Perhaps some Grimsley prompts with like Marshal or Nanu? I imagine his gambling can net him some good meals, until he becomes one himself.
Love the choices for who to have interact with him. Ended up just writing a couple with him as pred though!
M.arashel grits his teeth with wide eyes as he stares at the hand laid out before him. He’s been wanting to get in a good match with G.rimsley for a while, but being that he’s both much stronger and has the type advantage, there was always some excuse to weasel out of playing against a stacked deck. M.arashel had finally caved and offered to do whatever game G.rimsley suggested…
It had been poker, and as M.arashel found out, he has a terrible poker face. Of course, he’d been too proud to just accept his defeat, so he kept asking for more rounds with bigger and bigger prizes until finally…
“Well, I think it’s about time I cashed out,” G.rimsley says with a thin smile. He stands up from the table, shuffling his cards back together.
“W-Wait, hold on, give me one more game! I know I’ve got this!” M.arashel demands. In all honesty, he could easily overpower G.rimsley if he really wanted to. But his pride wouldn’t allow it—he had to beat G.rimsley at the game. If he could just get one more game in…
“As much fun as it’s been, it’s always best that the game ends eventually.” G.rimsley walks around the table and stops at M.arashel’s side. “Besides, I’m rather famished. No hard feelings, M.arashel. For every winner, that has to be a loser…”
“I…” M.arashel can’t get the words out, his teeth grit tightly and his entire body tense. It makes his muscles bulge out and his mighty stature shake. A lithe hand gently rests on his shoulder and G.rimsley leans in closer. A swipe of the man’s tongue up the side of his face makes him tense and suck in a breath. He just knows that G.rimsley is enjoying this.
“…and for every predator, there has to be a prey,” G.rimsley adds, just as his jaws yawn open wide. M.arashel can’t look away from the pitch-black gullet before him. Appropriate, he thinks, for a Dark-type specialist. Even more so when those jaws finally lunge and his world goes dark.
G.rimsley grins wide, humming in approval around the head of his meal. He begins to gulp, hands moving to help ease M.arashel’s body into his jaws. It takes some effort to get those bulky shoulders wedged in, but once he manages that much, it’s rather smooth sailing. For his part, M.arashel is completely still, doing nothing to resist his fate as each thick gulp pulls him deeper and deeper toward an early tomb.
Once he’s past those large pecs and chiseled abs, G.rimsley begins to ease himself into the chair M.arashel had once been sitting in. He tips his head back, helping the man’s muscular legs up into the air so he can allow them to begin slipping down his gullet. His usually thin stomach is stretching obscenely, showing off a tight, detailed bulge of the beefy martial artist that’s being crammed inside. It must be incredibly uncomfortable…
M.arashel’s feet kick weakly as they sink down past G.rimsley’s lips. The gambler closes his eyes with a serene expression, keeping his jaws open as the last of his meal slurps down into the darkness of his gullet. A soft, content sigh escapes him and he feels the last of his winnings settle in the pit of his stomach. It’s soon interrupted by a deep, harsh belch that roars out of him and sends a slimy glove flying up into the air. It lands on the table with a wet splat.
G.rimsley slowly rubs over the taut bulge of M.arashel’s head, grinning from ear to ear. A bit of drool rubs down his chin but he doesn’t care to wipe it. He’s too busy enjoying the sensation of his engorged, pale stomach sitting before him between his legs.
“Thank you for such an exciting game,” G.rimsley says politely, rubbing over his stomach. “You were an excellent player.”
M.arashel can’t say anything. It’s taking all of his willpower to simply not go into a full-blown panic. So he sits there in the dank, tight, dark pit of G.rimsley’s stomach. Feeling the walls squeeze and churn over him, knowing that they will easily destroy his powerful body…his willpower is the only thing stopping him from snapping. If nothing else, he wanted to go down with his dignity
G.rimsley scoops up his cards to shuffle his deck together as his stomach churns and groans wetly. He has enough respect for M.arashel not to trade him anymore at this point. His stomach will be handling everything just fine from this point on anyway.
