Cyril Figgis Posted July 12, 2020 Author Share Posted July 12, 2020 ((And just when you thought you weren't going to get another chapter this week, Your Humble Author swoops in with a new installment hot off the presses! This week is very action-heavy, a real first for this story, and the WG material is light, but rest assured--I have not forgotten my audience. Stay tuned next week for some big gains and developments as a curious team of heroes is assembled, but don't you dare skip this chapter!)) AGENTS OF F.E.E.D., PART 3 Gal could not believe what she was looking at. When she walked out onto the field for a test, she assumed it would be an obstacle course—not a supervillain attack simulation. Yet here she was, gawking at a subterrene the size of a tank, surrounded by masked goons, and lorded over by a woman in green armor that glistened in the sun. If the idea of this test was to showcase what the average field agent of F.E.E.D. would come across, it painted a very vivid picture. “Well, don’t charge me all at once,” the Jade Dragon taunted from atop the vehicle. A few bold recruits took her up that challenge, only to be shot down with paintballs as soon as they took a step forward. Gal was not scared of getting tagged—she had survived actual gunshot wounds—but she feared what it represented. This was her chance to do what she did best, and she did not want to lose it on account of a few inky pellets. While the anxious side of her told her that she was in no condition to deal with a combat simulation, she had to swallow that fear and focus on the task at hand, just as she had been taught. “Scatter!” she shouted on instinct, and those applicants still frozen in place jumped to command. The fresh-faced recruits broke rank and moved as fast as they could for any sort of cover in the obstacle course. Some were still tagged by the skull-faced goons, but it was much more difficult than hitting the ones who ran headfirst into action. Gal kept her head down and raced towards a climbing wall, ducking behind it just as a hail of paintballs struck the side. Her heart was pounding in her chest with such intensity that the drumming echoed in her ears and her legs burned from the sprint, but a wicked grin spread across her lips. It had been months since she felt so alive! If this had been her exercise routine, she might not have let her figure go to **; she would be a lean, mean, fighting machine. As the former corporal plotted her next move, she was joined by the spritely Candice, who vaulted over the top of the wall and landed like a cat. The young woman took a second to catch her breath before greeting Gal, “Hey there! Fancy meeting you here.” “Small world,” the taller woman replied. “How’s it looking out there?” Candice put her hands on her hips and took a deep breath to compose herself, “Well, everyone’s split up—way to take charge on that, by the way—and now those skull-faced goons are running around looking for them. We’ll need to—behind you!” Gal spun around just as one of the enemies turned the corner and grabbed at the paintball gun in his hands. They grappled for a moment before the former soldier forced him against the wall, only for the goon to boot Gal in the stomach and send her to the ground. She stared up into the barrel of the gun and waited for a pellet to strike her, but it never came, thanks to Candice spearing the attacker in the side. The two went to the ground, and in the confusion, the goon lost his grip on his gun, giving Gal the perfect opportunity to snatch it away. In an instant, the roles were reversed: the goon pushed Candice away but looked up at Gal, who had the barrel aimed right between his black, shaded eyes. The man behind the mask grunted, “Would a hero really shoot an unarmed man in the head?” “Who said I was going for the head?” asked Gal as she aimed the paintball gun lower and shot two pellets at the goon’s plated knees. Candice’s eyes sparkled as she exclaimed, “That was so awesome! If this doesn’t work out, you could totally be in action movies!” “And now, it’s your turn,” the brunette told her sunny companion as she passed her the paintball gun. “My aim’s garbage right now, so I am trusting you with this. Cover me, and we’re going to get through this.” “Yes, ma’am,” Candice replied with a salute. “What’s the plan?” Gal glanced out from behind her cover and spied the Jade Dragon, who shouted commands from atop her subterrene. The woman had been left unguarded, which the uninitiated might have assumed was an oversight on her minions, but Gal knew better. If there was no one protecting her, it was not because the Jade Dragon was helpless; she had to have some ace up her armored sleeve. There was no telling what she was capable of, so they would need to tread carefully when approaching her. Assuming they could get to her, since the field was wide open around her. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” Gal explained, “we’re going to make our way to the inclined wall, since it’s closer to the Dragon and the closest cover. I’ll see if I can take out one more of those mooks along the way and grab one of the other applicants. I’ve got a plan to tackle the lady in charge, but I’m going to need a little more cover than just you—no offense.” “None taken,” Candice replied earnestly. She held the paintball gun close to her chest and told the former corporal, “You can count on me!” “Then let’s do this. Move out!” With that, Gal and Candice charged out onto the field again, the larger woman leading the way while her companion kept a close eye on the action around them. The other applicants were finding their own ways to combat the Jade Dragon’s soldiers, but there were far more tagged than not. Every time one of the recruits was hit with a paintball, Agatha disqualified them and had them move to the sidelines. Little by little, the number of applicants was whittled down; Gal had to draw on all her experience if she wanted to prove herself in this. The race to the inclined wall was a quick one, but not without peril. Gal and Candice had to be nimble as ballerinas to avoid the goons, though the spritelier of the two proved to be quite the crack shot in a pinch. When they got to the protection of the wall, they had to hold onto the slanted walls in order to keep standing, especially Gal. Were it not for the adrenaline fueling her, she would have collapsed long before this thanks to her atrophied muscles and softened physique. Thankfully, the power of fight or flight is a strong one, and she was ready to keep going, regardless of how much her overtaxed body screamed otherwise. Unfortunately, they were not the only ones who had decided to hide out under the wall. Jamie Stewart glowered at the duo and hissed at them, “What are you doing? This is my hiding spot—go find your own!” “We’re all in this together, Stewart,” Gal retorted, wiping sweat from her brow with the bottom of her shirt and exposing her untoned stomach. “Besides, you’ve got plenty of room here.” “Not with your fat ass taking up space,” the bratty woman snarked. “Yeah, well, we need this wall for our plan, so shove it,” Candice snipped at Jamie. Hearing that made Jamie snap to attention. She had gotten to the wall through sheer luck and using another applicant as a meat shield; she was not going to get through this without some help. While she did not know Gal’s background, she assumed that Candice would be a major asset, given her (fabricated) history with the CIA. Jamie had hoped to shine all on her own, but if she needed to make friends in order to survive, then so be it. “Well, that changes things,” Jamie hummed as a saccharine grin spread across her cheeks. “I’m sorry for the way I was earlier; competition brings out the worst in me. If you two have something planned, I’d be more than happy to help. No ‘I’ in ‘TEAM’, right?” Candice was about to shut her down, but Gal stepped between them and glowered down at Jamie. The petite woman cowered under the burning glare, her arrogant demeanor forgotten in the face of one clearly fed up with her. It was much to her surprise then that Gal extended a hand to her and told her, “The more, the merrier.” Though Jamie took her hand and shook it with a smile, Gal did not trust the bleached blonde bitch as far as she could throw her. She had seen plenty of Jamie’s type in the service and knew that, if given the opportunity, she would not hesitate to save her own bacon before everyone else. In a situation like this though, under the watchful high of a higher-up in F.E.E.D., she would have no choice but to work as part of a unit. “How good are you with a gun?” asked the former corporal. “Top marks, honest,” Jamie answered, the panic in her voice proving her sincerity. “I’ve got the trophies from skeet shooting to prove it.” “Then you’re going to work with Candice and give me some cover fire,” Gal told her new partner. “I need the two of you to watch my back while I try to get the Jade Dragon; watch my back, and I’ll watch yours when this is over.” Jamie nodded along with the plan, and while she did not care for the idea of sharing any of the glory, she was more than willing to let someone else throw themselves into the line of fire. She replied, “That’s as good a plan as any, but I’m going to need a gun before we do anything.” Gal responded by pushing Jamie out of the way, grabbing the barrel of a gun that was poking around the corner, and yanked the attached goon out from cover. She punched the thug in his masked face while Candice fired off two blasts at his knees. With the weapon secured, the corporal handed it to Jamie and said, “Now you’re armed.” “All right then,” Jamie replied, a lump of fear in her throat. “L-Lead the way.” With another companion in tow, Gal peeked her head out and spied another skull-faced goon making his way to the wall. She stepped aside, allowing Jamie the chance to fire off a few rounds into the minion’s chest, which took down the first obstacle but also attracted attention from nearby. That was no surprise: in fact, Gal factored that into her strategy, since more attention on her meant less on the other applicants, which gave them a fighting chance. When two recruits tackled a nearby goon, an opening straight to the subterrene was cleared; if she were to make her move, now would be the time. “All right, let’s go!” Gal ordered Candice and Jamie, who fell in around the taller woman. With Candice leading the way and Jamie backing her up, Gal charged straight for the Jade Dragon atop her perch. The trio stayed low and zig-zagged across the field, doing everything they could to avoid fire while retaliating where they could. Thankfully, their actions helped to turn the tide for the other Feedees, as one by one, the fresh-faced recruits took it to their tormentors. Though the training field was still a bed of chaos, it was much more even than it had been before. All that mattered now was taking out the woman at the head of this serpent. The unit’s actions garnered the attention of the Jade Dragon, who turned to face the newcomers and gave them a cocky smirk that even Jamie would be hard-pressed to replicate. She leapt down from the subterrene and slinked across the battlefield towards them, her form-fitting armor clinking with every sashaying step. This only furthered Gal’s belief that the woman was much more protected than she looked, to face an on-comer with such ease. “So, you got yourself a couple friends, Feedee? Smart thinking, but it won’t do you a lick of good against me,” the Dragon scoffed. “Especially not when I could hear your ass cheeks clapping from halfway across the field.” Gal grit her teeth and only pushed herself harder. She growled, “My ass isn’t even that big!” “Could be smaller,” Jamie muttered, casting a quick glance at the pronounced cheeks in their cotton confinement. Any bigger, and she could set drinks on them. The remark earned Jamie another withering glare from her impromptu leader, but Gal quickly returned her focus to the task at hand. She stepped out from behind Candice and stormed over to the Jade Dragon, who waggled a finger at the oncoming recruit. Gal stopped in front of the armored woman and looked her over once more, studying as much as she could about her opponent. Whoever it was under the mask was fair-skinned, stood almost eye to eye with her, and had a good build—a few years back, she might have passed for Gal’s body double. The form-fitting armor did not seem like it could hide any tricks, but the former corporal had read enough reports on technological villains to know they always had a weapon on hand. “I’ve got to hand it to F.E.E.D.—they don’t skimp,” Gal remarked. “You look like the real deal.” The Jade Dragon’s act faltered for a moment as she cracked a genuine smile and replied, “Well, truth is that this is all confiscated tech. It was just sitting in storage until Rothstein got the idea to use it again for the test; I’m surprised it actually works still, to be honest.” “Oh, it more than works,” the former corporal told her opponent, the look in her eye showing that she did not just mean the villainous act. The woman in the armor blushed a light pink and lowered her shoulders a hair, but that was all the give Gal needed to strike. She tackled the Jade Dragon, forced her back against the subterrene, and held a forearm a hair’s breadth away from the woman’s unarmored neck while her other hand held back one of her opponent’s arms. Unfortunately, one arm was still free, and the trapped Dragon punched Gal in the side with such force that she swore she felt a rib break. When the tall woman staggered back, the Jade Dragon pushed herself away from the war machine and tackled Gal to the ground, knocking the wind out of the former corporal. “Come on, Gal, you’ve got this!” Candice cheered her new friend on. “Do this so we can win!” shouted Jamie after covering a goon with paint. The Jade Dragon, however, was less impressed. She furrowed her brow at Gal and told her, “I’ll give you this, Feedee: you’re pretty damn good at what you do; it’s just a shame that you’re at the end of your rope. I can tell just by looking at you that this is the most exercise you’ve gotten in a long time, maybe ever since you left the service. Your face is redder than a tomato, I can literally hear your heartbeat, and you’re sweating more than a herd of pigs. Get yourself into fighting shape, and then maybe you can try your luck some other time.” If looks could kill, the Dragon would have been reduced to ashes—so intense was the glare from Gal’s eye. It was true that she was on her last legs, but she was not going to give up when victory was so close that she could taste it. She had not felt so alive since she had been discharged; she was not going to let that be taken away from her. And if victory meant pushing herself to the breaking point, then so be it. With a snarl, she ripped a chunk of turf out with one hand and threw it in the Jade Dragon’s face. Her opponent coughed and sputtered while scrambling to get the soil out of her face, which gave Gal the chance to roll over and flip the Dragon onto her side. She then knelt down on the woman’s back, locked her thighs around one of her arms, and wrenched it up and out, eliciting a squeal of pain from the Jade Dragon. “Call it!” Gal barked at the trapped woman. Try as she might, the Jade Dragon was unable to move out of the hold on her arm—it was locked good and tight. She winced and squeezed her eyes tight, but eventually, she had no choice but to surrender. With a defeated grunt, she told Gal, “I submit!” Suddenly, an airhorn split the air, signaling the end of the test. Any action on the field came to a screeching halt, some in mid-brawl, before the recruits and testers relaxed and helped each other off the field. Gal immediately let go of the Jade Dragon’s arm and helped the armored woman to her feet with an apologetic look in her eye. “I didn’t hurt you too bad with that, did I? I’ve accidentally broken an arm with that hold before,” the former told her opponent. “Believe me, I’ve had a lot worse done to me in the past,” the Jade Dragon replied, though she rubbed her aching arm. “Sorry about what I said—guess I struck a nerve.” “Eh, it helped push me over the edge, so no harm done,” Gal explained before offering a hand to the other woman. “I’m Gal, by the way.” Before her former foe could reply, Candice rushed in and wrapped Gal up in a tight embrace. She squealed with glee, “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you did it! You actually beat the Jade Dragon!” As Jamie joined in the celebration, albeit just to look like a team player, Gal glanced back to her opponent, only to find that the Jade Dragon had disappeared. She scanned the field for her, but only saw Agatha and the throng of applicants and testers applauding her efforts. Maybe their paths would cross again someday, but for the moment, Gal simply basked in the glow of sweet, sweet victory. venusderuebens, Batman76 and ulvrik 1 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted July 16, 2020 Author Share Posted July 16, 2020 ((And here we are, True Believers--the end of the first story of Agents of F.E.E.D.! Will Gal and her gals make the cut? If so, what lies ahead of them at this most elite of super-agencies? We're not going to spoil anything here, friend--you'll just have to read for yourself!)) AGENTS OF F.E.E.D., PART 4 After the excitement of the combat simulation, the other tests were rather mundane: shooting accuracy, which Gal did poorly in; aptitude, which she nearly fell asleep in; and driving, which she excelled at, but only with larger vehicles. She was exhausted by the end of the day, the mock battle having sapped her of all strength; it was a miracle she even made it home. So tired was she that she went straight to her sofa to crash, and did not wake up until late into the night—and only because her stomach roused her. “Oh, shush,” the weary woman chided her gut, only for it to grumble louder in protest. “Look, what do you want from me? I’m too damn tired to actually cook, and most places are closed this late. You want pizza? We’re supposed to be dieting!” She could protest as much as she wanted, but the extra padding on her backside was a symbol of Gal’s weak willpower when it came to junk food. Thus, she was soon placing an order for an extra-large cheeseburger pizza, a two-liter bottle of soda, and two lava cakes, all under the assumption that whatever she did not eat that night, she could always save for the next day. When the food arrived a half-hour later though, Gal parked her considerable rear end in her recliner and tucked in while she watched a bad action movie marathon. With her attention distracted, the former corporal mindlessly ate through her large order and filled her stomach until she could not fit another crumb. By the time she finished, she nearly passed out in her chair, so bloated with meat, cheese, soda, and cake was she. Gal fought the urge to zonk out then and there though and forced her heavy body out of the recliner. Her stomach was so stuffed that it was hot to the touch and looked like it had an entire watermelon; a casual observer would have thought that she was pregnant. She carefully plodded to her bedroom, making sure not to jostle her food baby too much as she made her way down the hall with all the speed of a glacier. When she finally made it to her destination, she paused for a moment to examine herself in the mirror and scowled at what she saw. “Better get your act together, Carter,” Gal grumbled as she ran a hand over her drum-tight belly. “F.E.E.D. only takes the best of the best; there’s no room for a pig in their ranks. Starting tomorrow, you are sticking to that diet and getting your big butt back into shape.” With yet another promise of weight loss made, the new recruit gently settled down on her bed, which had never felt so good before. She passed out the second her head hit the pillow, and she dreamt of what possibilities awaited her in the world of F.E.E.D.