He knew this would happen long before the animal crawled up to him, tail between its legs and ears firmly pinned to the back of its skull, begging for forgiveness. In fact, he was counting on it. Anticipating an opponent's mistakes and turning them into opportunities is an essential skill for any businessman, and Vandermeer is no exception. Yet there is an undercurrent of amusement in the air, that smugness of someone who has been proven right, someone who has won.

That device was a wonderful little thing. To a human, the cravings would be hellish. To an animal, they were unbearable. The wounds littering Horus' entire body are at an assortment of healing stages. Seems our old friend really couldn't put up with you, after all. Curled up at his feet, the animal looks even more pathetic than usual. Henrik shudders at the thought of how much money he has thrown down the drain in trying to make this mongrel presentable.

"Please forgive me. Please." The voice is strained, weak. The animal shivers in terror, forcing itself to repeat the words it hopes would appease its owner. A regretful dog, begging to be taken back the moment it figures out it can't survive on the streets.

"Did your vacation not work out for you?" Vandermeer crosses his legs above the animal. It flinches. "Why are you here?"

"I didn't know where else to go."

Ah. There it is. He didn't think the doctor would have the balls.

"So he kicked you out."

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

Pathetic.

Fingers slide into his pockets with a practiced motion. The animal looks at Henrik expectantly. The familiar dull ache at the base of its skull rears its ugly head again. The cartridge clinks against the metal arm of the chair. Taunting. Muscles tense up, yet Horus doesn't budge.

"What makes you think I'd take you back? Your existence is of no worth outside your genetics. But that's a bigger concept than you can understand, isn't it?" Every word drips with venom. A snake, baring its fangs before the inevitable lunge.

"Please forgive me."

"No. Get out."

"Do with me as you please. I'm yours to command. Please. Please forgive me." The animal is shaking so badly the words come quivering out. His killing machine, quivering. Outrageous. Vandermeer has no patience for weakness.

"And what am I to do with you if you do not behave?"

Hesitation. Terrified black eyes meet cold blues, struggling to hold eye contact.

"My life is in your hands. I do not belong to anyone else."

Nothing quite like repeated abandonment to humble an animal, huh? There isn't a single part of Henrik that believes the words of a desperate dog. But that dog is still an expensive Kalavinka asset, and he is still the one managing it. However inconvenient, he could certainly still find a way to turn it into an opportunity. He had done so countless times before.

"Good boy. Welcome home."

one of my favorite types of whumpee is an injured, human whumpee who has their back (literally) against the wall as they snarl and hiss, like a wounded animal, at anybody who tries to get close to them, whether it be whumper or caretaker.

whumpee may be injured and terrified, but they will bite any hand that comes too close.

actually, just like any animal, the fact that they are hurting and are scared, with no other choice but to fight, just makes them more unpredictable and unstable; a danger to themself and those around them.

The caretaker had found the whumpee by complete accident, but of course they couldn’t just leave them with someone like the whumper- but of course, rescue wasn’t easy. The whumpee would hiss and bite them at every turn, the caretaker tried their best to explain that they only wanted to help, but any move they made just made the whumpee think they were being aggressive.

rescued whumpees are good but they're even better when they're fucking feral.

kicking, hollering, biting, scratching anyone who even tries to come near them, let alone touch them in any capacity.

huddling themself up in a corner or under furniture as some sort of escape.

literally growling/hissing, glaring at everyone with shifty and untrusting eyes, ready to pounce the moment they see a chance at escape.

not believing the hand reaching to bandage their wound won't make them hurt even worse afterwards.

gaining and losing trust with a caretaker in half a second when they move too fast or try to touch something that hurts.

having to be worked with for days, weeks, months just to get them to settle down when another person occupies the same space as them.

only bonding with other whumpees who were only just recently rescued as well, immediately sensing a similar distress and trying to comfort them

becoming twice as feral when it comes to 'protecting' said whumpee friend from all these people that just want to help

making so much progress in learning how to be comfortable with someone, only to have it undone by an innocent mistake that triggers their past abuse

latching on to one specific caretaker only and being a hellion with anyone else because they're just not the same

causing such a ruckus for so long that it's unnaturally eerie to see them quiet and submissive when a certain face appears to offer their assistance in taming them...

Whump prompt II

Caretaker leaves animal feed on the porch (for the stray cats, for their dog that lives in the yard during summer, for the hedgehogs…), only to one day find a starved whumpee devouring it.

Bonus: Whumpee bolts, but stays in the area, and Caretaker proceeds to lure them in with food and patience just like they would an injured animal that needs to be looked at.