The belch was but a glimpse of the glutton buried underneath the facade of luxury and perfection Elizabeth seemed to exude. Her skin was flawless, so pristine that the sauces dripping off her fingers seemed to slide off as if she were porcelain. They left not a stain behind on her skin, what remnants that may stick around quickly sucked away by hungry lips.
What quickly grabbed her attention was seeing Ryukoâs own gorging spree. How could a human being eat with such disregard for public opinion? Sure, Elizabeth ate like a vacuum, but she had some degree of tact. This girl lacked that. No, she ate in rebellion of such ideals! To oppose societal norms. To dispose of predetermined ideals of manners and beauty. To set your own standards and pace through this world that seeks boring conformity! This blubbery gas bag of flesh was the antithesis of all things normal and acceptable. Elizabeth could see just how damp and oily the girl was, discarding hygiene and health. Every inch of the girl was burdened with pounds upon pounds of heart stopping lard, yet those dirty mitts continued to push in more and more as if hoping to add even more to the overwhelming mass that already exists. This rebellious spirit even fought on despite her bodyâs protests! Gasses of all sorts continued to spurt from the vagabond like a broken tailpipe, and the attendant could even hear sounds of discomfort. Yet those arms continued on to glut and grow.
Elizabeth went from merely intrigued to enamored and mesmerized. She hadnât seen such a rebellious soul sinceâŠwell, that was an event and a person she would rather leave behind. All of that life, she hoped to sweep under the rug and keep locked behind those velvet doors. Though, she could see this oneâs arcana falling upon the Fool. Perhaps the Chariot? Hard to say. Maybe she could find out in due time. The drifter may have seen it as mere gluttony or avarice, but Elizabeth could see through those bright eyes a soul that went against the current and challenged everything. Even if the answers at the end were merely for her own pleasure. Even that was more than the average human was willing to do. They diet, they abstain, they limit themselves, all for their public perceptions. Despite what they want in life, they simply hold back constantly. Not this girl.
What surprised her more was that it was Elizabeth herself that brought forth such a meeting. Such a rebellious soul brought here by her own need to consume? How flattering. It was enough to make her crack a more genuine smile. Well, if it was what made this girl arrive, then she wouldnât disappoint. While she didnât have the seemingly careless way of eating the vagrant did, the foundation was there. In order to eat her overburdened burgers or handful of chicken tenders, her mouth opened wide to its capacity and stuffed in what her cheeks could handle. It was all gone in a gulp until she repeated the process. Compared to Ryuko, her eating was more controlled yet equally voracious. The former attendant barely gave her tongue time to register the last flavor before another ran across her tongue. She was no longer eating for taste as she had before. She was eating to eat. For joy. Perhaps even pleasure, if it meant feeling a fraction of how Ryuko ultimately felt.
âBuy you dinner? Is that all? Consider it done. If it means I get to know your secrets, I will take care of all of your needs. In exchange, you keep nothing from me. As for MY information, I have my own request.â For this, Elizabeth crossed a dainty leg, lids half lowered with a lecherous stare that almost made her eyes seem as if they were glowing. Perhaps with interest, or perhaps with some sort of power. She wouldnât say. Either way, her gaze did not break despite the eye watering stench or the bursts of gas hitting her from across the table like a gust of summer air down wind from a dumpster. It all made Elizabeth happy to see. Every soaking inch of this girl screamed intrigue. She just had to see and know more.
âYou are absolutely disgusting. Filthy. Ravenous. Abhorrent! And I find that so very fascinating and intriguing. I believe you to have a rebellious soul. One that has sparked my interest. Iâll tell you all youâd like if you show me more of this. Perhaps even teach me so that I may also know the joys and pleasure you feel!â It would take nothing to influence this curious woman, naive and oblivious to the thoughts lurking in this slobâs mind. All she could see was the narrow path ahead. Sure, fate was a winding road, not a straight walk. But in times like these, Elizabeth was resolute to run head first into the consequences and worry about the aftermath later.
