He stood up intending to throw a punch at the British guy, but as soon as he took half a step, he froze in place, feeling a familiar sharp pain in his rear. The sweat beads on his hooked nose sparkled like the bribe ruby that the Mayor of Druiysk could never rid of.
Gogol clutched his butt and sat back down, burying his head and quietly hissing.
The commotion drew sideways glances from the surrounding guests, and Arthur, with a look of apology, summoned a waiter: "Please, bring a cushion with a thick and warm pad over here. It seems Mr. Gogol's ailment has flared up."
The nearby guests, hearing this, nodded helplessly in acknowledgment to Arthur.
The flare-up of hemorrhoids is something many of the guests present could empathize with; that feeling is indeed unpleasant.
Arthur started comforting Gogol: "Look! Your condition requires rest; you shouldn't be too worked up. I genuinely consider you a friend and always have your best interest at heart."
