures, but a carrion crow mixed with a back-alley, mangy cat didn't exactly fit the bill. Better to be imposing if not beautiful.

Doc was in a good mood. He had found a lot of food, including breads, cheeses, jellies, canned preserves, and pre-packaged donuts. Everything sealed up well enough that he didn't worry about bringing it to Reggie - not that he needed to worry much, frankly. He'd picked at what he wanted and was now putting everything into a basket to bring down to Reggie.

He grabbed a bottle of water and a bottle of sweet fruit juice, and hesitated just before turning toward the cellar, yellow eyes dulled by the smoked glass of his lenses falling on the malt and powdered milk on the counter.

"Patience, patience," he muttered to himself, gathering everything up and making his way toward the cellar. "Even he would question that much all at once."

Reggie stirred at the sound of Doc's raspy croak.

"Reginald, are you awake?" the griffin was asking as he made his way down the stairs.

Reggie yawned massively, sandpaper tongue curling in on itself. "Hey Doc, how's everything up topside? Any weird mutants or anything?"

"No, no," Doc chuckled, "no mutants. But I did find a fair haul in an abandoned store. Best eat up."

Doc came and joined him under the stairs, settling stiffly at the foot of Reggie's mattress. The calico's green eyes widened in utter shock at the sheer size of Doc's basket today. He wasn't sure he'd ever eaten that much food, even in a whole day.

"Well that'll keep, won't it?" he asked apprehensively. "The jars, and the sweets, at least?"

"Unfortunately not," sighed the griffin, pointing one claw to the top of a jar. "Popped seal, see? It'll collect bacteria, especially without proper cooling. Even down here is too warm to serve as a proper fridge."

Reggie's ears flicked down, but he shrugged and picked up the loaf of bread and a jar of preserves with a sigh. "Better help me then, Doc, I don't think I'll be able to finish all this myself."

"Oh of course, I'll help," said Doc. If Reggie had been paying attention he'd have perhaps seen the crinkle of crow eyes as Doc smiled.

For the first half hour or so, Reggie made good progress. He tore his way through a loaf of bread, dipping it into the preserves, then adding juice to the last quarter of the jar and making a sort of smoothie to drink. But then he was getting quite full. The cheese was slow-going, and the second jar of preserves, that he had to ear with his paws, nearly made him gag. He didn't even want to wash his paws and face - he felt like he might explode if he swallowed another crumb.

"Not done yet," Doc reminded him in a sing-song caw, pushing the box of a dozen donuts closer.

Reggie whimpered and tried to shift to a more comfortable position. His belly was oppressively full and heavy, not quite pinning him down to the mattress, but it sure did feel close. His shirt was beginning to ride up over his bulging belly, soft white fur mussed and showing bright in the candlelight. Breathing was difficult, and his waistband felt uncomfortably tight.

"You've gotta be kidding, Doc," he huffed.

The griffin didn't answer. The flickering candlelight shone off his lenses, preventing Reggie from seeing his eyes at all. Coupled with his silence, it was a truly unsettling effect.

"Right, ok, not kidding," he muttered, struggling to hoist himself up enough to reach across for the donuts.

One was difficult. Two was worse. He tried to think of anything else to distract himself from the cloying sweetness in his mouth, on his whiskers, in his fur. And his belly! He felt more full than he ever had in his life, ballooning out from under his shirt and bulging over his vice-like waistband, first in the front, then on the sides as he kept forcing more food down his throat. His skin was beginning to feel tight and stretched, and his breath came in wheezing gasps, unable to take lungfuls of air as his swelling gut seemed to encroach in his other organs.

By the time he finished the last one he was whining with pain, sweating, unable to move. Laying down on his back felt awful, the weight of his stuffed belly trapping him. He tried to roll over to his side, struggling to budge the new weight in his stomach - there was no room to bend over it, and his skin was stretched so taut already that leaning back made him feel like he would tear open.

On his side, gravity pulled at his girth and stretched his waist painfully, but as he struggled to push himself up into a sitting position, he found he couldn't. Reggie had no choice but to lay there, wheezing and unable to move.

"Doc, a - a little help here?"

No answer.

Reggie craned his neck to look past his stuffed belly, even going so far as to try to press it down - and whining in pain at the pressure his paw added to his already taut skin. But the griffin had disappeared.

Reggie sighed and let his head drop to the mattress with a whump.

"Not even an antacid," he huffed, and began skating his paws over his packed stomach. Several inches of bare fur were showing under the hem of his shirt, ruffled and sticking every direction from the fabric becoming tight and riding up over it. He brushed it down flat as best he could with his sticky paws. He even tried to pull the hem of his shirt back down to cover himself completely, but couldn't get it down over his belly.

Well, if I'm going to be in this state anyway, he grumbled to himself, deciding to unbutton his pants. He struggled, though, trying to press his flesh out of the way so he could reach the straining button, then wrestling with fabric that had no more give left to try to slip the button back out of its hole. Eventually, with much pitiful whining and difficulty, the button came free, and his belly sprang from its confines to expand further.

Reggie sighed with relief. His skin still felt stretched thin, but that felt much better.