Windhelm: Niranya’s Store
Niranya, never one to pass up a lucrative opportunity, was only too happy to figure out a method of acquiring cheap spriggan sap. The question, as Magnus had posed before bolting off to the castle, and promptly coming back to take one of her custom bras to enchant, was how. Somehow they, well she should just be saying “she” since Magnus was ultimately putting the task solely in her hands as of now, had to figure out how to tap this spriggan, repeatedly, without killing it. And at the same time, they had to keep it healthy enough to produce a worthwhile amount.
She took a deep breath. “Ok, here we go…”
Becoming so fat and, by the blessing/curse of fate, bust-tacular meant a lot more than just being glorious eye-candy for the men who came into her store, some of them for the express purpose of ogling. It also meant it was an absolute bitch to walk anywhere. She didn’t have nearly enough ballast in her butt to maintain balance, and so had to “walk” with her back tilted at a torturous angle to keep from pitching forward onto her face, or, more likely, face first onto her tits. It didn’t hurt so much. It was just embarrassing and difficult to get back up. She spent most of her time sitting, which probably only helped make her fatter. She didn’t mind at all, indeed it was rather nice. She was never cold for one, and that had been her biggest gripe with Windhelm. There weren’t really that many other benefits, other than the fact that she could eat whatever she damn well pleased without worrying over her figure. A trait she shared, if scuttlebutt was to be believed, with Vex over in Riften.
At length, accompanied by a painful creaking from her back, she rose. “Ok, ahhgh, let’s get a good look at you.”
She waddled over to the tied up spriggan, happily dropping to her flab-encrusted knees to relieve her back, and observed. The creature, she would just go ahead and call it “female” on account of the “breasts” for simplicity’s sake, was a long-legged humanoid thing that would stand a smidge taller than her if allowed to stand. It/she had a twisted mass of branches rising from her head, a somewhat comical mimicry of hair. The face, if she cared to call it that, was aesthetically fairly attractive, smooth, gentle features with full “lips.” The off-putting thing was the glowing green eyes as the thing stared at her. It reminded her of a child right now actually, the way it just feebly struggled against its bond at only rare intervals while clearly more perplexed by its situation. That comparison was a smidge saddening, but it was only a comparison.
Her stomach rumbled, which brought another appropriate question to mind. “How am I going to feed this thing?”
The spriggan offered no answer, only tilted its head at her slightly as if it were confused by her self-questioning. Go figure, the magical plant-thing that killed people on sight didn’t know how to talk. That was going to make this utterly wonderful.
She scowled, before her gaze drifted down towards the spriggan’s “feet,” which she could only just see past her bust. “Those look like roots. So, just treat it like a plant then? I suppose that makes sense.” She scowled doubly hard. “How in Oblivion am I supposed to do that? I’m not a gardener, and I’m sure not a farmer. I’m not built for either right now!”
The simple answer was that she could just pay someone to do it, but she was a stingy woman when it came to money. Any member of the Thieves’ Guild was by occupation. Her gluttony was generally the only thing that superseded her lust for coin. Just as she was about to attempt to get back to her seat the door opened, re-admitting Magnus the Dragonborn. Obligingly, he had her giant bra in one hand, held by the straps.
Magnus held the article of lingerie, one she had specifically ordered to be insubstantial and seductive, up. “One custom ‘magic bra,’ as requested. Once again, no one in town seems to care that I’m carting around a bra that you would think was made for a giant.” A thought seemed to pass through the Nord’s mind, which was immediately shared. “Actually, now that I think about it I’ve never seen a female giant. What gives? Do those things just pop out of holes in the snow?” The thought faded, and Magnus’s attention shifted back to her. “And another thing, why hadn’t I heard that mister Stormcloak himself had gotten married, to Rikke no less?”
She shrugged, internally wincing at the tortured sound that came from her current brassier, before answering. “Well, it only happened yesterday. So that’s probably why.” She grinned. “It was quite the affair, the wedding. Tongues were wagging like mad at the thought that Ulfric would marry a former Legion soldier. But Ulfric had some very strong words to say on that. My absolute favorite though, was this little bit he had when one of the soldiers questioned his choice in women, specifically her size. ‘On a cold Skyrim night, what would a true Nord rather have? Another blanket, or an ample Nord woman?’ Mystified that boy right there. Everyone else was mystified when Ulfric picked his new wife up and carried her into the Castle, bear indeed.”
The Dragonborn acquired a very impressed smirk. “Well, damn. I guess I feel happy to know that I’m not the only chubby chaser in Skyrim.”
She shot back, grinning salaciously. “But you ARE still the only single one.”
The smirk on the hero’s face vanished, replaced with an unamused glare. “Yeah, sure, thanks for reminding me.” The man lightly flung the enchanted bra at her. “Well, there you go. I guess I’ll be on my way then.”
She pouted, fluttering her eyelashes. “But, won’t you help me put it on? The girls are really, really heavy.”
Magnus stopped at the door, his head turning about as slowly as a rusty hinge, and was silent for a good minute before speaking. “…You’re actually serious.”