Her stomach began to gurgle, the puffy ball of food trying to digest the admittedly small amount of food sheâd eaten compared to the dumpster before her. Still, it caused a rather loud âHwwuuOOoorrRRRUUUPP!!â to rumble and shoot through delicate lips. She felt a pressure that caused her a small deal of pain through her stomach; fullness, as one would call it. If she was to become even half the being this filth ridden goddess was, such bodily functions had to be utterly ignored. Fullness would be disregarded. Pain would be interpreted as progress. The inevitable weight gain would be seen as a trophy. If only to experience the rebellious spirit sheâd gone her life assisting. No more. Now she would be the one experiencing life!
âIndeed. I am Elizabeth, a former attendant of the Velvet Room. I suppose now I am also some sort of drifter. I have no home at the moment, but I expect I shall procure one by nightâs end. I insist that you join me, master Ryuko.â It would seem that her dutiful side was still well intact, especially in the face of who she now considered her better. Ryuko was the embodiment of what the human spirit was capable of when going off the rails and challenging fate.
It was also entirely possible that Elizabeth was putting too much stock into a girl being too much of a lazy slob, but that was a conclusion sheâd never reach.
Kanto Drifter was the way she was for many reasons; some catalyst by the absence of guidance and routine in her life, others just another byproduct of her act-first-think-later nature. With willpower as fragile as glass and all the self-control of a rip current, losing her sculpted abs and scissor-sharp reflexes was inevitable. Matoiâs fate was a Day Zero thatâd been creeping up on her for years, an hourglass that dwindled with every skipped workout and Wcdonaldâs pigfest, each easily-overlooked grain tallying another handful of doughy centimetres on her button-conquering gut. Like the embers of a wildfire, her denial period was long and sombre, masking the frustrations of her puffing body and weakening punches the way she did for all her problems; petulant defiance and paper-thin excuses. There was no longer a need for the bashful insults, the diets, the self-loathing. Ryuko had little reason to fight anymore; forcing information out of leads was much easier with words, even if they were slurred into verbal mush from jelly-blob cheeks, and deepened by porkchop chins.
A fool in more than arcana, there was an ironic, almost comical tragedy to the downfall of her athleticism; sewing thread-infused weapon pumped full of power beyond the stars, engineered to be an ubermensch of human evolution...now spilling out of a grease-blotted tank and pigging down sliders in a town whoâs streets she couldnât pronounce the names of. Striking conversation with single-serving friends in the hope that she could learn what led them down the same path. The alien thread in her nerves was long past salvaging her butchered metabolism, uselessly swaying in her DNA as cholesterol-crusted deadweight and relegated to serve as her bodyâs personal calorie sponge. She and Elizabeth were two sides of the same coin, perfectly imperfect beings writing their own fate, leaving pipelines of chaos with every curious step. They had plenty to learn, and many mistakes to make, but in Ryukoâs view, risks and gambles were the thrills of the hunt.
Despite her disdain for authority, and the migraine that accompanied anything related to hierarchies and needless dichotomy, being referred to as âmasterâ ignited something deep, dark and shameful in her. Ryuko was hardly one for grovelling, but from Elizabethâs mouth, the genuineness and loyalty of it invoked her guiltiest of pleasures. While she saw the Velvet Room native as a worthy equal, a bizarro-world version of herself who had yet to be crushed by the anvil of hardship, that didnât mean she couldnât command for once; after all, she was more experienced.