—assuming she actually made the cut though. *** Thankfully, Gal did not need to wait long to find out. When she arrived at the headquarters two days later, she still felt bloated from her pizza feast and did her best to hide it with some of her loosest professional clothes. Unfortunately, nothing she had could truly mask the damage she had done, and the brunette spent her whole day worrying about whether or not she would pop the snap on her skirt. She swore she could hear the buttons on her blouse straining around her stomach, but she did everything she could to put the potential wardrobe malfunction out of mind. Only when she was approached by Agatha Rothstein did they come back, and she tried to suck in her gut while her new commander was present. “Ms. Carter, would you come with me, please?” the elderly woman asked. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” Gal was in the middle of a mandatory HR video about workplace behavior and she was more than willing to leave, especially if this meant what she thought it meant. As she followed Agatha out to an elevator, the former corporal asked, “Is something the matter, Director Rothstein?” “Hardly, Ms. Carter. We wanted to complement you on your performance from Wednesday’s tests,” Agatha answered, only sparing Gal a single glance as they made their way into the depths of the F.E.E.D. base. “While it is true that there are some areas that need improvement, you were outstanding in the field; we believe that you have what we’re looking for in the next generation of F.E.E.D. agents.” Gal was speechless, and not just because she was focusing her willpower on sucking her stomach in. The last two days, all she had done was worry about whether her lackluster scores would derail her opportunity, so to hear those fears assuaged gave her an unimaginable relief. She let out a sigh of relief, only realizing an instant later that one breath was all it took to pop a button on her blouse. It fell to the floor a short distance away from her, but the former corporal dared not pick it up, lest she cause an even worse wardrobe malfunction. She would simply have to go into whatever meeting was planned one button short and pray that no one noticed. The meeting room in question was four floors down and half a football field away, and somehow, Agatha had more stamina than Gal, despite being at least forty years her senior. She chalked it up to still being worn out after Wednesday’s test but, deep down, she knew that it was because she was wildly out of shape. It had been a small miracle that she had made it through the exam without passing out or tearing her pants, and eating as much as she did that same evening did nothing to help. “Right this way, Ms. Carter,” Agatha told the brunette as she held open the door. Gal walked inside and discovered it to be similar to a recording studio: a room full of monitors and analytical devices on one side of a windowed partition; a room full of miscellaneous training apparatuses on the other side. Seated in the observation room were Candice and Jamie, who waved and nodded to her in recognition, respectively. Gal gave them both a wave and a smile as she joined them in a set of chairs across from Agatha and a young man with curly hair. “Thank you all for coming today,” Agatha greeted the trio, “and let me be the first to congratulate on becoming the first Feedees to join our new Super Initiative. Out of the many prospects, we felt that you three would be the best fit based on your performance together during Wednesday’s test. It is our belief that you will help to balance each other out, creating a perfect fighting unit in time—a trinity to rival Defensor, the Wolf, and the Miracle, even.” Candice could not help but bounce excitedly at the praise, and even Jamie cracked a smirk at being compared to some of the greatest heroes in the world. Gal, for her part, merely blushed and nodded to Agatha, who continued, “We wanted to show you the tools you’ll be working with today and give you a chance to try them out. Nothing nearly as strenuous as the combat simulation; simple exercises and routines to gather data. Dr. Richard Harland will explain—Rick?” “Thank you, Director Rothstein,” the young man answered with a nod. “As was shown to you at the exam, we have developed a number of devices designed to increase the latent abilities of the body to superhuman levels. Currently, we have three that are field-ready: the Dynamis belt, the Supersonic suit, and the Mentax cap. If you’d like to come up and take a look at them, we can move into the next room to start testing them out.” The girls walked over to a table beside Rick and Agatha to get a closer look at the tools they would be using. To some, they might not have looked like much, but to the three neophytes, it was like staring at buried treasure unearthed. Gal picked up the Dynamis belt and found it to have some surprising heft, while Jamie turned the Mentax cap in her hands as she studied every inch of the headwear. Candice cradled the lightning bolt-emblazoned emblem in her hands, trying to find out what it held while being as careful as possible. “Dr. Harland, what did you mean when you called this a suit?” asked the curious agent. “Let’s make our way into the examination room and I’ll show you,” Rick answered as he gestured towards the adjacent room. Once the girls had left, the air shimmered beside Agatha before the synthetic body of Marjorie Corrigan materialized. The elderly cocked an eyebrow at the display and remarked, “You’re getting better at that—I almost didn’t notice you that time.” “I’ll improve,” the doctor promised before turning her attention to her assistant and the new recruits. “I see that you didn’t bother to tell them about the side effects right away. Care to explain?” “The side effects are purely cosmetic, Dr. Corrigan,” Agatha assured Marjorie. “If they’re willing to let their vanity get in the way of justice, then they’re not F.E.E.D. material.” Marjorie shrugged and pulled up a chair. “Well, either way, it should make for a fun show.” “Quite,” her aged companion replied as she sat down beside her, curious to see just how the new recruits would shape up… *** The examination room was filled with all sorts of equipment that looked like it belonged in a gym, including a butterfly press machine and a treadmill, but there were also miscellaneous objects scattered about. On closer inspection though, the machines were not designed for the average human, as the weights were measured in tons and the treadmill was set to 100 miles per hour. If the augmentation devices did what they were supposed to, then these sorts of machines would be the only way to properly gauge their abilities. “So, Agent Clemons—since you were so curious, why don’t you try out the Supersonic suit?” Rick suggested. “All you need to do is put the emblem against your chest and press in.” Candice did as Rick instructed and was startled to see a wave of silver material come out of the emblem and cover her body. The material tickled at her as it went, and she could not help but giggle while it took form around her. By the time it was finished, the agent was coated in a silver and blue suit that covered all but her face, making her look like a proper superhero. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror and clapped her hands together in glee. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” she squealed excitedly. “Guys, do you see this? I’m a superhero—an honest-to-goodness superhero!” “You sure are,” Gal chuckled, more impressed with the technology than the suit itself. Jamie put a hand to her chin and hummed, “Sure hope they’re not all so drab.” “Well, Agent Stewart, the suits are built more for protection than style, but I’m sure we can work something out in later models,” Rick replied. He glanced back at Candice and asked, “Agent Clemons, would you kindly step onto the treadmill?” “You’ve got it, dude,” Candice happily answered as she skipped over to the treadmill and hopped onboard. “So, what do I do? Just start running?” “Precisely—the treadmill will automatically match you,” the doctor explained. Candice nodded and began running, only to find it was much different than any other time she had gone for a jog. Everything around her seemed to freeze in place and she could feel a rush of air blasting against her as if she were in a wind tunnel. A quick glance at the control panel revealed that she was racing along at precisely 284 miles per hour, which blew her mind and stunned her to the point that she went flying right off the treadmill. Thankfully, a foam wall had been built behind her and easily absorbed the impact. “Candice, are you okay?” Gal asked as she ran over to her teammate. As Candice climbed off the floor and took Gal’s hand, she had a broad grin on her face and a spacy, dazed laugh on her lips. She looked to the former corporal and told her, “That was so awesome, Gal—you’ve got to give that a try!” “Unfortunately, that would not work with the Dynamis belt,” Rick interjected. “The Supersonic suit is the only one designed to enhance the user’s speed. It will allow you to reach, as the name implies, supersonic speeds, with a theoretical max speed of 700 miles per hour. Not nearly as fast as the Speed Demon, but it’ll still be faster than your average enemy will be able to handle. There is, however, one drawback with the suit.” “What, it’s going to take a year off my life every time I use it?” Candice joked. Rick shook his head. “Nothing nearly so absurd—I’m not even sure how we would ever be able to calculate something like that. In order to reach such speeds, the suit essentially generates energy from nothing, which causes a sort of feedback in the user’s body that causes them to gain weight depending on how long they use it. If you use it, you can expect to put on about ten pounds every thirty seconds, so you will want to use your speed sparingly.” That realization sucked the air out of the room like a vacuum. Candice’s eyes went wide and she traced her hands over the suit, while Jamie and Gal glanced down at the devices they had chosen and wondered if they might be similarly powered. They wondered if this were one last test, to see if they would crack under the knowledge that they would put on weight by using these contraptions. Without sharing a word, the recruits looked to each other and nodded in agreement; they were not going to back down now, even if it meant losing their beach bodies. “Well, guess I’ll need to start enjoying salads,” Candice chuckled after a moment. “Besides, who wants to be a Size 4 forever?” “We’re working on ways to get rid of that bug as soon as possible,” Rick assured the young woman. “In the meantime, only use your superspeed if you have to, and only for a brief period.” Jamie held up the Mentax cap next and asked, “Is this going to fatten me up too?” “Actually, Agent Stewart, the Mentax cap is the only one that won’t affect your weight,” the doctor explained, much to Jamie’s relief. “The cap will enable you to read minds and telekinetically manipulate objects—the only side effect we’ve found is that overuse can lead to migraines.” “Oh thank God,” Jamie muttered before clearing her throat and speaking more clearly, “I mean, thank God F.E.E.D. has such an amazing team behind it!” “Smooth,” Gal whispered before she wrapped the Dynamis belt around her waist. “So, how does this one work? Same principle as the suit?” Rick shook his head and told the former corporal, “Actually, quite different. The belt is designed to enhance your body’s strength and durability, effectively making you a human tank. In order to accommodate your heightened muscle mass and density, the belt will bombard your body with fat cells to match. Imagine a power lifter, if you will.” Gal could not help the crinkle in her face at the description. Rather than gradually putting on weight, using the belt would require her to immediately put on lord knows how much weight? She glowered at Rick and told him, “I sure hope this thing can reverse the effect.” “More or less,” the doctor answered, shrinking back at the glare from the former corporal. “Once your work is completed, you can turn the dial back and the fat will quite literally evaporate. The only issue is that the longer you use it, the less likely the weight will go away; we estimate that if you go past half an hour, you will start to retain more and more pounds.” It was hardly what she would call reassuring, but at least it was an explanation. Gal looked down at the belt with some disdain, knowing now that the opportunity to serve again was too good to be true. It could have been worse—there were rumors of a secret government task force that had bombs in their necks—but for the weight-minded woman, this was a big hurdle for her to conquer. If this was what she had to do to fight again, then so be it—she would get as fat as they needed her. At least the effect was reversible for the most part. “So, how does it work? Do I just turn this dial?” asked Gal as she toyed with the belt. Rick’s eyes went wide and he reached out to stop her, but it was too late. Once the dial clicked into place, Gal instantly exploded in weight, fattening up to a ludicrous degree in the blink of an eye. Her clothes were reduced to tatters, and what little did not fall off her was caught in her fat, bulbous body. Her teammates stared in shock and awe at the expanded woman, and even the researchers in the observation room were left speechless. Gal looked like a completely different woman. It was impossible to tell where her chin ended and her neck began, as a thick ring of flab encased them both. Her cheeks inflated to the point that they forced her good eye to squint and pushed her lips into a permanent pucker. Plush shoulders led to arms as big around as her waist used to be, which led to ham hock forearms and chubby baby hands. Bountiful breasts that could have passed for blue ribbon pumpkins rested atop a gut that jutted out far beyond her waist and sat heavily on tree trunk thighs. Her back was so thick with blubber that it melded with her beanbag chair booty to form a solid wall of flab. All this trailed down to calves thicker than her thighs and feet that nearly tore through her shoes, so plump were they. As she wished for a meteor to end it all, Gal was beginning to regret ever joining F.E.E.D.… ((Thus ends another installment in Capes and Cuisines! Join us next week as we join Jiao Hei, personal assistant to the armored hero known as the Black Turtle! What trials await our new heroine? You'll just have to tune in to find out!)) venusderuebens and ulvrik 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted July 25, 2020 Author Share Posted July 25, 2020 ((Bet you thought I'd forgotten about you this week, but don't you worry--I'm back with another arc! This time, we take a look at the Black Turtle, an armored hero out to protect the world. What happens beyond that, I'm not at liberty to say. You'll just have to read to find out!)) THE BLACK TURTLE, PART 1 Charlie Shou used to be the sort of person that superheroes rallied against. He was an unscrupulous weapons manufacturer who sold to the highest bidder, most often the United States, and had left his name on battlefields all over the world. To him, war was just business—one that proved to be extremely profitable as times changed and superhumans appeared. His practices made him one of the wealthiest men in the world, and like many successful men before him, great wealth meant great irresponsibility. He drove (and crashed) the fastest cars, flew on a private jet that cost more than the net worth of some small nations, and always had a supermodel under his arm. All he needed was a white Persian Longhair and he would have been a supervillain proper. Then, everything changed when he came under attack during a weapons test in the Shanxi Province of China. His assailants were a part of an eco-terrorist cult that believed humanity was a blight on the planet and needed to be eradicated, starting with the merchant of death himself. Charlie managed to escape in the pandemonium, only to stumble into a cavern and be sealed in by rubble brought down by the nearby explosions. Left in the dark and crippled with a broken leg, the robber baron searched for a way out but found only darkness, until he was visited by a spirit claiming to be Xuanwu, the Black Turtle. Xuanwu showed Charlie glimpses of all the destruction that his weapons had wrought on the world and would continue to wreak unless he changed his ways. They then gave him the means to craft a suit of armor that would allow him to escape to the surface, at which point he was rescued and taken back to the United States. Shaken by his ordeal and confronted by the consequences of his actions, Charlie got to work righting wrongs as best he could, starting with ceasing weapon development in his company. The last weapon he ever made was a replica of the mystical armor that helped save his life, which he used to fight criminals and villains that no ordinary man could face. The weapon and he would come to be known as the Black Turtle, proud member of the Protectors and force for good. But this story is not about Charlie Shou. Our story is about his long-suffering personal assistant, Jiao Hei—a woman who had been by her employer’s side through thick and thin. She had seen Charlie’s evolution firsthand, going from an arms dealer with a nonexistent moral compass to a humbled hero who struggled to protect as many people as he could. While they had the occasional fling, they had long since committed themselves to a strictly platonic relationship, but theirs was a tried and true friendship. Charlie had allies across the globe, from the upper echelon of F.E.E.D. to the assorted members of the Protectors, but there was only one person he trusted above all—Jiao Hei. Part of that friendship came from how they balanced each other out. Jiao helped keep Charlie grounded, always pulling him down before he let himself get carried away with the next party or his latest plan. Without Jiao’s careful hand, Shou Enterprises would have fallen to pieces ages ago, and that was why she held almost as much power as Charlie himself. The Black Turtle was the face of the company thanks to his charisma and knowledge of engineering and technology, but it was Jiao who made sure the company could cash the checks Charlie’s mouth was always writing. Of course, Jiao was not without her own faults. While she was certainly capable of representing Shou Enterprises and did a good deal of presentations and sales, Charlie was always the one to make the pitches. Jiao was not a bad or cold person when off the clock, but when she got to work, she was the pinnacle of professionalism. She kept her eyes on her tablet throughout most of the day, rarely engaged in idle chitchat, and found it easy to be the bearer of bad news. That attitude carried over to meetings with potential clients and colleagues, which was why she let Charlie do most of the talking. That was why Jiao was shocked to receive such an offer one fateful day. Charlie had called her over to his seaside manor one afternoon to discuss a business proposition, and she promptly arrived at 5:25. The Smart House allowed her in and directed her to Charlie’s workshop, where he developed new additions for the Black Turtle suit. Compared to the glitz and glamor of the manor, the workshop was an absolute disaster: parts and scraps scattered about, burn marks and dents that had never been buffed out, and dangerous weapons left lying about like a child’s playthings. Seeing the mess made Jiao’s eye twitch, and she wondered why Xuanwu could not have also instilled cleanliness in her employer. “Ah, there’s my gal Friday—and the rest of the week, frankly,” Charlie greeted her from the depths of his junkyard of a lab. The multi-billionaire was stepping out of his armor, having just arrived a few moments prior. It was an impressive suit: tall as the average basketball player, bulky like a Cadillac, and supported by generator in the “shell” on its back, it was complemented by an obsidian helmet that jutted out like the beak of a turtle. Charlie himself was a wiry man with rock star looks, in that he looked dangerously skinny and had the sunken face of someone who had spent a lot of time with booze and pills. His dark hair was slicked back like a greaser, and he was wearing a tank top and jeans; not the chicest look, but when he was piloting the turtle, he preferred comfort over style. This was in stark contrast to Jiao, who had come directly from the office. She swept her black bob to the right side of her face and adjusted her glasses despite the fact they sat perfectly straight on her nose. Her tight body was wrapped in a black skirt that went all the way to