It’s a rough and messy process. G.rimsley’s tight stomach is constrictive and unkind, giving M.arashel little relief as he’s digested. His powerful body failing against the onslaught of digestion, the detailed bulges slowly losing their definition with time as he’s being smelted down. G.rimsley politely stifles belches into his fist as he plays a dividing game of solitaire to pass the time, giving M.arashel some privacy as he’s claimed.
Eventually, the man’s stomach rounds out with a wet churn and a final shudder of his meal. G.rimsley places the last cars down and stands up. His gut wobbles and sloshes wetly and a raunchy belch escapes him suddenly. The perfect game of solitaire is disturbed by a second glove splatting in the middle of it, scattering cards around. G.rimsley sighs and gently picks the glove up to put with the other.
“Best meal I’ve had in a while,” G.rimsley comments as he starts to scoop his cards up again. His guts burble and wobble, shrinking a little more. He knows from experience he’ll be back to his thin and trim build in no time. All that powerful, well-trained muscle providing little more than a meal and nothing else. The only proof of M.arashel’s existence will be the two gloves that came up…
And they’ll look very nice in G.rimsley’s chamber with the other trophies he has from various victories. Another harsh belch escapes G.rimsley as he begins to walk away, gut sloshing back and forth as it works hard. He’ll have to talk to A.lder about finding a new member of the E.lite Four. Although…with a swipe of his tongue over his lips, G.rimsley ponders if it might just be easier to offer a similar game to the champion. He has to wonder if the master plays better than the apprentice…
—
A.lola is such a beautiful region. It was a lovely place to spend some time, as G.rimsley decided while enjoying some time off. Why can’t a Dark type specialist like himself enjoy some ‘fun in the sun’, after all. Especially when his lovely S.harpedo seems to enjoy the warm sea waters so much.
Of course, he has come for another reason. He’d heard of N.anu, a fellow Dark-type specialist, and when there were so few to begin with, G.rimsley had simply been ecstatic to come and meet him properly. Sure, it seems like the office has his hands full with that whole Team Skull business, but G.rimsley hopes he can help the man unwind a bit…
A sudden belch escapes G.rimsley and he puts a hand to his mouth. “Oh, excuse me…” he murmurs to no one in particular. He reaches down with his other hand to rub over his stomach gently, feeling it shift and burble wetly. It hangs out of his kimono, basking in the warm sunlight on the beach.
Stuck inside, probably already half digested, is A.lola’s very own Dark-type specialist--N.anu. G.rimsley and the officer already have a bit of a rapport, and is the reason the E.lite Four member had come to this region. It had been mostly friendly, of course. But poor N.anu...he just can’t seem to step out of the shadows. Always sitting in that station of his, surrounded by M.eowth. G.rimsley couldn’t let such a thing just go on!
...well, N.anu isn’t getting all that much sunlight right now. If anything, it’s much, much darker where he is. Also, he might be a little digested right now. But isn’t that just the gamble you take? If he hadn’t been so difficult to get out there, maybe G.rimsley wouldn’t have taken such extreme measures. Another belch bubbles out of him, this one sending a shoe out of his jaws and plopping into the sand. G.rimsley sighs contently, rubbing over his gut. Does it look a little smaller? Well, in due time, it won’t be so ambiguous...
“If you had simply gone with me to the beach when I asked, I’m sure you would be enjoying the warmth of the sun rather than the warmth of my--” G.rimsley’s gut bulges from a sharp kick that makes his stomach slosh thickly, and another belch roars out of him. Well, at least he got the other shoe out after all. He rubs over his gut slowly now, giving it a few pats. Definitely looks smaller. “I did tell you that you’d be going no matter what...suppose that’s a gamble you lost on, hm?” He chuckles himself as he goes back to enjoying the tropical weather and the delicious food that’s come with it.