She grinned, doing her best to squish her tits together. “Of course.” She crooned. “You’ll get to touch them.”
Magnus just silently stared for a long time, blinking slowly, with a completely unreadable expression on his face. Eventually, he did speak. “You know, I really don’t know whether I should be singing the praise of Mara, or maybe Dibella, for my good fortune with women, or cursing them for the same.”
Genuinely surprised, her flirtatious attitude faltered. “You, don’t like the attention?”
Magnus gave her a lopsided, wan smile. “I’d probably enjoy it more if it weren’t coming from EVERY single woman in Skyrim. It’s getting a little ridiculous.”
Extremely disappointed, and not just because a refusal meant she would have to go without support for her titanic, mother of puns right there, chest for a long stretch of time, she pouted. “So, I take that as a no?”
Magnus rolled his eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me? Of course the answer is yes.” The Nord stepped forward and brazenly scooped her melons up, one in each hand. “Go on, set ‘em free.”
A wave of relief washed through her back, and she hesitated. “Can you just, hold them like that for a while? Maybe an hour? This feels really nice.”
Her response was a crass smirk. “Knock it off, you hopeless tart. You asked for this, and I’m giving it. Make the most of it.”
Relishing the moment for as long as she could, she reached one flabby arm up and to the base of her neck. And, with one small twist of her fingers, she set loose the landslide.
College of Winterhold: Hall of Elements
Brelyna was currently one very happy girlfriend. Her suggestion to have Onmund be the traveling teacher had worked quite well. The College had received a huge commission, or bribe if she were perfectly honest, and Onmund was on the fast track to being the next College Alteration Master. Herself, she was fat enough that she had to squeeze through ninety percent of the College doors, but she was plenty happy as it was. She had successfully bolstered Onmund’s budding career, and he had been overjoyed at the opportunity. She hadn’t told him that it had been her idea. That sounded too much like boasting for her taste. She’d rather just bask in the silent glow of her own self-satisfaction, and the frequent celebratory sex-capades, which were not silent at all. J’zargo actually complained about the noise, but she couldn’t decide whether that was due to the cat’s sensitive ears or, her volume. It was a little embarrassing the noises she made, but, so long as her parents never bothered to drop by and hear her, she could rest happily.
She herself was still taking lessons, of course. Perhaps she might wind up taking the place of the College Conjuration master one day? It was her greatest skill, now if she could just get the man to teach her those more advanced spells…
To her front, Faralda barked at her. “Brelyna? Now is not the time for daydreaming, dear.”
She snapped to attention as much as her nearly immobile body allowed. “Ye, yes ma’am!”
Even if she were adept at Conjuration, Destruction was fairly core to survival for a mage. You didn’t always have the time to summon something before a wild beast, or something undead, was clawing at your throat. Faralda had made that point a long time ago, insisting that all apprentices at least be able to competently cast the Adept level spells without too much strain. It was this exertion that was keeping her from becoming too fat to move, even with Feather support.
On the topic of fatness though, Faralda was certainly no slouch. The Altmer Destruction master was at least as heavy as she had been immediately after getting struck with J’zargo’s botched Overburden spell. At least five hundred pounds or heavier of hour-glass figure that still only left the Altmer the second-lightest in the College. Nirya had given up on any true pretense of authority, and semi-happily accepted immobility, at Faralda’s urging. She only knew that because, as the three fattest women in the region, they were all close enough that they frequently ate together, more so when Onmund was away in her case. That, oddly, left only Collette, the Restoration master. And she’d seen neither hide nor hair of that older woman in months. No one else really seemed to care, not even Magnus, though he as well had not been around recently.
She looked over at Faralda, halfway intent on asking about the Restoration teacher’s whereabouts, and paused to marvel. The elder Altmer could stand to get a new robe. The current one was tighter than could possibly be comfortable, and she knew a thing or two about tight clothing. Why just the other day she’d let out the seam in her pants, another foot, just so her enormous gut had something to rest in instead of on. If she hadn’t, the meal she had consumed only hours later, spiced horker steak with steamed vegetables and several cream pies, would have split the seams wide open. She wondered on occasion why she kept bothering with pants and boots. Nirya had forsaken them entirely. Faralda wore only a longer robe and some absolutely adorable little shoes. Maybe she should follow the example…
A loud popping/ripping sound caught her attention and her chubby face pivoted in the appropriate direction. Faralda’s robe had given up on her upper half, and had nearly exploded off of the older woman’s magnificently bulbous chest. To her credit, Faralda looked only perturbed by the situation instead of humiliated as her breasts wobbled around, seemingly reveling in their newfound freedom.
Another sound, a voice, cracked the awkward silence. “By the Nine…”
She looked in the appropriate direction, towards the outer ring of the Hall. Tolfdir was sitting there with an open book in his lap, a book that was currently having blood drip into it from the elder man’s nose. And then, with a loud cry of “HNNGH,” Tolfdir pitched forward onto the floor while clutching at his chest.