her knees, a blue, sleeveless blouse, and a black jacket, all of which made her look sharp as a butcher’s blade. A well-regulated lifestyle of modest diet, copious exercise, and lack of decadence had gifted her the body of a woman ten years her junior, with only the crow’s feet around her eyes hinting at her true age of 36. The beleaguered assistant told Charlie, “I have a very tight schedule, Charlie: we’re meeting with the Board of Directors tomorrow to go over our quarterly financials, and we need to be able to account for the damages incurred during the attack from the Blue Dragon last month.” “Yeah, no, I postponed that,” the lax CEO told Jiao, who shot him a glare that could chill lava. “I’ve got something much bigger in mind that I’ll need your help with.” Lest she throw the nearest heavy object at Charlie, Jiao clenched her fists tight and asked, “May I ask why you’ve decided to negate all the work I’ve been doing for the last two weeks?” Dismounting from the Turtle suit, Charlie announced, “Because we’re going to Russia!” If Jiao were a drinker, she would have needed a stiff one. She hated having trips suddenly sprung on her, especially business trips, as they required so much more preparation than Charlie seemed to realize. Wardrobes needed to be arranged, itineraries prepped, and accommodations booked, and who knew how long that would take? Charlie had promised her that he would not spring such matters on her at the last minute, which meant one thing. “Is this Turtle business?” Jiao asked as she grabbed a towel from a nearby table and tossed it to Charlie. “If so, why bring me?” “Because it’s not as simple as me busting in with guns blazing,” Charlie answered as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Something’s going wrong at our branch in St. Petersburg, and I think it has to do with one of our partners out there. We need to go there as a team so you can engage the good folks at Vankorp while I do a little digging as ol’ Shellhead.” While Jiao was more than happy to accompany Charlie on a potentially dangerous mission, she was a little put off by the summary of the plan. She asked, “I’m sorry, you want me to be the one to work with Vankorp? I thought we agreed that chatting it up with clients and partners was your job.” The nonchalant hero shrugged his shoulders after fetching a drink from a nearby mini-fridge. “Yeah, but I need to focus on some good ol’ corporate espionage. Parts are going missing, staff keep vanishing for days at a time, and no one seems concerned that a security guard was found dead last week. I need to get to the bottom of this before things get any worse, and that’s why I need your help in buttering up the brass.” Jiao struggled to find the words. She wanted to help Charlie however she could, but if given the choice between getting cozy with people or fighting in a giant metal suit, she would hop right inside the Turtle’s shell. It was so much easier to be aloof and detached than to try relating to people; the average person was more complex to her than any jigsaw puzzle. Still, considering the risks that Charlie regularly put himself in, it would be selfish of her to pass on this because of her neuroses. If this was the role she could play in protecting the company and the world, then so be it. “All right, then I suppose I shall pack a butter knife,” the reluctant woman replied, a hint of a smirk on her lips. “When are we leaving? And don’t tell me it’s tonight, or I’ll throw a wrench at you.” Charlie hesitated for an instant before replying, “Oh, it’s later this week. Also, incidentally, I need you to cancel a completely unrelated flight.” *** Hours earlier and a world away in the heart of St. Petersburg, an uncannily similar discussion had taken place. A burly man sat in luxurious study, surrounded by tomes that dated back to the 10th Century, statues even older than that, and a painting of Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna that hung over a raging hearth. Taller than most men and blessed with a chiseled physique, he wore an emerald and gold smoking jacket over an olive suit while he listened to an aide tell him about this latest business opportunity. A ring-covered hand carried a glass of vodka to his lips, but his steely eyes never left the nervous sycophant in front of him. “—and that is where we stand, Your Excellency,” the wormy man finished. “The representative from Shou Enterprises is due to be here within the next two days.” “So, Mr. Charlie Shou finally deigns to inspect his factory and make sure all is well? See to it that he is kept properly distracted while we bleed his branch like a pig,” replied the imperious man. The simpering coward in front of him squirmed under his employer’s baleful gaze as he explained, “Pardon, Your Excellency, but the Board has suggested that you be the one to meet with Mr. Shou. It is their belief that only you would be able to properly handle one such as him.” His Excellency gritted his teeth, which, combined with his impressive beard, made him look not unlike a wild beast. He despised putting on a charade for the public, but the puppets he had installed to oversee Vankorp insisted that he have more of a presence—at least when dealing with potential threats to the business. They reasoned that people would be suspicious of him if he remained a recluse despite owning multiple companies and having a firm place in the world economy, which he would agree with to a degree. The only problem was his ego: if he were to announce his presence, he wanted it to be while rolling through the streets of Moscow with tanks and a private army; nothing but the best to announce the return of the rightful ruler of Russia. Yes—the rightful ruler of Russia. His Excellency was known to the outside world as Dmitri Vasilovich, an enigmatic but powerful businessman, but those in his inner circle knew him as Alexei Nikolaevich III, the only son of Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna and last true Tsar of Russia. His mother had been spirited away and raised in secret in Europe, where she nursed a deep hatred to the usurpers that murdered her family. This hatred was passed onto Alexei, who sought power to reclaim Russia and restore his family to their rightful place. In his search across the globe and history, he had found life-extending elixirs, gems that imbued him with a variety of abilities, and wealth beyond comprehension, and now, he was on the verge of achieving his dear mother’s dying wish. “What do those lazy simpletons take me for?” Alexei growled at the cowering aide. “My time is priceless, and they ask that I waste it dealing with Charlie Shou?” While the aide whimpered in his place, the Tsar considered the opportunity before him. Shou Enterprises was one of the biggest companies in the world, which was why his spies had been siphoning resources from the St. Petersburg branch for the last two months—but what if he did not need to sneak around? His mother had taught him to keep his friends close and his enemies closer; if he could get closer to Shou, it would be that much easier to stab him in the back. Perhaps it was not such a waste of time as he feared. “Actually, I believe I shall meet with Mr. Shou after all,” the Tsar decided. “Keep me posted on when he will be arriving, and I shall make all necessary preparations.” “At once, Your Excellency,” the aide replied while frantically nodding. “Now, away with you. I must see to my bride-to-be,” said Alexei as he rose to his full, towering height. The meek worm skittered away as fast as he could, lest he invoke the ire of the Tsar and wind up little more than ashes—if he was lucky. After straightening his jacket and smoothing back his hair, the Tsar marched out of his office and down the halls of his secret fortress, which was modeled after the Winter Palace. Everyone he passed by bowed to him and avoided his gaze, and rightfully so; Alexei had spent the better part of the last 50 years amassing a fearsome reputation. His temper was legendary, his vindictiveness without limit, and his capacity for cruelty unfathomable—all traits that had made him unchallenged. If he was known for anything more than his fiery temperament, it was his predilection for a certain type of woman. “Forgive my tardiness, my little peach—I had a few matters to attend to,” Alexei explained as he walked into an austere dining room and took his seat at the head of a long table. Seated at the end was his ‘little peach’, Colette Stepanova—a supermodel who had attracted his attention at a show in Berlin. When he met her, Alexei saw such potential in the blonde, though not for strutting down the catwalk or posing for magazines; he had much bigger plans in mind for the woman he deigned to be his future tsarina. He had discovered all of her culinary vices and plied her daily with them, tempting her away from the rigid rules of her modeling career and towards a life of sloven luxury. His tsarina should be a woman with the appetite of a caterpillar, a physique that embodied the word ‘decadence’, and a one-track mind that focused only on its base desires, and months of careful molding and training had transformed a promising model into a zeppelin of a girl. The blonde’s sharp, angular face had been buried under a thick layer of flab, with jowls that shook and a chin that rippled as she greedily tore into a turkey drumstick. Her arms were now as wide as her waist once was, and her fingers had become so plump that none of her old jewelry would have fit. Breasts that were once petite handfuls had exploded into fat, bloated sacks that rested lazily atop her gut; what’s more, the pounds favored her right breast, which was nearly a full cup size larger than the left. The stomach that doubled as a perch for her watermelon breasts was a pale mountain of pudge that threatened to consume her lap, assuming it did not pop first. Colette had become an enormous woman, but compared to her lower body, her upper half was downright skinny. Her narrow and slender hips used to give her an androgynous appearance, but there was nothing boyish about the acres of flab that spread out from her sides. A baby whale’s worth of blubber had found its way onto her backside, which was so vast that she had outgrown the loveseat that served as her dinner chair and graduated to a full-size sofa. Toothpick thighs were blanketed by so much butter-soft lard that she could no longer walk or even waddle; Colette had to resort to awkwardly roll her legs around each other. Her knees had vanished under the overhanging flab from her thigh, and her ankles were similarly camouflaged by her corpulent calves. The tremendous gain was capped off by feet that were so big that they could not hope to fit into the designer shoes she loved. “Please, Alexei, let me go,” the model sobbed as she had so many times before. “I am five times bigger than I was when you brought me here! Is that not fat enough for you?” Alexei shook his head and clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. “There is no such definition in my book, turtledove. Besides, I have told you before that if you are unhappy, you can always put down the food and walk away; no one will stop you.” Colette tried just that, but she could not find the strength to place the drumstick down. It was as though she were a puppet on a string; her mind was strong, but her body was unenthusiastic. She whimpered around her next mouthful, “You know I can’t! Alexei, what have you done to me?” “Made you an avatar of decadence, little Colette,” the Tsar explained as though he was discussing an art piece and not the destruction of a woman’s body. “When I ascend to my rightful place as the master of Russia, you will be at my side as a symbol of my wealth and status. The commoners will marvel at you like never before and know that I am a man of decadence! ‘See how fat his tsarina is,’ they will say; ‘He must have power beyond measure!’” As his unenthusiastic bride-to-be helplessly shoveled food down her gullet, Alexei watched her like a hawk while one of his rings glowed a faint purple. The gem in the ring allowed him to exert control over another person’s mind, which he had been doing ever since Colette began complaining about her weight. He hoped that he would one day find a lover that would eat without his forcing them to, but until then, he would push them as need be. “Eat well, my little peach,” the Tsar commanded while he cut into a steak. “You still have another five courses to go…” Batman76, Jay88, ulvrik and 2 others 1 2 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted July 31, 2020 Share Posted July 31, 2020 So, A. Nice combo of Iron man and Iron fist B. Interesting this will be focused on the pepper pots analogue who seems cute as a button C. great re-imagining of the Mandrin as an evil Romanov heir D. oh fuck the imagery of the model bulked up into near immobility to be the ideal tsarina. Holy shit thats great. Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted July 31, 2020 Author Share Posted July 31, 2020 23 minutes ago, Batman76 said: So, A. Nice combo of Iron man and Iron fist B. Interesting this will be focused on the pepper pots analogue who seems cute as a button C. great re-imagining of the Mandrin as an evil Romanov heir D. oh fuck the imagery of the model bulked up into near immobility to be the ideal tsarina. Holy shit thats great. Thanks! I considered making Jiao the Black Turtle from the get-go, but I thought it might be more interesting to make her a Pepper analogue instead. Whether she'll go Rescue here, we'll just have to see. ulvrik and Batman76 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted August 9, 2020 Author Share Posted August 9, 2020 Hey all, just wanted to give a little update on the next chapter. I know I've slipped on the last couple weeks, and I'm doing what I can to make up for it this coming week. This chapter hasn't clicked with me like so many others have--it's been a struggle to get through. I'm going to power through and deliver the next set of chapters on Wednesday and Saturday of next week. Thank you for your patience these last couple of weeks. You're continued support of this and SHWC really mean a lot to me, and I want to return that support with the best I can do. Batman76 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted August 10, 2020 Share Posted August 10, 2020 Hey, when you've got the block you've got the block flyer33 and Cyril Figgis 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted August 13, 2020 Author Share Posted August 13, 2020 ((I promised you a new chapter today, and by gump, I aim to deliver! It's time for the first meeting between Jiao and the Tsar, but how will this play out? There's only one way to find out, faithful readers! Read on!)) THE BLACK TURTLE, PART 2 After a few days of preparation, Jiao and Charlie set out for Russia on one of the CEO’s private jets. The craft was once the aerial equivalent of a party bus, but as the former weapons manufacturer changed his image, the jet became less of a flying bachelor party and more of ritzy hotel with wings. Jiao spent much of the trip researching the St. Petersburg branch, Vankorp, and its enigmatic owner, while Charlie spent most of the ride in a jacuzzi. It was only when they approached the city that he changed into a sharp suit that cost more than the average car and tinkered with the Black Turtle armor one last time. “Okay, so, here’s the plan,” Jiao explained to Charlie while he adjusted the arc generator in his armor. “We’re going to take Mr. Vasilovich out on the pretense of a meal and a business meeting, but you’ll excuse yourself when you get there. I’ll do my best to keep him distracted, and we’ll reconvene back at the hotel tonight to see where we stand. Sound doable?” “Perfectly,” Charlie answered as he stepped away from the Black Turtle armor and pressed a button on his watch. The hulking mass of metal retracted and compacted into itself until it was the size of a frisbee, which he then picked up and deposited in a waiting suitcase. “Are you ready to wow Dmitri with your endless charm and charisma?” Jiao shook her head. “I’ve had three and a half days to get ready, and I’ve still got jitters.” “You’re going to be fine,” Charlie assured his faithful companion with a pat on the shoulder. “You’ve seen me do this a million times; just try to do what I would do.” “That’s what’s bugging me—no one can do what you do,” Jiao groused. “You don’t need to get this guy to commit to anything. We’ll be in and out in a few days—just enough for a quick visit. When this is all over, we don’t ever have to meet with them again,” Charlie explained, though it did little to assuage the panicky woman. Jiao took her glasses off and rubbed the bridge of her nose, a nervous habit whenever she was stressed. Charlie had far more faith in her abilities than she did, which was the story of their whole relationship; whenever either one felt they were lacking, the other was there to remind them of just what they were capable of. If the Black Turtle believed that she could do this, then by God, she could do it…was what she told herself. Believing in the hero that believed in her was not as easy as it sounded. “By the way, I wanted to give you a little something,” Charlie told Jiao, bringing her back to reality. He pulled a brooch from his pocket and pinned it to her collar as he explained, “This is just a little back-up measure in case you need help and I’m not around. I don’t know what we’re getting into, and I don’t want you going in defenseless.” The dark haired woman took a look at the ornament and could not help rolling her eyes. It was a turtle with a smooth, jet black shell that might as well have been a sign that read ‘I’M WITH BLACK TURTLE’. Jiao mused, “Really, Charlie? That’s about as subtle as a brick to the head.” “It’s called ‘branding’, and it’s an art, Ms. Hei,” the CEO replied with a cocky smirk. “Care to join me for one more drink for the road?” “Only if it’s a ginger ale,” Jiao retorted with a snort. *** A short spell later, the jet landed at a private airfield just outside St. Petersburg and the two visitors were greeted with warm, spring air. Just outside a nearby hangar was a limousine, and just outside that was one of the tallest men Jiao had ever seen—and she had once stared down a hulking Brute. She had seen pictures of Dmitri Vasilovich, but they did not do justice to the towering man, who had the rugged, bearded face of a mountain man and the fashion sense of a billionaire. When he removed his sunglasses, he glowered at the pair with icy gray eyes that made Jiao’s blood run cold. “Mr. Shou,” Dmitri greeted Charlie in a deep, guttural voice. Charlie, ever affable, grinned and extended a hand to his peer. “Для меня большая честь познакомиться с вами, Дмитрий.” “Точно так же, мистер Шоу,” the burly man replied as he clapped both hands atop Charlie’s and gave such a firm handshake that any lesser man might have been crushed. The roguish CEO merely grinned even broader as he used his free hand to gesture towards Jiao. “Это Цзяо Хэй, мой помощник и основа моей компании.” When Dmitri turned his gaze to her, Jiao felt as though she might freeze on the spot. Something about his piercing eyes sent a shiver down her spine, and it was all she could do to return his handshake. His grip was firm, yet gentle, and his skin was cold, yet strong like granite, which only widened the pit in her stomach. She had faced down numerous foes, both corporate and super, but she had never seen anyone quite like this man. “Зачарованная, мадам Хей,” Dmitri remarked in a gravelly voice. Jiao fumbled for the right words before answering, “Большое спасибо, господин Василович.” Thankfully, Charlie came to her rescue by clapping Dmitri on the back and telling their host, “Gonna be honest, Dmitri—that’s about all the Russian I know, at least for polite company. Mind if we talk the King’s from here on?” If looks could kill, then the glare Dmitri gave would have struck Charlie down a thousand times over. Still, he released Jiao’s hand and replied, “Of course—I am nothing if not accommodating.” “Splendid! Now, do you happen to know any place we could grab a bite and get to know each other a little better? You don’t really know someone until you dine with them, I say,” Charlie told a silently fuming Dmitri. The disguised Tsar pushed back his resentment and answered, “I