âBruuRP! BRWAAARRP!! Aw man, I sound like some loserâs bio on a hookup site when ya say it like that...still, I...Iâm easily bribed, okay?! Just gimme companionship and a tray of wings, and Iâm yours.â She plopped a fry past slobbery lips and pouted, opting to slow her pace in favour of something more modest than earlierâs burger massacre. âSeriously, though? If all I gotta do is show ya what easy livinâ is like, then Iâm game. Yer on, Elizabeth~.â
If there was one thing to be said about Matois, it was that they didnât wait around. When they had a plan they were proactive, igniting it into action the moment the cogs in their brains clicked and whirled. Of course, Ryukoâs cause was less noble than her fatherâs, who dedicated the bulk of his life to solitary confinement in a shoebox lab, harvesting milfoil spindles of parasitic silly-string, but that neednât mean his daughter lacked the same fiery determination, rearing to show Elizabeth a taste of the good life. She was starting to abandon her preconceptions and humanise the attendant, less untouchable mystery woman, more fellow vagabond, a wayward soul to guide and nurture like she would a newly indoctrinated gang member. Unravelling her story, the person she was behind the esotericism and soul-swallowing eyes, was just a bonus.
âLetâs get this party started. Iâll holler over a waitress and order seconds. You ever tried soda? Itâs...hard to explain, itâs sweet like a shake, but bubbly. Tickles âyer throat and makes âyer gut do weird things. Weird things I think youâll get a helluva kick outta.â Ranting off like a food scientist, sheâd have sounded almost smart...had it not been for the burp-seasoned slur of her voice, waterboarded by rings of mushy neck blubber and hammering out in a wet, glutted warble. Unchewed dregs of lunch flung from bulgy lips between vines of spittle, scattering through the air in a wet cannonblast of pebbly crumbs. âIâll question the whole master shtick later...and why the hell it feels like you're dissectinâ my soul every time ya stare at me with them headlight eyes. For now, we gotta rip this menu apart like a julienne salad.â
It wasnât the only thing Ryuko ripped. A cramp shot through her abdomen like voltage down wires, and with zero hesitance, she relaxed the knotted ball of muscles in her bowels and let loose a monstrous, way overdue fartbaby. Screw inhibition, screw acting âproperâ. She needed this, Elizabeth needed to know how to do this, and damn, did it feel good.
Gas glorped and purred in Ryukoâs belly like boiling water, the calm before a level 5 ass storm. A *brrrmmmmt!* squealed from muffled cheeks, so gratingly squeaky it couldâve fooled anyone sheâd plopped her peach on a chew toy. Eyebrow-raising gurgles only grew more violent as the gasbomb of her buddha-belly continued to churn, and not unlike the surface of a high-pressure jacuzzi, poppy bubbles of methane rumbled against the hotboxed leather of her seat. It was incredibly taboo, but she couldnât free herself from the ever-tempting claws of a gutsy, satisfying, post-meal fart.
*prrrmmmmmmmhh....BRRRRRMMMMMMMMHHHP!!*
Indulgently, needily, Ryuko curled the palms of her pudge-insoled feet, not without lifting a barrel-sized thigh and tilting to her side with more nonchalance than a hothead had any right to. Dumpy glutes wobbled like flan on a plate, sending dune-shaped ripples across blobby, out-of-shape legs. Her skirt, a glorified bunting-strip of pleats that concealed absolutely nothing, took the brunt like a champ, billowing like flags in a gale while paintball spatters of sweat dripped down soggy panties, forming a greasy puddle in the crater her room-clearing cheeks imprinted in the booth. Like most of Ryukoâs flatulence, the crackling thunder that erupted from her custardy flanks let itself be known to the entire restaurant...through a rolling cumulonimbus cloud of mustardy smog that forced coughs and retches from the unlucky table caught in her assblast. With a noise like a blaring foghorn, and just as painfully loud, it shook Elizabethâs table to its foundations, the staticky rattle of Jenga-stacked dishes slowing into quiet submission as her gas crawled to a lazy, car-break sounding halt.
Hereâs praying Elizabethâs probably-not-human lungs had insane tolerance.
âOoof. Take notes, Liz; front door ainât the only vent you got. If your gutâs achinâ or ya canât eat another bite, just cut loose and rip one!â
