>The rumbling and jostling of Kurt’s CR-V was not doing Larson’s stomach any favors.
>He was fairly certain that under his fur, his skin had turned a vibrant, nauseated shade of green.
>Being relegated to the trunk didn't help; with the back seats folded down to accommodate the supplies, he was essentially cargo, not that he could really fit anywhere else in the car without feeling cramped.
>He pressed his forehead against the rear window, desperate for a visual lock on the horizon to stop his stomach from leaping up his throat.
>Back when he was human, staring at the road helped abate the bite of car sickness. As a Luxray, it mostly just made him acutely aware of every pothole in the gravel road.
>The only mercy was the glass itself. The icy cold helped fight back against the motion sickness.
>”You doing okay back there, Lars? I can toss some stuff out of the bag if you need an emergency barf bucket,” Emma’s voice drifted back from the passenger seat with a tinge of concern, Kurt’s long tail coiled around her.
>Larson grumbled and squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to think about puking.
>“Don’t say the b-word,” he groaned, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose.“I’m alright. The sooner I get out of this rocking boat of a car, the sooner I’ll survive.”
>Kurt chuckled from the driver’s seat. “He always gets like this. Even with anti-nausea meds. I don’t think the lion inner ear agrees with modern human transportation.”
>The Inteleon turned his head to check on Larson. “Just pop the trunk if you’re gonna hurl, I don't want you to make a mess in my car!” he teased.
>Larson cracked one eye open to glare at the back of the Inteleon’s head. “I don’t want to hear shit from you, Kurt. You can’t even keep your liquor down. Or have we forgotten Halloween?”
>“That was a fluke,” Kurt said dismissively, turning the wheel.