could not agree more, Mr. Shou. My driver will take us to one of the finest establishments in the city.” “Actually, could I put in a request? There’s supposed to be a rugby game coming up in a little bit, and I’ve got some money riding on it back home. I hear there’s a sports bar on Nevsky Avenue that’d be perfect for watching,” explained the lackadaisical hero. Dmitri glanced back to Jiao, who found the strength to shrug and add, “We do this all the time with clients and partners stateside.” There was a flicker in the Tsar’s eyes as he glowered at the two visitors before nodding and telling them, “I think that can be arranged, though I must question your taste, Mr. Shou.” “Hey, we’ve still got plenty of time to see some of the finer things the city has to offer. But speaking as someone who’s been cooped up for almost a day straight, I’d much rather stretch my legs and have a little fun. Besides, it’s good for us to come down from our ivory towers now and then,” Charlie retorted as he slid into the limo. Realizing it was a losing battle to change Charlie Shou’s mind, Dmitri stepped aside and gestured for Jiao to step inside. The petite assistant quickly joined her boss, doing her best to avoid her host’s deathly stare as she took a seat beside Charlie on the other side of the car. Her nerves were somewhat cooled when getting into the limo proved difficult for the hulking Dmitri, though that calm did not last long when she heard him bark their destination to the cowering driver. She had a bad feeling about this mission beforehand, and it was only getting worse by the minute. *** The drive into town was uncomfortable for Jiao, who could only watch as Charlie did his best to break the ice while Dmitri was having none of it. Jokes were met with stony silence, chit chat went nowhere, and shop talk was kept tersely brief; a standard meeting, this was not. As the kilometers ticked by, Jiao’s worry that she would blow this only magnified, for if Charlie Shou could not get Dmitri on his side, how could she hope to win him over? Finally, they arrived at their destination, but the mood did not change. Charlie marveled at the pub and flirted with the hostess at the door, but Dmitri remained as stony as ever and Jiao’s anxiety had her sweating even though it was a perfect temperature in the pub. They were shown to a private table, though the raucousness in the pub meant that the extra space mattered little. Several orders for appetizers and drinks were placed at Dmitri’s begrudging recommendation, and Charlie ordered enough food to last them the rest of the day. Just before the first round of drinks arrived, Charlie checked his phone and slapped his forehead. He told Dmitri and Jiao, “I’m sorry, guys, I completely forgot I was going to have a meeting at our regional headquarters. Dmitri, Jiao’s going to take great care of you; Jiao, make sure that we cover the bill for this lunch, okay?” The host gritted his teeth so hard that he nearly gave himself a headache. He had been told that Charlie Shou was a difficult man, but he had no idea how utterly obnoxious he truly was. How a man like that ran one of the most successful companies in the world was beyond him. At least it would make his job that much easier—Shou’s assistant looked to be a frail pushover. “Мудак,” the disguised Alexei muttered as he watched Charlie leave without a care in the world. The utter nerve of that degenerate—to leave him among the ignorant masses, when he could be preparing his takeover of Russia! How dare the capitalist taint swagger away like the cock of the block and leave him with his pathetic, hard-drinking assistant, who… His inner diatribe paused when he realized that Jiao was downing a pitcher of beer like her life depended on it. Panicking once her boss took off, Jiao needed something to fuel herself—anything to calm her frazzled nerves, lest she untangle right in front of Dmitri. To that end, she grabbed the nearest beer, originally meant for Charlie, and chugged it down in the hopes of gaining some liquid courage. She hardly ever drank, with her preferred cocktail having the barest splash of liquor, but she needed something to take the edge off in the face of the most intimidating man she had ever met. After quaffing down the stout, Jiao slammed the pint down on the table and let out an exasperated sigh. She yanked her glasses off and grumbled, “Oh my god, that man! I love Charlie, but he makes me want to tear my hair out sometimes.” Dmitri hesitated for a moment before taking one of the other beers and clinking his glass against her empty one. He retorted, “I can understand wanting to tear your hair out. With all due respect to you, Ms. Hei, this might be the worst first impression I’ve ever had, and it’s making me reconsider our partnership with Shou Enterprises.” Those were the words Jiao dreaded hearing. Despite what Charlie had told her, this meeting mattered a great deal to her: she did not want to be the woman who ruined the relationship with Vankorp, even if this was only under false pretenses to get close to them. She needed to salvage this, and there was only one way as far as she could see—do what Charlie would do. To that end, she grabbed the third beer, took a long sip, and snatched up a handful of crisps as she mentally prepared herself for the pitch to come. “I’ll admit that this isn’t us putting out best foot forward, but you can’t always judge a book by its cover,” Jiao told Dmitri as she picked away at the crisps in between sips of beer. “We wouldn’t be where we are if every meeting went like this. Give me a chance to tell you what a stronger partnership with Shou Enterprises could do for your company; if you don’t like what I have to say, you won’t see us again. If that’s all right with you, of course.” A pregnant pause hung in the air as Dmitri gave Jiao a withering look that could have killed an entire rose bush. Just as she was afraid he would get up and leave, the burly man nodded and replied, “Very well—but only because you seem to know what you’re doing. Should we perhaps find somewhere a bit quieter?” As much as she would have preferred a more controlled environment, especially when half the bar lit up over a successful try, Jiao shook her head. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to give this place a try for a while longer; we did just order food and drinks, after all. At the very least, this will make for an unforgettable lunch meeting, don’t you think?” “Perhaps not in the best way, but so be it,” Dmitri acquiesced. He shrugged off his jacket and raised his glass to his guest. “За здоровье.” For the next two hours, Jiao did her best to both entertain and inform Dmitri, explaining all that Shou Enterprises could do for Vankorp while trying to maintain the charm that Charlie always said she had. She continued to emulate her longtime partner, albeit without his more caddish tendencies; for instance, she never once hit on their waitress. It was hard to get a read on the grizzled CEO, but Jiao felt that she was making progress with Dmitri—or at least making up for earlier. At least she had his full attention as she went on, though she did not know the real she had captivated Dmitri so. Jiao was so invested in trying to impress Dmitri that she failed to notice how much she was drinking and eating throughout the lunch. Her host ate his fair share, but Jiao seemed to be eating for two—the second, in this case, being the absent Charlie. So engrossed was she that the dark-haired beauty completely missed how she ate most of the appetizers (both hot and cold) and downed three beers before even moving onto the main course. Normally, she would never have been able to put away such a large quantity, but with all her focus on appealing to Dmitri, she was blind to her consumption. Even when they moved onto their lunch, she did not bat an eyelid and ordered the first thing that popped out to her on the menu. Such reckless gluttony would have been impressive to anyone, but for someone who appreciated a woman with a large appetite, the Tsar was infatuated. He had thought little of Jiao when she followed Charlie Shou out of his jet, writing her off as little more than a wisp of a woman who was scared of her own shadow. It was only when she downed a pint of beer that he truly took notice of her, and when her hunger carried on over the course of the lunch, he found himself taken by her. Normally, he needed to push women to eat like this, but he had not exerted an ounce of power over her—she truly was that distracted. That was why he kept the meal going for as long as he could, so that he might test Jiao’s limits. He had a full, if unsatisfying, steak lunch, but he continued to order for the table and pretend that he was eating his fair share. In truth, most of what made it to the pair wound up in Jiao’s stomach, but she was too busy talking to notice how full she was getting. It was only when the second match of the day ended that Jiao threw in the towel, having consumed more calories in one sitting than she did over the course of a week. “My, that…that was good,” the assistant huffed as she wiped her forehead with her napkin. As her mind caught up with the rest of her body, a wave of wooziness hit her and her pale cheeks turned a splotchy red. “Good…good eats.” “Indeed,” Dmitri hummed in agreement as he politely dabbed at his own lips. Truthfully, the steak was a touch overdone and the vegetables that it came with had been steamed to the point of sogginess, but Jiao’s voracious display had more than made up for it. “And I must say—I am quite happy I got the chance to talk with you, Ms. Hei. Charlie Shou is lucky to have you.” Jiao might have blushed, but her cheeks were already so rosy that it was impossible to tell. Instead, she put a hand to her lips and stifled a burp, though she felt another brewing right behind it. It was in this moment that she realized how well and truly full she was, with her stomach feeling bloated to zeppelin levels, though she barely had a bump in her middle. She wiped away another patch of meat sweats in an effort to salvage a professional appearance before scooting away from the table. “Thank you, Mr. Vasilovich,” Jiao mumbled. “I think…think that I should get to the hotel now.” “Of course, of course,” Dmitri replied as he helped her up from the table. “Between this and your flight, you must be exhausted.” Jiao nodded in agreement, but with how floaty she felt, her head bobbed and bounced like a ball before she got it under control again. Dmitri guided her out of the restaurant, which was no mean feat when the bespectacled woman could barely find her feet. As he summoned his driver with quick text, the disguised criminal glanced down at Jiao and studied her like a fine piece of art. She showed so much potential in the course of a single meal—more than any of the other women he had tested to see if they were worthy of being his tsarina. Perhaps this visit would not be such a waste of his time after all. Once the car arrived and the two slid in, Jiao held herself up with the seatbelt and asked, “I hope that we passed the audition, Mr. Vasilovich?” “You most certainly did, Ms. Hei,” the Tsar answered with a leery glance. “You certainly did…” ulvrik, Batman76, flyer33 and 1 other 1 3 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted August 13, 2020 Share Posted August 13, 2020 I'm hoping she can grow quickly... Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted August 13, 2020 Author Share Posted August 13, 2020 2 hours ago, Batman76 said: I'm hoping she can grow quickly... Well, the Tsar has ten magical rings--I'm sure one of them can speed up the process! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted August 13, 2020 Share Posted August 13, 2020 1 minute ago, Cyril Figgis said: Well, the Tsar has ten magical rings--I'm sure one of them can speed up the process! Hopefully any power armor made for her is stretchy... Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted August 16, 2020 Author Share Posted August 16, 2020 ((Hey all! I'm back with another chapter, as promised. I was hoping to have the final part ready today as well, but this week has been hell for me, so it is still forthcoming. That said, I'm happy with how this chapter turned out, and I'd love to hear what you think!)) THE BLACK TURTLE, PART 3 By the time they arrived at the hotel, Jiao was too dazed and tipsy to walk straight, so Dmitri helped lead her up to her room. The tipsy assistant was practically asleep on her feet, and it was only through rote practice that she managed to stay cognizant enough to set up another meeting the following day. Once she made it inside her room, she stumbled her way to her bed before collapsing atop the sheets and passing out. Any other time, she might have used this opportunity to check in on Charlie, but with all the beer and bar food in her belly, she barely remembered that she was in Russia. As such, she remained asleep until she was roused by a knock on the door. “Jiao, you there?” Charlie called out from the other side. Jiao rubbed her bleary eyes and straightened out her crooked glasses to find that it was six in the evening. The realization that she had been out of it for a good few hours got the gears turning in her head, and she shot up faster than the Speed Demon while she smoothed out her clothes at lightspeed. When she was finally presentable again, she walked over to the door with some effort and opened it to find Charlie Shou, still looking like a million bucks. “You feeling all right? I tried calling to let you know I was on my way,” the CEO explained as he waltzed into the room. He did not seem as concerned as his words implied, as he munched from a bag of potato chips, but Jiao knew her boss better than that. “I’m fine—must’ve been hit by jetlag,” the bespectacled woman lied. “That’s why you really should take a soak in the hot tub sometime during the trip,” Charlie reasoned as he offered the bag to his assistant. “You would not believe how much it helps.” Despite her belly still feeling bloated from all the junk she ate earlier, Jiao still took a handful of chips and followed Charlie to the desk in the room. She quickly changed the subject by asking, “Did you find out anything at the office?” “There’s something funny going on, but I can’t figure out what,” he answered. Charlie pulled his phone out, set it on the desk, and with a few taps, summoned up a hologram of the St. Petersburg branch. “The workers are all spooked about something, but every time I tried to ask why, they clammed up. I swear, it’s like I walked right into Moonraker—the book, mind you.” “You think it requires some extra muscle?” asked Jiao, who munched on chips while Charlie rotated the hologram around. She was not normally a snacker, but the chips made for a nice chaser to everything she had eaten earlier. Charlie nodded in affirmation. “Definitely. I’m going to go back later tonight and do some snooping around with ol’ Shellhead—as much snooping anyone can do in a ten-foot robot, but still. If there’s trouble going on afterhours, I need to be ready for anything.” Jiao hated the thought of Charlie rushing in without backup, but there was little she could do to provide extra firepower. Instead, she told him, “Just call me if you need any help, and I can have the Protectors here in a heartbeat.” “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” the CEO replied before pocketing his phone again. “How’d things go with Dmitri? Hope I didn’t lay it on too thick.” “Well, you certainly didn’t do us any favors, but I managed to win him over,” Jiao told her friend, a cocksure grin sprouting on her lips, which were fast accumulating crumbs. “It was a lot of fun, actually: once I hit a groove, I was on a roll; I was giving him the lowdown on our company, making jokes, and even lined up another meeting!” “Well done you,” Charlie hummed in approval as he patted Jiao on the shoulder. “I just had to do what my dad did when teaching me to swim and throw you in the deep end.” That earned him a slap on the arm, but Jiao did not lose her smile. She retorted, “Don’t think that this is going to be a regular thing though. As soon as this is over, you’re back to being the MC; I don’t think I have any nerves that aren’t fried after that.” “Hey, I wouldn’t trade my designated role as ‘life of the party’ for anything,” the lackadaisical CEO replied with a cheeky grin. He rose to his feet and told Jiao, “Care to join me for some dinner? I believe they’re serving steak downstairs—assuming you haven’t spoiled your appetite with my chips.” Jiao blushed and tossed the nearly empty bag into Charlie’s hands. Truthfully, she did not need more food; her tank was still full from her decadent lunch. At the same time, she was not going to pass up a more lighthearted affair with someone she did not need to pretend to like. If anything, it might help her recharge her batteries for the day ahead. “All right, but only if they have some fish or chicken,” the assistant decided as she licked her lips clean. “I could use something a little lighter tonight.” *** Across town, Alexei Nikolaevich had returned to his cold, hardened nature as he looked down at the cold, pale body of his former bride-to-be, Colette. The fattened model was laid out on an examiner’s table, eyes fixed open in a permanent state of shock and bile caking the corners of her lips. Her wildly obese body, which had once enticed Alexei so much, now looked like a pile of dough that no baker would dare use. The Tsar glowered at the bloated corpse with all the disdain of someone who found dog muck on their lawn; any beauty those rolls and folds might have had were lost with Colette. “How did this happen?” Alexei asked his chief physician, who trembled with fear behind him. “She…she ate beyond her capacity, Your Excellency. At some point during her supper, her stomach ruptured,” the doctor explained, dread filling every fiber of his being. His fears were founded, as the Tsar grabbed him by the throat and hoisted him high into the air. Alexei’s eyes were filled with hellfire, and it took every ounce of willpower to not crush the doctor’s throat like tissue paper. The doctor squirmed in his grasp, eyes bulging and lips flapping, but there was no release to be had. The Tsar spat, “Do you have any idea how much that sow could eat? I have spent months ensuring she could match an elephant bite for bite, kilo for kilo! She was nothing but an eating machine—a human garbage disposal! If I so chose, she would have eaten all the food in Georgia, and she would have been fine! And you’re telling me that she simply popped like a balloon?!” The physician choked out, “E-Even balloons have limits, Your Excellency! There is nothing we could have done to save her!” For a brief instant, it looked like the Tsar would rip the doctor’s throat out with his bare hands, but he eventually set the whimpering man down. Instead, he gripped the end of the table and looked down the length of his former bride to be, whose luster was long gone. Alexei shook his head, took a deep breath, and stood up to his full, towering height. “I understand, Dr. Bosconovitch,” the burly man grunted as he turned to face the physician. “If anything, this is actually a blessing. This proves that Colette was not fit to be my tsarina; the woman whom I wed will not be so weak.” “Of course, Your Excellency,” the doctor agreed, eager to say or do anything that would spare his life. “Sh-She was not good bridal material.” The Tsar nodded before making his way to the door. “Thankfully, I believe I have found a suitable replacement for her—one with much more potential than Colette ever had. Have her body disposed of and all traces of her removed from the palace at once.” “It shall be done, sir,” the physician replied as he glanced back at the lifeless body. How many more would it take before the Tsar found ‘the one’? He just prayed that whoever was the next victim had some way to escape Alexei’s clutches before she was too big to do so herself… *** Jiao woke up the following day with a clear head and an empty stomach for the first time since she arrived in Russia. The glut of yesterday was forgotten and, with no effects to speak of, written off as an off day; she would just eat lighter today, especially when she met up with Dmitri. To that end, she went down to the hotel restaurant for a modest breakfast of porridge and fruit, though she could not resist a small plate of syrniki on the side. It would be a shame to visit Russia and not have some genuine syrniki, after all. Charlie was still sleeping off his late night sleuthing, which left Jiao time alone to continue her research and see if she could find anything not on the level. There was nothing shady about Vankorp on a surface level, but she did not have the right tools to dig much deeper. That was why it was important she continue to foster a working relationship with Dmitri, so she might get closer to the truth behind their business. No corporation was without sin, and she had a feeling that Vankorp and its enigmatic owner were guilty of a good many things. By the time 11 AM rolled around, Jiao was waiting at the curb outside the hotel for Dmitri, who arrived in a much smaller, though no less expensive, car. The burly man was still quite imposing to the diminutive woman, but he was much warmer than when they first met the day before. They exchanged pleasantries as she slid into the car, including him asking how she felt after their lunch yesterday, and before she knew it, they were chatting up a storm again. More accurately, she was chatting up a storm—Dmitri chimed in now and again, but he remained as stony as ever. Eventually, they pulled up in front of another sports bar, which made Jiao raise an eyebrow in curiosity. She turned to her host and asked, “Is this where we’re having lunch, Dmitri?” “Indeed, it is,” the larger man answered with a nod. “Despite my initial reservations, I thought that our lunch yesterday was quite delightful, Ms. Hei. Charlie Shou might be a bit of a cad, but he was onto something by suggesting this—unless you’d like to go somewhere else?” Jiao quickly shook her head. If this was what Dmitri wanted to do, she was not about to argue with it, even if she wished they could go someplace with a greater emphasis on healthier options. She told him, “No, I think this looks great! Definitely worth a look.” Once again, they were shown to a table off to the side, but still close enough to the other patrons that they had to speak loudly to be heard. Jiao took her time looking over the menu, but Dmitri buzzed no time in placing a large order with the waiter—and, unseen to his guest, slipped the man a small vial with white powder inside. The waiter, a plant that worked for the Tsar, nodded to his master and added the tasteless, odorless powder to Jiao’s beer before bringing it back to the table. “To another successful lunch,” Dmitri toasted, which Jiao reciprocated with a clink of her glass. The beer was a dark, hearty brew, something that Jiao was entirely unaccustomed to but enjoyed far more than she imagined. Of course, whether that was her taste buds at work or whether that was the additive the Tsar’s minion mixed in was anyone’s guess. All Jiao knew was that it was delicious and that she would have to order another when she was finished, which would not be long at all. She had no idea that her gracious and generous host had added something insidious to her drink—something that his chemists developed at his palace. The gems in the Tsar’s rings contained a great many powers—spewing fire, freezing air, and mental manipulation, to name a few—but he could not simply make a woman gain weight. To that end, he had concocted a highly potent, fast-acting drug that helped the pounds pile on in the span of hours, rather than days or weeks. It multiplied the calories ingested by the user and caused their fat cells to divide at a rapid rate; a thin woman could turn plump and matronly over the course of a night. Or, as he planned, a luncheon. “So, where were we yesterday?” Dmitri asked as the appetizers arrived. “You had mentioned a story about a Congressional hearing?” Jiao, in the middle of picking apart a chicken wing, gulped down her mouthful and replied, “Oh, right. You would not believe how Charlie handled this summons to speak before Congress…” Just like that, Jiao was on a roll again, gabbing while eating her way through the appetizers and downing her beer with ease. She was finding it easier and easier to relax and let her anxiety take a backseat, which was both good and bad for her. ‘Good’ in the sense that she was overcoming a mental barrier that had held her back for the longest time; ‘bad’ in the sense that she had no idea how much she was indulging. The Tsar knew very well though, as he subtly slid the dishes closer to her and picked bits and pieces from them, not wanting to deprive his new project a single crumb. As the drug worked its way into her system, Jiao’s appetite piqued and she was positively salivating as the main dishes arrived—again, ordered by Dmitri. Conversation was lost as she tucked into a generous cut of steak, which she slathered with herb butter and tore into like a voracious beast. She tried now and then to get the conversation started once more, but the poor girl was far too engrossed in her lunch to continue. It did not help that her senses were dulling by the time her third beer arrived; she almost forgot she was supposed to be fostering a partnership with Dmitri. “I must say, I am impressed, Ms. Hei,” the Tsar hummed as he watched her devour everything in front of her. “You have quite the appetite for one so small.” Jiao blushed and managed a brief moment of restraint in order to reply and clear her throat with more beer. She replied, “Sorry, Mr. Vasilovich—I don’t normally eat this much. I guess I’m just getting into the spirit of the place.” “I admire that,” the burly brute remarked, a hint of a grin peeking through his beard. “Please, do not mind me—enjoy yourself to your heart’s content. You are my guest, after all.” With that consent, Jiao tucked back into her lunch, albeit at a slower pace than before. She had no idea she was eating so much as to attract her host’s attention; she wanted to let her hair down, not look like a slob! Be that as it may, she could not curtail her appetite as easily as she thought, and before long, she was back to mindlessly eating and drinking all over again. Perhaps she might have slowed down if she knew what was happening to her body over the course of the lunch, but she was far too distracted with each new bite. Jiao had worn a black dress that went down to her thighs and a silver jacket, and she was completely oblivious to how both were growing tighter around her thickening frame. The dress slowly crept up her legs as her hips took up more and more real estate, and her stockings stretched tight around thighs that were eager to meet each other. Her stomach, flat when the meal started, bulged out like it did at the end of yesterday’s lunch; rather than being packed tight with food alone, it was also soft to the touch. The neckline of the dress had been modest, but as her pale breasts plumped up with blubber, it took on a more sensual appearance. It was not a massive gain, barely noticeable to the average person, but for Dmitri, it was enough to whet his appetite and remove any traces of Colette from his memory. When Jiao shucked off her jacket and he saw how her arms had softened, he licked his lips and clenched his napkin tight. He was thankful to whatever deity had delivered this woman to him, that he might bring out the most in her. With a little work, he could turn her into a whale of a woman that dwarfed any of his previous prospects—so large that he could use her belly as a throne. After Jiao polished off every last scrap of food on the table, she leaned back and patted her stomach, which had graduated from a slight bump in her middle to a healthy bulge that quivered at her touch. She let out an unrestrained belch, to which she mumbled an apology—the best she could manage, given her condition. The meal had added some generous inches to her thin body that left her stacked and thick from head to toe, yet no one paid her any mind. “Oof…I don’t ever think I’ve eaten that much in my life,” Jiao groaned as she rolled her head around. “Sorry you had to see me like that, Mr. Vasilovich.” “Think nothing of it, Ms. Hei,” Dmitri brushed off the apology. “It just shows me that you have an appreciation for Russian cooking!” The Tsar rose up and offered Jiao a hand, which she eagerly took; there was no way she was going to stand on her own without embarrassing herself. Her host asked, “Perhaps you would like to continue this at our offices? I am no Charlie Shou, but I do like to impress now and then.” “Sounds nice,” Jiao fumbled as she stumbled into Dmitri’s arms. “Just so long as I don’t have to walk…that doesn’t sound too easy right now.” “Or ever again,” the Tsar muttered beneath his breath as he led Jiao away… venusderuebens, Batman76 and ulvrik 1 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted August 16, 2020 Share Posted August 16, 2020 Oh damn, she's getting to be quite the plumper, inside and out... Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted August 16, 2020 Author Share Posted August 16, 2020 1 hour ago, Batman76 said: Oh damn, she's getting to be quite the plumper, inside and out... The only question is if that mindset sticks when all is over... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted August 23, 2020 Author Share Posted August 23, 2020 THE BLACK TURTLE, PART 4 If Jiao were in a clearer state of mind, she might have noticed that Dmitri’s limo was not taking her to the headquarters of Vankorp, but rather, a modest house on the outskirts of town. Sadly, her host had kept her supplied with hearty Russian ale and rich snacks throughout the entire trip, which left the normally composed woman unaware of her surroundings. She was riding so high on this burst of confidence that she simply went with the flow, even as her dress grew tighter around her thickening frame and began to fray at the seams. More than the dozens of pounds she had picked up since she first started indulging at the restaurant, the starkest change of all was Jiao’s attitude and demeanor. She had moved far beyond simply being warm and inviting; she seemed like an entirely different person. Where she was ordinarily reserved and soft-spoken, Jiao had become loud and brash, shouting nearly every word and gesturing wildly with her arms. She would guffaw at her own jokes and slap her knee, which sent ripples through her softening thighs, and slouched in her seat, giving Dmitri a good look at how her stomach bloated out into a dollop of pudge. A sober Jiao would have had a conniption if she saw herself so buzzed. “And then—oh, this is the best part—the Black Turtle just grabs the whips, ties them in a knot, and throws the guy into a wall!” the sloshed executive assistant laughed before whetting her whistle with another gulp of beer. The Tsar simply smiled and nodded while he offered up a bowl of caviar potato chips to the drunken Jiao. While he enjoyed seeing her glut herself, he would have to do something about this prattling of hers; he could never have guessed that the meek woman he met at the airport would be such a chatterbox. If training her did not work, he could always have his doctors remove her larynx, which worked well enough on his third and fifth tsarinas. “It sounds like you have led a very charmed life, my dear,” he remarked as Jiao greedily snatched up a handful of chips and shoved them in her mouth. He had only been paying a fraction of attention to the story, preferring instead to focus on how her increasingly plump breasts threatened to pop free from her much scantier dress. Jiao washed down the chips with the last of her drink before replying, “Please—I’ve gotten so used to supervillains trying to raid us, it’s not even surprising anymore. Now, you want something really crazy, you should come by our Christmas parties.” “Perhaps another time, Ms. Hei,” Dmitri said as his driver came around and opened the door. “We’ve arrived at Vankorp, and I cannot wait to show you around.” “Really? That was fast,” Jiao hiccupped. In truth, they had been driving for nearly an hour, but she had spent so much time chatting and eating that she missed everything. The Tsar stepped out first before helping his inebriated guest to her feet, which was no easy feat, considering how much dead weight she was. Jiao had snacked and buzzed her way from thick to soft to downright chubby ever since the extended lunch hour had begun, and any trace of the pencil-thin woman from the day before was vanishing under rapidly accumulating layers of pudge. Her dress was fast becoming scandalous as it slid up thickening thighs that were becoming well acquainted with each other and a bulbous backside that wobbled with each awkward step. What had been a nice pair of stockings were coming apart at an alarming rate between the chub rub of said thighs and being stretched to maximum capacity. She did not fare much better above the belt either, for her slender waist had bloated out into a gooey potbelly that was both soft with flab and firm with food and drink. It ballooned out from her middle like a drinker’s bubble gut but drooped down like a drop of grease, and had become pronounced enough to grab a handful. Sloshing above her belly were a pair of breasts that were on track to outgrow the Miracle and even Miss Elite, and they were creeping above her neckline like dough rising in the oven. Her silver jacket was becoming laughably small on her, and each wild swing of her arms caused another thread to pop under the duress of her plump arms. The only thing still fairly slender was her face, though her cheeks had softened to the point that she had permanent dimples. As Dmitri and the driver helped keep her steady, Jiao lolled her head around and caught a glimpse of their destination. Her brow furrowed while her brain fought an uphill battle in getting started, and it was only after a moment of very hard thinking that she realized this was not the Vankorp headquarters she had seen in her research. Normally, this would be the point where she panicked and did her best to escape, but the most Jiao could muster at the moment was lazily laugh. “Hey, what’s that?” she asked while pointing at the building ahead. “That’s not Vankorp! Is this where you bring all the ladies, Dmitri?” The Tsar raised an eyebrow at the question, impressed that the drunken woman had managed to see through her beer goggles enough to notice they were in the wrong place. If that were the case, he no longer needed to keep up the charade; it was not like Jiao could escape in her condition. With a growl, he answered, “Only the ones I intend to wed, Ms. Hei. Now, let us get you to a table—my chefs have been hard at work preparing a feast for you.” Jiao blearily gazed up at her host, unsure if she had heard him correctly. The last word she said before the driver slipped a black hood over her head was, “Feast?” She was not sure what happened after that. All the beers she had been plied with made her body feel sluggish and uncooperative; Dmitri and the driver all but carried her the whole way. They dragged her up some stairs, down a hall, and into an elevator that played ‘God Save the Tsar!’ before she was placed in a chair. Only then was the hood removed, at which point Jiao found herself inside an ornate dining hall lined with fine art and sat at a table full of food. Unlike the fancy atmosphere, the table was covered with greasy burgers, crispy fish and chips, hot dogs smothered in toppings, and other assorted bar foods. “What’s…what’s all this then?” asked Jiao as she rubbed her eyes, not sure if she believed what she saw. She picked up a French fry, gave it a sniff, and then popped it in her mouth with a hum. It was certainly real, whatever this was, but she was still at a loss for the why of it all. “I hope this is to your liking,” came the deep, familiar voice of her host. “My chefs are not used to making food so pedestrian, but after seeing how you took to it, I had them begin work on the best they could manage. I assure you, no mere sports bar could match their quality.” Dmitri marched into the room in regal attire straight out of the history books. Adorning him was the Imperial Crown of Russia with not a gem out of place, a flowing cloak of gold, and ten rings that glistened in spite of the dim light. He was the spitting image of Nicholas II, whose portrait looked down on the room from the far wall, but there was a darkness in his eyes that sobered her up more than a ** of coffee. It was then that Jiao finally realized how much danger she was truly in. “Dmitri? What’s the meaning of this?” asked Jiao, though her words had more fire in them than her face did. She felt like she was right back at the airstrip, meeting this man for the first time and being terrified at what she saw. “Answers will come in time, my dear, but I must first ask that you stop using that name,” the Tsar instructed her. “My true name is Alexei Nikolaevich the Third, but you may call me Alexei if you so desire. I have brought you to my home, a perfect replica of the Winter Palace as it was when my grandfather ruled over Russia—and it shall be your home as well, my tsarina.” “Tsarina?” Jiao mumbled, despite hearing the man quite clearly. “Dmixei…Aletri…whoever you are, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I demand that you let me go right this instant!” The Tsar clicked his tongue and waggled a finger at Jiao. “You are in no position to make demands, my dear. Besides, I would think you would be grateful for this opportunity, or did you really wish to be Mr. Charlie Shou’s secretary for the rest of your life? Here, at my side, you’ll be treated like a queen—and become an actual one when I fulfill my destiny and reclaim Russia in the name of the Romanovs! And after I take back my motherland, my influence shall spread to the rest of the world!” Jiao’s jaw dropped as her inebriated brain grasped what it could, and what it understood made her stomach churn. She muttered, “Oh my god, you’re a supervillain.” The darkness in Alexei’s eyes turned to fire and he slammed his fist on the table with such force that several dishes bounced. “Do not dare lump me with the common criminal! Mine is a righteous cause—to take back was stolen from my family! Villains are the people that gun down a man, his wife, and all their children—who spread lies to the people and turn a nation into a police state! I am the Tsar, and I am the hero that Russia cries for!” It was the same sort of speech that Jiao had heard plenty of times before, but she was not about to test Alexei’s temper. Instead, she absentmindedly nibbled on another fry while she asked, “So, you want me to be your bride?” As fast as his temper came, Alexei cooled down and made his way over to Jiao, explaining, “Yes. I have become quite taken with you, and I feel there is much potential in you. I am going to mold you into my vision of a tsarina, and when it comes time for me to retake Russia, I shall have you at my side.” “And what is your vision, Alexei?” Jiao wondered, a third fry passing her lips. “A woman of plenty, whose girth is only surpassed by her wealth,” Alexei mused as he looked down at Jiao. “My tsarina will have an insatiable appetite and a body to match, with a great belly and hips that could birth an army. She will surpass all women in size, growing to proportions that no mere peasant could reach and never stopping.” The bemused assistant rolled her eyes at that and retorted, “Well, I’m sorry to say that’s not me; you might try a state fair.” “On the contrary—I think you’re perfect. Just look at how far you’ve come so far,” Alexei remarked with a smirk as he gestured to her belly. Jiao followed his gaze and nearly choked on a fry when she saw the lump of blubber sitting on her waist and the milky melons that sat atop it. She poked at her gut as though it was a sleeping bear and winced when she felt her digit sink into the butter-soft pudge. Her exploration continued as she pinched her thunder thighs and fiddled with her skirt when she realized how much thigh she was showing. Everything about her body felt so alien and unusual to her, and she had no idea how she could have grown so much in such a short time—although she did know who was to blame. “What did you do to me?” Jiao grimaced as she looked back up to the Tsar. “I had your drink at the restaurant laced with a quite potent drug,” Alexei answered with a shrug. “It has worked wonders on my women, turning even the most athletic into potbellied pigs over the course of a weekend. Before it runs its course, your appetite will skyrocket and your body shall build fat like a bear preparing for winter.” “And you expect me to just keep going? You’re out of your mind,” Jiao hissed at the deranged crime lord. “You can’t make me eat another bite!” Alexei clicked his tongue and replied, “On the contrary, Ms. Hei—I can make you do anything. For instance, I can make you snort like a pig with just a thought.” Before Jiao could retort, a ring on the Tsar’s right hand glowed a brilliant purple and she let out a porcine grunt. She clapped her hands over her mouth as the burly man let out a single, booming laugh, “Ha! You see, I can make you do anything I want, but I choose not to, Ms. Hei. No, I believe you do not need me to use any of my powers to keep you eating; I believe you have a glutton inside you, waiting to escape. Just look at all this wonderful food and tell me you don’t want to eat it all.” The bespectacled woman was at a loss for words as she stared out over the spread with fear and awe. She refused to believe Alexei, but she could not deny the hunger sitting in her belly, piqued by the expanse that sat before her. Though her mind was still clouded by all the beer she had buzzed in the last couple hours, she recalled bits and pieces of eating more than she did in a normal week; the calorie count alone was too much for her to handle. There was no way she could still be hungry, yet she found her fingers inching towards the nearest plate for more fries. “I…I can’t,” Jiao whimpered as she grabbed a chunky fry and gazed at it with dread. “I’m not…that’s not who I am.” “No, but it is who you could be,” the Tsar hissed like a serpent in her ear. “Forget your life as Charlie Shou’s assistant: all the business meetings, schedules, and appointments; all the planning and organizing as you try to manage his life. You can let yourself be whatever you want here, and you can start by eating whatever you want. Let yourself be free to eat, drink, and be merry, Jiao—you, of all people, deserve it most.” Despite the conscious part of her mind screaming at her, begging her not to listen, Jiao brought the fry closer and closer to her trembling lips until she bit in and let out a contented hum. She tried to use some of the restraint she had not two days prior, but it seemed to have vanished, replaced instead by this gnawing hunger. It would be so easy to blame it on the drug that Alexei had given her, but there was so much more to it than that. After all, she had done a perfectly fine job of stuffing herself the day before, and she was certain that her devious host had done anything. Did she truly want this? “No, I can’t be,” Jiao muttered to herself, even as she shoveled fry after fry into her mouth at a relentless pace. “I’m not a glutton…I’m not!” The Tsar, however, disagreed, “You are—you just won’t admit it. Just give yourself over to your hunger, my dear, and eat to your heart’s content.” Jiao’s protests were muffled by more and more food, and soon, she was not protesting at all. How could she? Alexei might have been a scheming madman, but his chefs really knew how to make some good food. She had been at enough fancy soirees to recognize wagyu beef, and the burgers had all been made with the best grass-fed cow that money could buy. Truffle oil had been used heavily throughout all the dishes, and even the vegetables tasted expensive. If there was one bright spot to be found, it was that Alexei had gotten her quality goods instead of slop. Of course, that was little comfort now that she knew just what all this food was doing to her body. Jiao had no idea how she could have been so blind to the effects of her gluttony, but now that she was coming out of the fog, she felt every new pound creeping its way onto her pudgy frame. Each bite seemed to make her clothes stretch and strain a little bit more, and by the end of the first dish, she heard a few more threads popping. Even though she could feel the damage being done to her body and outfit, she could not stop her hands from snatching up another rich, greasy morsel. One dish became two, became three, and she was soon working on her fourth when she heard a terrible rip along her side. Jiao’s eyes went wide as the sliders she was noshing as she felt the warm air of the dining hall caress her exposed love handle. She looked down at her body again and almost spat out her mouthful when she saw how much she had expanded in the span of four dishes. Her belly had managed to spring free from its cloth confines, tearing a hole in the side of her dress and allowing her pale, plump middle to ooze free. Of course, it was difficult to get a good view when she was staring at a pair of pasty breasts that bit into the neckline of her dress as they continued their slow escape. They had surpassed Miss Elite and was encroaching on Brutess’s territory, much to her chagrin. Her jelly belly continued to creep out onto her thighs, which were all but bare as her skirt retracted all the way to her hips. Jiao’s stockings now looked like they belonged on a punk rocker with how patchy they had become as little globules of blubber poked out of gaps in the fabric. She could feel her thighs touching all the way to the knee and her heels were growing tight around chunky ankles, and she wondered if the girls at the yoga studio would even recognize her anymore. Of course, given how she could feel a double-wide booty behind her, Jiao wondered if she even wanted them the recognition. “You are coming along most nicely, my dear,” Alexei remarked from his end of the table. He had sat down to observe her, watching like a hawk as Jiao shoveled hundreds of calories down her throat. A sick grin peeked through his beard as he added, “If you keep this pace, you might be my biggest yet.” Jiao fought through the culinary fog in her head long enough to retort, “I’m going to get out of this, Alexei—you should know better than to just lay out your plan to me.” “Why should I worry? You are but a very soft, soon to be fat woman,” the Tsar hummed as he leaned forward in his chair. “Even if you were able to deny yourself, you could do nothing to get out of here. My guards would catch you and put you back in your room before you could waddle more than a few meters, and then I would make sure you were too full to make another attempt.” A cloud of gloom grew over Jiao as she realized how right Alexei was. Even if she were thin again, she was still deep inside his lair; she could not fight her way past all his guards. Thus, she dejectedly returned to her food, even as the turtle brooch waited on her lapel… ((And thus, we come to the end of another arc in the C&C saga! Thanks to everyone for sticking with me on this, and I hope that you've enjoyed this chapter. I hate to leave things on such a juicy cliffhanger, but we'll check back in with Jiao in the not too distant future. Next week, we're going to check out a very different type of hero, but no hints as to who. You'll just have to wait and see!)) Batman76, venusderuebens and ulvrik 1 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted August 25, 2020 Share Posted August 25, 2020 Lovely cliff hanger. Is Miss Elite your version of power girl or Miss Marvel? Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted August 25, 2020 Author Share Posted August 25, 2020 4 hours ago, Batman76 said: Lovely cliff hanger. Is Miss Elite your version of power girl or Miss Marvel? Power Girl! She'll be getting her own story at some point down the pipe, as will most heroines. Batman76 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted August 25, 2020 Share Posted August 25, 2020 I'm dying to hear it Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted August 27, 2020 Author Share Posted August 27, 2020 ((I promised you all a new sort of hero, and I aims to please! We're taking a look at a different side of comics for our heroine today--Westerns! And here to help us explore the Weird West is Beatrice Thorne, who might be the most unusual character to ever grace a WG story. How so? Just read on, and you'll see what I mean!)) WIDE, WIDE WEST, PART 1 Bosworth’s was like many other saloons in the Wild West: a den of sin and debauchery, where a man could drink, gamble, and bed a woman of the night before being shot dead by her jealous lover. It was the sort of establishment that good people shunned, wicked people flocked to, and, unless they came with a guest, no woman entered. No woman, that is, save for Beatrice Thorne, who had just rode into town on a pale horse like her name was Death. At first glance, one would be forgiven for mistaking Beatrice for a man, for she did not prefer the ladies’ fashions of the day—flowing skirts and bonnets were for debutantes and princesses. She went about her day in trousers, a shield-front shirt, boots caked with dirt, and a broad-brimmed hat that shielded her from the sun. Her rusty hair was cut just below the ear, often in a rough, brutal style from Beatrice hacking it away herself. Make-up was a luxury she could neither afford nor desired; all she had was bee’s wax to keep what was left of her lips from cracking in the desert sun. What threw people off the most was her scarred face, which was so gruesome that some people wondered how Beatrice was still alive. A deep gash ran down the left side of her face and over the eye, itself replaced by a glass eye that was a little too large for her socket. She was missing most of her left ear and made do with little more than the bare minimum pieces. Half of her lips were gone, exposing her gums and yellowed teeth whenever she went without a bandana covering. Her nose had been broken so much that the bridge was nonexistent and the tip turned upwards. All that combined with the jagged scar across her throat, and it was no wonder folks thought her to be a wrathful specter. Beatrice was no ghost though—just a woman on a mission, which had led her to Bosworth’s doorstep. She passed through the saloon doors with nary a sound and marched up to the bar, where she took a seat on the far end so as to have a little privacy. A few of the patrons glanced her way but did not spare her so much as a second glance; after all, what was one more cowboy in a sea of them? “Barkeep,” she croaked in a voice as rough as sandpaper. “Down here.” When the old tender glanced her way, she beckoned him over with a wave of her fingers. He put up the glass he was cleaning, made his way over, and asked, “What can I do for you, stranger?” Beatrice answered by holding up three fingers. “I need three things, friend: a bowl of chili, a big mug to wash it down, and information. That doable?” “Chili and beer, certainly, but I need to know what kind of information you’re looking for,” the old man shrugged. “I hear all sorts of things ‘round these parts.” Out from her pocket came a drawing of a young woman with a cherubic face and curly locks falling past her shoulders. Beatrice held it up to the bartender and explained, “I’m looking for a young lady of 18, perhaps 19. Her appearance might have changed, but she has blonde hair down to the small of her back, blue eyes, and three freckles in a triangle on her cheek. Sound familiar?” The bartender took the picture with him and studied it as he poured a beer and ladled up a bowl of simmering chili. When he delivered both to Beatrice, he told her, “I recall seeing a woman like that, yes, but her hair was much shorter—could be how she wore it though.” “Was she in the company of a sickly, bookish fellow?” asked Beatrice as she pocketed the picture once more and tucked into the chili, being careful to spoon it underneath her bandana. “Failing that, perhaps some roughnecks?” “Can’t rightly say I saw her with some pencil-neck, but she did have some of the local rabble-rousers around her,” the old man replied as he cast his eyes around the saloon. He settled on a pair of grubby men across the room and told Beatrice, “Them two playing cards over yonder was with ‘em.” The scarred woman followed the man’s gaze and spied two burly brutes cheating at poker. One was a lantern-jawed galoot who had a booming laugh that could be heard over the din of the saloon, and the other was an ugly cuss whose face seemed to be one big wart. Exactly the sort of goons her quarry would use for hired muscle—big, dumb, and knew their way around a fight. The good news was that there was only two of them; the bad news was that two could turn into a dozen all too quickly. “Much obliged, old timer,” Beatrice thanked the bartender. She downed the beer in one gulp before she slid him a fifty-dollar bill, which almost made the old man faint. “For your troubles.” “Heavens, friend, this is far too much for chili, beer, and a little gab,” he told Beatrice, “and all my troubles don’t amount to fifty dollars!” The woman shook her head and explained, “Not your present troubles—the ones you’re about to have, I’m afraid.” Without elaborating, Beatrice crossed the room and hovered around the poker table, eyeballing the two creeps and gauging them with a glance. Both men had their guns at their hips, but Big Mouth had his attention on a lovely blonde by his side; Wart, however, was more watchful and kept one eye on his surroundings. At the same time, the uglier of the two had a tendency to lean in his chair, keeping two legs on the ground at all times. None of the other players seemed particularly fond of them, but no one was about to pick a fight with the two—no one but Beatrice Thorne, of course. She did not wait for an invitation, nor did she try breaking the ice with pleasantries. Instead, the hunter stalked up to her prey and asked, “Which of you fellows can tell me where to find Doc Higgins?” Big Mouth’s laughter ceased as his partner snapped to and leered at Beatrice. The bigger of the two took a puff on a cigarillo before asking in turn, “Depends—who wants to know?” “Someone looking to bring him to justice—and any of his accomplices,” Beatrice answered as she glanced between the two. “Of course, I might be willing to overlook that if those accomplices were to tell me where he was headed.” “Don’t know no Higgins,” Wart spat, his gnarly fingers twitching wildly. “Not the way I hear it,” the scarred woman retorted as her brow furrowed. “He’s wanted for kidnapping a governor’s daughter, and kidnapping is a mighty serious offense where I come from. If I were a known partner of his, I might think twice about keeping his secrets.” “And I’ll make you think twice about asking,” Wart hissed as his hand snapped to his waist. Before the ugly man could draw his pistol, Beatrice kicked the chair legs out from under him and sent Wart toppling to the floor. Big Mouth dropped his cigarillo and reached for his gun, but his assailant proved too quick for him as well and smashed his head into the table. Beatrice spun back around to Wart and stomped on his wrist, cracking the bone and forcing him to release his gun. After kicking it out of reach, she snatched up the cigarillo and jammed it into Big Mouth’s eye. The large man howled like a dog before Beatrice silenced him with a blow to his chin. “Could’ve been a whole lot easier on yourself,” the brutal woman barked at Wart as she towered over him. “Tell me where I can find Higgins, and I walk out that door.” “Go to Hell!” the grotesque man yelped before Beatrice’s boot slammed down on his throat. “Already been there, friend,” she seethed as she pulled down her bandana, revealing her scarred visage in full. “How do you think I got like this?” Even the most hardened man in the crowd of onlookers was startled by the grisly face, save for Big Mouth, who picked himself up from the table and tackled Beatrice from behind. The two went crashing into a table, which crumpled under them like a house of cards, though that did not stop them from fighting. Big Mouth’s had one massive hand around her face while his other wrapped around her torso in a one-armed bear hug, but this did nothing to deter Beatrice. She bit down on Big Mouth’s finger hard enough to draw blood, and used a free hand to grab a shard of table, which she drove into her assailant’s leg. The brute could take no more of his spritelier opponent, and he released Beatrice as he roared in pain. His pain only magnified when she pushed the shard in deeper, growling, “Higgins! Where’s he headed? Answer me, you son of a whore!” Big Mouth’s interrogation was cut off when a bullet whizzed by Beatrice’s good ear and struck the wall behind her. She turned back to see Wart staggering to his feet, a pistol in his left hand—his off hand, if his aim was anything to go by. Before he could get another shot off, Beatrice snatched up a nearby chair and hurled it into the ugly man, who tumbled back into a beam with a yelp. His attacker was on him like a mountain lion, pinning him against the beam by the neck and punching him in the gut again and again as if she were tenderizing a piece of meat. Eventually, the vengeful woman stopped and leaned in so close that she could hear Wart’s heartbeat. Her voice was deep and gravelly as she seethed, “This is your last chance. You talk, or I drag your sorry carcass to the undertaker’s instead of the marshal.” With an arm pinned across his throat and his gun far out of reach, Wart was left with little choice. His Adam’s apple quivered as he gurgled, “Ranch! He’s got a ranch a fortnight north of here, just outside Brolin Rock!” Beatrice stared daggers through Wart before she released him and let him slump to the floor, clutching at his throat as he sucked in air for dear life. His reprieve did not last long, for his assailant punted him in the head and grunted, “That’s for being difficult.” The onlookers parted around her as she made her way to the door, stopping only to tip her hat to the bartender. He gave a trembling nod to her before looking back at the destruction on the other side of the bar and thinking about what his fifty dollars would go towards first… *** The evening found Beatrice in a modest boarding house where she could afford herself some peace, quiet, and a bed—a luxury for someone in her line of work. She washed her face in the provided basin before removing her glass eye and giving it a scrub as well. After popping the eye back in its socket, she stripped away her weathered garments and tossed them aside before looking herself over in the mirror. Her grisly reflection gazed back at her, and Beatrice could not help running a finger along her scars, for though they no longer ached, they still stung from time to time. If anyone thought that the damage stopped at her face, they would be sorely mistaken. Beatrice peeled her undershirt off, revealing a lean, hard body covered in scars, the most prominent ones around her chest. She had no breasts to speak of, having long since been cut away by a sawbones in Nevada, leaving only the skin pinched tightly together to fill the space. With such a slender, boyish figure, the only way anyone would tell she was a woman was if they saw her with her drawers down—and it would be a cold day in Hell before that happened. When she got sick of the sight of herself, Beatrice sat on the bed and looked over the picture of the girl. She was Evelyn Van Wingert, daughter to an oil tycoon and, by all accounts, spoiled brat that loved to spend her family’s money. Known as something of a Jezebel, the heiress always had a man on her arm while her hand was in his wallet. Her parents begrudgingly allowed this behavior in the hopes that a man would come along and set her straight, but they got more than they bargained for with Dr. Archibald Higgins. ‘Doctor’ was a title he adopted himself, for he was little more than a snake-oil salesman who peddled elixirs that were little more than sugar water. He rolled into Evelyn’s life and swept her off her feet, and for the first time, it seemed that the diva had found the one. She stopped flirting with all the boys in town, helped with the chores, and talked of how wonderful Archibald was. Then, one day, she changed her mind and dropped him like a bad habit like so many other men in her life—but unlike those other men, Archibald Higgins would not be denied his bride. Late one night, a group of men broke into the Van Wingert mansion and took Evelyn while she slept. Her family woke the next morning to discover that she was gone, as were Doc Higgins and a few of the nogoodniks that would do anything for the right price. They immediately put a call out for aid, promising thousands of dollars as a reward for Evelyn’s safe return, and Beatrice leaped at the chance when she got word from a marshal. She tailed Doc Higgins across two states and was closer to him than any other hunter by a country mile, but she was not interested in the reward this time. “Hell and damnation, sister,” Beatrice groused as she put the picture of Evelyn on the nightstand. “If that lunatic hasn’t killed you yet, I’m fixing to do the job myself.” *** Evelyn was not dead, but she sometimes wished she were. She missed the comfort of her bed, the delicious meals, and spending her days as she pleased. Now, she was forced to sleep in a rickety wagon, ate nothing but rations, and was tied to the last man she had tried to string along. That last part was made only worse by the fact that Archibald had dropped all pretenses of a charmer; all she could see when she looked at him now was a serpent of a man. “You look troubled, Evelyn,” Higgins hummed in mock sympathy as he glanced to his captive. “I know the road has been long and tiring, but we’re nearly at my ranch, and you’ll finally be able to relax.” “I don’t want to live on a ranch, Archie,” Evelyn mumbled as she tried not to look at Higgins. When he had been courting her, she was taken by his lanky, gangly frame—a regular Ichabod Crane, as her mother had said. He kept his black hair slicked back just right, gave his mustache cute curls on both ends, and dressed like a real dandy. It was only when they had been going steady for some time that she noticed how the clothes were cheap imitations, how his slick hair looked like the crude oil from her father’s wells, and his lean body made him look like a skeleton. On top of that, his charm faded when she caught the way he stared at her like some kind of hungry animal and cutesy curiosity gave way to very real fear. That fear was justified, for no sooner had she broken off ties with him than he abducted her and fled for hundreds of miles. “It won’t be as luxurious as your palatial estate, but I assure you that it’ll feel like home before long,” Higgins assured Evelyn, though his words meant nothing to her. “Just give it a little bit of time—you’ll grow to love it.” The heiress doubted that very much, but she was not about to argue with a man so clearly unhinged. Instead, she reached into a satchel by her side and pulled out a piece of cornbread—her third in the last hour. It was a good thing that Higgins had plenty of food and always stocked up whenever they reached a town or outpost, because Evelyn’s nerves and boredom had her constantly munching on something or other. The closer they got to their destination, the more she seemed to eat, and the more she ate, the more Higgins gave her that hungry look; it was a never-ending cycle, and it was having quite the effect on her waistline. While Evelyn had never been thin—certainly nowhere near as lean as her sister—she was a twig compared to what she had bloated up to in her time with Higgins. Her soft cheeks had grown rosy and plump, and a second chin formed every time she bowed her head to her chest. That chest had grown quite substantial, as her breasts billowed out of her bodice and turned bright red in the harsh desert sun. Her corset was as loose as it could be, yet her stomach still felt pinched by the material; she refused to lose it though, despite Higgins telling her it was fine by him. At least her gown could hide how wide her hips were growing, though there was no denying how tight her pantaloons had grown. Several of her suitors back home would have been turned off by the dough ball diva, but not Archie; if anything, he only grew more attracted to her with each new pound. He had seen such potential in her when he spied her at one of his shows, and that potential was made more real when he treated her to a fine meal that she handled with aplomb. Evelyn Van Wingert was just one of those girls that was made to be fat, and in another life, she might have gotten there by marrying rich and having a good few children. That was still very much in the cards, barring the ‘marrying rich’ part, but Higgins had other plans of getting his lover there. By the day’s end, just as the sun began to set, the party reached Higgins’ ranch, which was much nicer and larger than Evelyn gave him credit for. The doctor smirked and said, “Told you it was nice.” It was nice, yes, but Evelyn noticed something unusual about the place. She glanced to and fro and asked, “Where are all the animals?” “Oh, the hands have probably put them back in the stables for the day,” Higgins assured the blonde as he helped her down from the wagon. “I’ll give you a look around tomorrow. For now, how about a nice, homecooked meal, a proper bath, and the comfiest bed this side of the Mississippi?” Evelyn would very much like those, but she was not about to give him any satisfaction or gratitude. Instead, she followed Higgins into the main house, though her ear caught sounds coming from the stables—sounds that she had never heard any other animal make before… Batman76, venusderuebens, ulvrik and 2 others 1 1 1 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted August 28, 2020 Share Posted August 28, 2020 Damn, didn't expect Jonah hex. ulvrik and Cyril Figgis 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted August 28, 2020 Author Share Posted August 28, 2020 3 hours ago, Batman76 said: Damn, didn't expect Jonah hex. Nobody expects Jonah Hex--especially not in a WG story. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted September 3, 2020 Author Share Posted September 3, 2020 ((Hey all, we're back with another chapter in Beatrice Thorne's story. This one's a little on the chatty side, but I had a lot of fun writing it, especially Beatrice's parts. I hope that you'll enjoy it, especially as the mystery of Doc Higgins unfolds.)) WIDE, WIDE WEST, PART 2 Esau Culpepper was not a good man, as his Wanted posters would attest: cattle rustling, bank robbery, and burning down a saloon just because he could. He would pick fights over the slightest insult, bully his way into getting whatever he wanted, and raised Cain wherever he went. If he was not causing trouble himself, he was a hired gun for some other ne’er-do-well and had been in no less than five stagecoach robberies in his time. The thuggish man never passed up a chance for a quick buck and was willing to do whatever his employer told him, up to and including murder. Yet after leaving Evelyn Van Wingert at the Higgins Ranch, Esau fled in the dead of night as though the devil were at his tail. He turned up in Brolin Rock white as a sheet and eyes wide as dinner plates, but he would not say a word to anyone—not that folks were flocking to the brute. The day after was spent drinking himself into a stupor until he collapsed onto the saloon floor, at which point he was collected by a kindly soul who dragged him out with the promise of taking him somewhere to sleep off his whiskey. Unfortunately for Esau, that kindly soul was Beatrice Thorne, who loaded the drunkard on her horse and hightailed it out of town. What she had planned for him was a punishment the law would frown on and common people might find savage, but it was certainly effective. “Rise and shine, Culpepper,” the gravelly voice of Beatrice boomed in Esau’s ears. Before he could respond, the bandit was deluged in water, which helped rouse him from his stupor but left him a sputtering mess. “Time’s a-wasting!” He cracked his eyes open, only to shut them an instant later when the glare of the sun threatened to blind him. When he tried to raise his hand to shield himself, he found himself unable to, as though some great weight held him down. His drowned mind struggled to leave the station, and as he slowly roused himself from his drunken stupor, Esau became aware of two things. First, he could not move anything below his neck no matter how much he struggled. Second, the reason for this was that he was buried up to his chin in the desert sand. “What…what in tarnation is this?” the bandit growled as he shifted around. He glanced up and spied a figure in dark clothes glowering at him from a nearby rock, their face obscured by a bandana. “Who in the blue hell are you, and what did you do to me?” “Buried you in the sand—I thought that was obvious,” Beatrice replied. “I was expecting some sort of fight from you, but imagine my surprise when I found you too buzzed to even crawl.” “Dig me up, damn you! I’ll gut you like a fish and let the buzzards have you for supper,” Esau threatened, though even he knew it was an empty gesture. His tormentor knew this, for Beatrice only leaned back and took a swig from a canteen. She clicked her tongue and hummed, “Is that any way to talk to the one with the shovel? My digging you up entirely depends on how you behave, so I’d shape up if I were you.” Humbled, the thug shut his mouth and bowed his head in silent fury. Once she saw her quarry clam up, Beatrice hopped down from her perch, planted the shovel close to Esau’s head, and crouched down beside him. “Smarter than you look—good. Now, here’s how this is going to work: I’m going to ask you some questions; if I like your answers, I dig you up; if I don’t, I leave you for the buzzards.” “Piss off,” Esau spat, only to earn a slap to the head. “Off to a bad start, Esau,” Beatrice chided the bandit as she took her seat on the rock. “You must really want to feed the birds.” Esau gritted his teeth and growled, “What do you want to know?” “Let’s start off with an easy one,” the huntress began. “You were seen traveling in the company of one Doc Higgins recently. He was last seen with a blonde girl with him; when did you last see her?” “Just last night,” answered the bandit. “She was in good health and not a hair out of place, though Higgins had it cut short a few weeks ago.” Beatrice nodded and held onto a sigh of relief. “That answers my next question. Now, I know that Higgins has a ranch outside of town. How many men does he have there?” Esau wracked his brain for a number, but in his brief time at the ranch, he had not gotten a good count of all the workers and guards. He replied, “Can’t rightly say. He’s got a few guards, but most of the men are farmhands—don’t know how many are armed.” Damn. She had planned to scope out the ranch regardless, but any information Beatrice could get in advance would help her immensely. With a hiss, she continued, “Not what I was looking for, but I’ll take it. Time for the nitty-gritty, friend: I’m going to need as much information on routines, patrols, and the like that you can manage.” “I don’t know anything about patrols and such,” Esau grunted. “I didn’t stay long enough to get a good feel for the place.” “Higgins didn’t pay enough, or he sent you on your merry way?” asked Beatrice. “Neither,” the thug answered in turn. “After the things I seen at that place, I wouldn’t have stayed there for a king’s ransom. That Higgins is a sick man, and personally, I hope you send him to Hell—hanging’s too good for him.” That piqued the huntress’s curiosity. She knew that Doc Higgins had a history of being a conman, but she had never heard him spoken of with such vitriol. Esau had a hateful look of disgust in his eyes, and if she looked closely, Beatrice could see a speck of fear in there as well. If there was something up at Higgins’s ranch that could scare a ruthless cur like Esau Culpepper, she needed to get Evelyn out pronto. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?” Beatrice croaked after taking another swig from her canteen. “I got all the time in the world.” Esau’s face paled and he shook his head frantically, replying, “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t. Best you ride in the other direction if you know what’s good for you; no one sane would ever want to go to that godforsaken place.” The shadowy woman shook her head and retorted, “Afraid that’s not in the cards. I’ve got a personal investment there, and I’m not about to turn tail now.” “What, the Van Wingert girl? Just ride on back to her daddy and tell him that she’s dead, because she might as well be now. She’s not worth it—no one is,” Esau asserted, though his words were met with a sharp slap to the face that brought tears to his eyes. “She’s worth a thousand of you, and don’t you ever forget that,” Beatrice spat as she leaned in so close that Esau could see his reflection in her eye, “unless you really love the buzzards that much. Now, get back to talking, you lily-livered creep.” *** The two weeks Evelyn had spent at Archie’s ranch had been surprisingly pleasant, but that did surprisingly little to ease her nerves. It was his family’s home, and he had inherited it when his father passed away—whether it was a natural death or not, he would not say. The main building was sprawling and filled with fine, handcrafted furniture and artwork that Archie swore he got from one of the big cities on the East Coast. They were surrounded by a field of green as far as the eye could see, and Evelyn had found comfort in watching the animals go out to run in the sun. “Lucky devils,” the heiress muttered as she nibbled on a macaron. Despite the luxurious surroundings and kind treatment from everyone, Evelyn could not help feeling like a bird in a gilded cage. She hardly left the house, and even when she did, she was never allowed past the fence that encircled the main building. The help were all very friendly to her, but she could feel their eyes on her at every turn; no doubt they reported her movements to Archie. Confined as she was, the blonde was an unfortunate mix of bored and anxious, for there was hardly anything for her to do in the great, big house. The only thing she seemed to do was eat and daydream, and she was doing more of the former with each passing day. Perhaps if the chefs were not so generous and skilled, she might have been able to resist, but Evelyn was bombarded with scrumptious snacks throughout the day and culinary works of art at each meal. With nothing better to do and under several watchful eyes, the heiress ate every last thing put in front of her; she had even begun taking seconds when offered. The only thing missing was the warmth that came from the comfort of her own home—otherwise, she was eating like a queen. And Evelyn was suffering the consequences of such overindulgence. Already thick from the easygoing life her family’s wealth afforded her, she had grown past well-fed and into plump territory, and was now bordering on positively fat. Her rosy cheeks now jiggled when she ate, her dimples blossoming into jowls as a ring of fat expanded around her neck. She did not need to adjust her dresses to be more revealing, for her bust had become too large to be contained by ordinary means; if anything, she fought to keep her bosom buried. It was a good thing that her breasts had remained full and bouncy throughout her gain, for her last corset had broken two days prior when it could no longer fit her belly. When she was alone at night, she pulled her chemise up over the globular gut and marveled at how much of it there was. Evelyn had seen a few expectant mothers in her hometown, and a sickening dread filled her when she realized that her stomach had grown bigger than any of theirs, least of all because she had no child to blame this on. The doughy mass ballooned over the waistband of her bloomers and, as she had ascertained during one examination, found that she could bounce it in her hands. She wondered why she fed this morbid curiosity of hers, observing the daily changes to her once glamorous body, but what else could she do? Speaking of bloomers, Evelyn spent much of her day in discomfort as her undergarments grew tighter and tighter around her swelling body. She was thankful that none of her dresses displayed how wide her hips had become or how thick her chafing thighs were, but that did nothing to alleviate the pinch in her clothes. Archie provided her with a good few clothing items, but no matter what, they always seemed to be a touch too small, and she was not about to ask him for more if she could help it. The heiress resolved herself to holding out until she actually popped a seam or three, for she wanted nothing to do with her former paramour and current kidnapper. Speak of the devil, Archie appeared in the doorway while combing his oily hair back. He told Evelyn, “I’m off to town to do a little selling and trading, my dear. I shall try to be back by dinner, but if not, please do not wait on my accord.” She would not have waited for him even if he had been around, so powerful had her appetite become, but she still nodded in reply. Evelyn finished up the last of the macarons and asked, “Archie, how can you afford this life? I’ve seen the wares you peddle, and there’s no way you can sell enough of that snake oil to live like this.” There was a flicker of something dark in Archie’s eyes, and for a brief moment, Evelyn felt her blood run cold. As sudden as it came, it passed just as fast and was replaced with his showman charm. “Soon enough, darling Evelyn. If we are to spend the rest of our lives together, it won’t do to keep any secrets from each other—but all in time.” Before he left, Archie blew her a kiss, which she used to find cute but now simply nauseated her. Evelyn played along with the gesture and acted like it landed on her cheek; once he was gone, she wiped her cheek and tossed away the offending kiss. The saccharine displays made her sick to her stomach, to the point that she almost wished he were out-and-out cruel—then she would not have to put up with his gentlemanly charade. Of course, her greatest wish would be to escape this prison, but that was not happening any time soon. Left to her own devices once more, Evelyn looked out across the sprawling ranch and found her gaze settling on the far stables. Now and then, if she kept her ear peeled, she swore that she could hear noises coming from within that did not sound like any animal she knew. Archie was a lavish man and could likely afford exotic creatures from far off lands, but she could not imagine anything sounding quite like the things in the stables. They were almost human, like someone pretending to be a cow or a chicken for a game, but there was no way that was the case…right? “Calm yourself, Evelyn,” the plump heiress told herself after giving herself a light slap on the cheek. “You’re letting yourself get all worked up over nothing. Archie’s probably got himself something like an orangutan or elephant, that’s all; he’s crazy, but he wouldn’t be that crazy.” Still, despite reassuring herself, she could not shake the thought that there was something afoot in the stables. She had not been allowed anywhere near the building, and whenever Archie or the help talked about the ranch, they always left the little building alone. It warranted some investigating, but there were three things hampering Evelyn: she always had someone watching her or standing by her side, she was no sleuth, and, as she widened day by day, she was becoming cumbersome and awkward. Just the day before, she found that she now waddled like the mayor’s wife back home, and that woman was the fattest she had ever seen! As she rubbed her stomach through the fabric of her dress, Evelyn sighed and mumbled, “Beatrice, wherever you are, I hope you find your way here. Your fool of a sister needs help, before I wind up a character in those dime novels you love so much…” *** “I’ve read dime novels with a better plot than that, Esau,” Beatrice hissed at her prisoner after he finished spilling his guts to her. “I’ve heard a lot of tall tales in my day, but that takes the cake—either you’re still buzzed as a skunk, or you must think me a fool. Which is it?” “Neither, I swear,” Esau groaned as he looked up at his captor. The fight was long gone from his eyes, replaced only with dogged desperation and the resolve of a doomed man. “I’m a liar and a cad, but I could never make up something like this. If you don’t believe me, fine, but it’s the girl who will suffer for it.” That gave Beatrice pause. She was fixing to rescue Evelyn regardless of whatever was waiting at Higgins’s ranch and Esau’s story sounded like a load of bunk, but if it had the slightest bit of truth to it, then she needed to hasten her rescue. If anything should happen to that little chickadee, she could never live with the guilt. “Well, I suppose that settles it,” Beatrice decided as she hopped down from her rocky seat. She tipped her hat to Esau and strode back to her horse, shovel in hand. “Much obliged, Esau.” The buried bandit gazed blearily at the departing huntress and croaked, “Hey! Hey, I told you everything I know! You said that you’d dig me up if I answered your questions!” With a steely glint in her eye, the dark woman retorted, “I said that if I liked your answers, I would dig you up—and frankly, I don’t much care for them. I couldn’t let you go free in good conscience after everything you’ve done. No, I think I’ll leave you for the buzzards after all.” “Bastard! You’re the Devil—Lucifer himself!” Esau barked at Beatrice as she mounted her saddle. “You ain’t human!” The doomed man was still howling and cursing as Beatrice rode away, but her thoughts were no longer on Esau. She was already plotting out how best to approach the ranch: night would be best, as she might hide in the shadows, and she would need to sharpen her blades and fill her guns in case of a scrap. If she could get Evelyn out, they could share her horse until they got to the next town over—assuming she did not steal one of Higgins’s horses on the way out. There would be time enough for more planning, especially once she got a lay of the land; she just hoped that Evelyn was still safe. Though they did not share the same mother and were different as night and day, Beatrice and Evelyn had been close as can be once upon a time. It was a tragic set of events that separated them and drove Beatrice from her family, and not a day went by where they did not replay in her head. The train ride while her father was campaigning for governor, the clerk who attacked her and Evelyn, and the tumble from the train down a slope; the struggle to make it back to civilization, the battles against man and beast alike, and the hardening of her body and soul. Beatrice fought harder than any man she had ever known, only to get back to a world that feared her for what she had become—save for Evelyn, the only one who acted like nothing had changed. She had not been back home in five years, nor had she sent so much as a word to her father, but she always mailed Evelyn to talk of her journeys. Her sister was the last shred of her old life that she still clung to; if Beatrice ever lost her, there was no telling what she would do. All she knew was that if Higgins had hurt so much as a hair on her sister’s head, he would have Hell to pay… venusderuebens, ulvrik, Batman76 and 1 other 1 1 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted September 6, 2020 Author Share Posted September 6, 2020 ((And we're back with a special Saturday edition of Capes and Cuisines! Things are heating up in the Weird West, but just what lies in wait at the Higgins Ranch? You won't find any spoilers here, friend--you'll just have to read on to see what happens to Beatrice and Evelyn!)) WIDE, WIDE WEST, PART 3 As much as Beatrice wished to save her sister, she could not afford to run in blindly and risk getting both of them killed. She spent the next day and a half camped out in the hills outside Higgins’s ranch, studying the schedule of the workers, the rotation of the guards, and the layout of the farm. Every now and then, she caught glimpses of her quarry out and about, with the devilish doctor spending much of the day away from the ranch to ride into town. When he was at home, he would monitor his help, speak with the guards, and spend time in a structure on the far side of the plot, though what he did there was not her concern. What did concern her was the state of Evelyn, and the first time she spied her sister, she could not believe it was the same girl that all the boys had chased back home. Beatrice knew that her sister always had something of an appetite, but the watchful eye of her stepmother ensured that Evelyn maintained a healthy physique. Without the watchful eye of Margaret over her, the blonde had ballooned to the point that she resembled a sideshow fat woman in training. It was a good thing Beatrice got there when she did; any later, and Evelyn would have been too fat for her horse. The huntress tried to focus on the task at hand and made copious notes, but her telescope kept venturing back towards Evelyn, whether she was sat outside or up in her bedroom. Regardless of where she parked her ample backside, there was always someone on hand to bring her food—more food than Beatrice sometimes ate in a week. Watching Evelyn, it became quite clear how she had become so very fat in such a short amount of time, for she was mindlessly gobbling up food like a pig munches on whatever is placed in front of it. “Well, we’re going to change that,” Beatrice grimaced to herself after one observation found Evelyn eating herself into a slumber. “It’s a long ride home, and she won’t be eating like this again for a long, long time.” Finally, on the second night, Beatrice made her move. She rode down on her horse and kept to the south of the ranch, which had the least amount of guards and often went an hour or two without anyone passing by. Once she got as close as she could on her mount, she continued on foot and crept through the shadows, ears perked for any movement around her. When she heard someone approaching, she stole behind a nearby shed, crouched behind a barrel with knife in hand, and tensed her muscles like a puma in wait. Thankfully for the watchman, he only gave a cursory glance behind the shed before moving on with his patrol. Beatrice stole away once he gave her some distance, and she slinked through a cornfield like a serpent, taking every precaution to ensure not a single stalk moved with her. Once at the edge of the field, she dropped to the ground and waited as another guard trotted by on horseback. He cast his lantern light out over the rows of corn, but Beatrice’s coat was dark and dirty enough that it blended in perfectly with the soil. She held her breath for what felt an eternity before the guard carried along, at which point she took a deep gulp of air before pressing on. After another few near misses, she stole around to Evelyn’s window, where she reached the first big obstacle of her rescue. The room was on the second floor, and with a guard out front and dogs out back, there was no way she could sneak in the doors. She would need to get up to the window and let herself in, but she could not simply bring a ladder over—she would need to climb. Thankfully, there was a chimney built close to the window, and the stones left enough room for her to get a grip. It would not be the easiest trick to pull off, but Beatrice had been through worse. The huntress took her time scaling the chimney, climbing up inch by inch without making a sound. Finally, she was adjacent to the window and, with one great reach, she was able to grab hold of the sill and pull herself across. Beatrice peered in through the glass and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her rotund sister sleeping peacefully in a bed almost as luxurious as the one back home. She tried her hand at lifting the window and found it opened with ease. “Dammit, Evelyn, how many times have I told you to lock your window?” Beatrice grumbled to herself. “This is how you wind up in messes like this.” Once the window was open all the way, Beatrice slipped inside like a shadow personified, her lithe form giving her plenty of clearance. She crept silently across the room before stopping beside Evelyn and gently shaking her at the shoulder. In a hoarse voice, she whispered, “Evie…Evie, wake up.” Evelyn hummed as she was roused from slumber, “Mmm…Bea?” “It’s me, princess,” the huntress replied softly. “Rise and shine.” It took a moment for the drowsy girl to process what was happening, but as the gears in her brain began to turn, she lit up and wrapped her sister in a squishy hug. She whispered excitedly, “Bea, it really is you! Saints be praised—I thought I might never see you again!” Beatrice returned the hug, a small part of her mind nothing just how plush Evelyn had become, and told her, “You know that, come hell or high water, I would never stop trying to find you.” “My hero,” Evelyn cooed, tears of joy forming in her eyes as a grin spread across her chubby cheeks. “I can never thank you enough for this, Bea. When we get back home, I shall be sure to give you whatever you want.” “Well, you can start when I get you out of here,” the shadowy woman told the blonde. “Do you have an easy way of getting out of here?” Evelyn’s curly hair bounced as she shook her head. “No—Archie has a nightman that waits in the hall, not to mention the guards all around the outside. The only way out is yonder window, but I don’t know if that will work anymore.” Beatrice winced when she realized how right her sister was. If Evelyn were the same size she was when she left town, she would have easily fit through the window, but the heiress was almost twice the woman she used to be. There was no way she was getting out of that window with any ease—not unless she raided the larder for butter. Still, she could not afford to give up when she had gotten this far, and Beatrice Thorne was never one to back down from a challenge. “What, that?” Beatrice asked as she gestured back to the window. “Shucks, I could fit two of you through that thing, easily.” Evelyn, however, remained unconvinced. She put a hand on her flabby belly and pressed in on the spongy flesh, finding that there was some give but not much. If her gut was this unmanageable, she could only imagine what her birthing hips would be like in trying to clear the threshold. With a dejected sigh, she told her sister, “Beatrice, I am far too fat for that window. I fear that Archie has me right where he wants me; I am too fat to run, even if I were left alone. Just ride back to town and gather a posse or whatever it is you do when you need help.” “I’ve never needed help before and I don’t need it now,” Beatrice scoffed, “and neither do you. I need you to reach deep inside yourself and dig up some of that moxie I know that you have, baby sister, because I am not going to leave here without you.” The downtrodden girl looked into her sister’s eye and softened when she saw the care and compassion that lay inside. She could kick herself for being so weak-willed in the face of salvation; to turn down Beatrice’s rescue would be the most selfish thing she ever did. Puffing up her chest with determination, the heiress slipped out of bed and put her hands on her bloated hips. “You’re right, Beatrice! No more feeling sorry for myself—now’s the time for action,” Evelyn decided. “So, how shall we do this? It’s my first time pulling off a daring escape such as this!” Beatrice led her sister over to the window and pointed to the chimney as she explained, “We shall crawl out, feet first, and make our way over to the chimney there. Grab ahold of the rocks and clamber on down as if you were a squirrel, and then we shall make our way through the cornfield until we make it to the fences. After that, we shall take my horse and head back to town.” The heiress nodded along with the plan before a thought dawned on her and she remarked, “I can’t be seen in town like this! I’m in my nightgown—whatever shall people think?” “That you went riding in your sleep, ninny,” Beatrice grunted as she began to slide out the window. “We do not have the time for you to gussy up, Evie—either we leave now, or we don’t leave at all. Choice is yours, but I know what I’d take.” Despite her wish to always look her best, Evelyn knew that her sister was right; she could not afford to spend one more day in Archie’s clutches. She watched Beatrice make her way down the side of the house and silently marveled at the woman’s prowess for, though she had always been gifted with athleticism, Bea had become something completely different after the accident. Evelyn had heard tales of how Natives would eat the hearts of animals to gain their strength, and she often wondered if that was how Beatrice had survived as long as she had. Once the huntress reached the ground, she glanced up to her sister and waved for her to follow. Evelyn nodded and hoisted one of her fat legs up and out the window before doing the same with the other, at which point she was sitting on the sill. She slid further out little by little, but just before she reached the point where she could turn around, she felt her hips bump into the window frame. Confused, she pulled back into the room before trying again, only to find her thick saddlebags scraping up against the frame again. “Oh no,” Evelyn whimpered to herself as she tried again and again, meeting wooden resistance each time. “No, no, this cannot be. Am I truly so fat I cannot get halfway out this confounded window?” “Evie, just wiggle like a worm!” Beatrice hissed up to her. “Hurry up!” “I’m trying!” the blonde quietly called back, her hips wriggling around in a desperate attempt to dislodge themselves. She cursed herself for allowing herself to grow so corpulent that Archie’s house had become a perfect prison. If ever she made it out of this nightmare, she would starve herself until she was as slender as her sister. Her friends would mock her relentlessly when she made it back home, but that would be a small price for her freedom; she would take a lifetime of ridicule if it meant never having to see Archie Higgins’s face again. After a painful eternity, Evelyn felt herself slip free of their wooden confines, but an instant later, she was met with further resistance when the frame bit into her belly rolls. Her flabby cheeks were red with embarrassment and frustration as her struggle was renewed, and she pushed with all her might to free herself. Unlike before, where she could wiggle her hips from side to side to work herself free, there was no such give in her gelatinous gut—the butter-soft pudge refusing to yield. She gritted her teeth and gave one mighty push, but all that happened was a tear formed in her skintight drawers. The sound was not lost on Beatrice, who gawked at her sister and asked, “Was that what I thought it was? Did you split your pants?” “No, shut up! You split your pants!” Evelyn seethed as she turned redder than a tomato. “Goddammit, Evie,” the huntress grumbled. “I don’t care if you have to tear up your entire nightie—get your fat rump down here before I leave you dangling there!” The thought of being left in such a state for anyone to find, much less her sinister suitor, gave Evelyn all the strength she needed to bust free. She sucked in her stomach as best she could, pushed until red marks formed along her sides, and unstuck herself from the window frame. The heiress was victorious, though it was a short-lived victory, for the sill could take no more of her antics and cracked under her weight. Evelyn tumbled off the broken sill and plummeted like a fat turkey, only for Beatrice to catch her before she hit the ground. “I thought I said to grab the chimney,” the shadowy woman grunted as every muscle strained to carry her Holstein sister. “Well, this was faster,” Evelyn contested, the only thing she could do to mask her humiliation. As Beatrice set her on her feet, the bloated blonde asked, “How in God’s name did you catch me and not keel over right away?” Beatrice leaned back and cracked the joints in her spine before answering, “You’re looking at a woman that’s fought grizzlies, gators, and mountain lions, baby sister. Compared to them, you’re lighter than a tumbleweed. Now, let’s get you to the horse.” The sisters stealthily made their way across the ranch yard and nearly reached the cornfield before Evelyn stopped Beatrice and pointed to the mysterious stables. She told the huntress, “Bea, wait—before we go, we need to see what’s in them stables.” “The hell we do,” Beatrice retorted. “We’re halfway home, and you want to look at horses?” “I don’t know what Archie has in there, but it ain’t horses,” Evelyn murmured. “I’ve not been in there in all this time, but he goes in there plenty—half the day, sometimes. Sometimes, I’ll hear noises coming from there, and they’re not natural, sister; no animal on this green Earth could make such sounds. There could be other people in far worse trouble than me, Bea, and we must help them if such is the case.” Of all the times for her sister to become a bleeding heart. Beatrice recalled what Esau Culpepper had said about the work Doc Higgins carried on, and it seemed his words were truthful. That only meant she needed to hasten their flight from the ranch, lest she and her sister get swept up in the dreadful machinations of the doctor. “Evie, I don’t give a damn about whatever’s going on in that shed,” Beatrice told her sister in a frigid tone. “The only thing that matters is getting you home safe.” Evelyn shook her head and scowled at the shadowy woman as she retorted, “If my safety means other people must die, then I shall have to remain in harm’s way until you help. I shall not take another step unless it is to that stable, Bea, and that’s final.” Beatrice gritted her teeth and clenched her fists tight, but there was nothing she could do—once Evelyn set her mind to something, there was no changing it. If she were to force her sister to come with her, she would never hear the end of it; worse, Evelyn might never forgive her. Much as she would rather just throw her onto the horse and ride off, it would be better for everyone involved if she simply investigated the damned stables. “Fine, but stay close to me and do not make a sound,” Beatrice ordered Evelyn, who mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. They crept across to the stables, where a lone watchman sat out front—eyes closed, hat low, and leaned back in a chair. He would sleep a while longer, for Beatrice crept up to him and bashed him in the back of the head with the butt of her pistol. She waved for Evelyn to join her before stooping down to take a ring of keys from the guard’s belt. With keys in hand, she tested each of them on the large lock at the stable doors until one finally clicked, allowing them to open the door and head inside. That was a bad decision, for inside lay Evelyn’s worse fears and Beatrice’s confirmed rumors. There were a dozen stalls in all, and each stall had a person inside—mostly women, but there were one or two men that filled the ranks. The people were naked as the day they were born, but more than anything they were wildly obese; they were so big, they made Evelyn feel thin for the first time in weeks. The stalls themselves were filthy and filled with beds of hay, troughs, and buckets of water, but otherwise unfurnished. It was as if they were animals and not human beings, and given how fat some of them had become, Beatrice was not even sure there was a difference. “Jesus Christ,” the huntress whispered as she studied each of the captives. “What in the name of all that’s holy is this man doing?” Evelyn, blanched with terror, backed up against a wall and resisted every urge to scream at the sight. Of all the things she expected to see, she could never have imagined something quite so bizarre and twisted as this; she thought Archie was twisted before, but now she knew that he was truly sick. She thought she would find someone in need of help, but not a dozen people that looked too fat to walk, much less flee. How were she and Beatrice going to handle this? Unfortunately, they never got the chance to ask. One of the penned-in women stirred from her sleep and let out a deep, rolling, “Moooo!” Beatrice and Evelyn raced over to the offending woman, but the damage had been done. Two nearby guards raced over to the open stable and pointed their guns at the sisters. As she raised her hands and put them behind her head, Beatrice muttered an obscenity under her breath as thoughts of violence flew through her head… ulvrik, Batman76, flyer33 and 1 other 1 3 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted September 7, 2020 Share Posted September 7, 2020 Ok, now this is a seriously creepy villain Cyril Figgis 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Figgis Posted September 7, 2020 Author Share Posted September 7, 2020 5 minutes ago, Batman76 said: Ok, now this is a seriously creepy villain Since there aren't any memorable villains from Western comics, I decided to go big with this one. Batman76 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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