Serana leaned back in the castle’s large dining area, twirling the small vial she’d received from Magnus’s “friend” Vex between two fingers while slowly dragging her gaze around the interior. The Dragonborn had been right, those men had indeed arrived and cleaned up at a remarkable pace. The castle looked very nearly brand new, barring some exterior work that she had been told would require a few more materials. They’d be back in a few days, not at all perturbed by the fact that they were working on the home of a vampire. She supposed that was the power of coin, or Magnus’s word, whichever.
She honestly didn’t know what to do with herself though. She had found an undisturbed closet of blood potions, so she would be fine in terms of feeding for quite some time. But, what else? She supposed she had a great deal of history to catch up on, but she currently lacked the means to go about that. And she was not going to ask Magnus for anything more at this point. It had to stop, her being so utterly dependent on him. Although, in fairness to herself, the entire province seemed to be that way.
She supposed she could start poking through her mother’s old lab. The construction/clearing had opened up a simple walking path. She might even find a clue as to where her mother had gone to hide from her father. Although, again, that would only open her up to begging for more help from Magnus. She wasn’t in any shape to be waddling around on her own in any foreseeably dangerous environment. This cannonball gut of hers was starting to get incredibly intrusive. Magnus’s joking suggestion of slicing open her stomach to rid herself of the baggage was slowly gaining purchase in her thoughts, apart from the fact that it would hurt, A LOT. The other option, was that little vial she was fiddling with. The woman Vex had claimed it would get rid of her food baby, but she had never mentioned exactly how it would do that. It wasn’t exactly hard to figure out, given the seemingly inhuman girth of the other woman, which made the choices available to her very much the “lesser of two evils,” so to speak. Neither was technically evil, she was just very undecided on which one she should take.
She didn’t consider herself vain, at all. But she did have a rather strong aversion to becoming fat like those women back in Solitude. And she ESPECIALLY did not want to be as fat as Vex. And she was undead, she didn’t know if obesity was something she could reverse if she went with it. As for slicing herself open, she could very well kill herself by accident. Logically, the answer to her problems was pretty obvious. She just had to, stomach it.
She wanly spoke to the dead air of the castle. “That was a horrible pun, brain. I should be ashamed of myself for making it.”
A tired laugh escaped her, amused by her own dry humor. She supposed she was vain after all. She wouldn’t be so timid about this issue otherwise. If only she hadn’t been drawn into that one meal by the sad-puppy eyes of that damn Jarl Elisif. She wouldn’t have this problem.
She stood, bumping the table with her belly, and turned towards the room she was using to sleep in. If she was going to chug this damn tonic and, get fat, she didn’t want to watch it happen. She was going to sleep through it, and deal with the consequences when she woke up.
Aela the Huntress, at least that’s what she used to be called, sat out back of the mead hall and sullenly watched Vilkas testing a new recruit, some boy named Erik from Rorikstead. The whelp was decent, if she were being honest, even if his equipment was pretty shoddy for a “Slayer.” The kid even went so far as to say that Magnus had provided the coin to help him get his adventuring career started, from inn hand to hired sword. She personally felt it was a load of horse shit, even if that were easily the sort of thing the Harbinger did, just because.
As long as she was being honest, she might as well admit it to herself. She was sullen because the spot this whelp was filling was the one left by her inability to fight anymore. That other whelp, the formerly cowardly Nord, Torvar had gotten over his earlier inhibitions and was now rising to her spot in the Circle. To say she was irritated by that development was an understatement and a half. But as much as she hated it, she knew it was the best thing for the Companions and that softened the blow, if only a little.
Her eyes fell and one hand pinched the side of her gut, the product of Ria’s “friendship.” There was only the barest hint of muscle left beneath all of this fat, perhaps remaining specifically because of her stubbornness. But she was under no illusions, she was never going to be a warrior again. The gimp in her leg made that impossible. She could walk, and that was as good as it was going to get. A heavy ‘thunk’ drew her attention, and dourly reminded her of the other reason she would never be thin again.
Ria, as chipper and perky as ever, had dropped into the seat across the small table from her, seemingly oblivious to the shriek of agony the chair had just given. “Hello Aela, I brought some lunch. If you want to share it with me?”
She coolly informed the ex-whelp that she would be delighted, and grabbed exactly one plate with a large beef-steak on it. Ria, damn her unassailable enthusiasm, wouldn’t stop putting food in front of her. And she, damn herself, couldn’t stop herself from indulging. Someone had taught Ria VERY well, maybe the late Tilma, maybe someone else, she didn’t really care. At least there was meat now, which was a rather good plus.
Her gaze went back to Vilkas and the new recruit’s sparring, watching the two Nord men dance around each other, steel flashing in the light, sweat pouring from their brows. It filled her with a wistful longing, and a vicarious thrill. That was the only reason she was out here. She felt like an old, crippled warrior. And it gave her an uncomfortable insight to how Kodlak felt in his twilight days, afflicted with the rot, body betraying him. Hers wasn’t a situation nearly so dire, but it felt that way.
Vilkas and the new whelp finished, with a fairly loud, and impressed sounding declaration of acceptance from Vilkas. The senior Companion wiped his brow with a wrist and turned towards the mead hall, only to pause, and slightly smile. She would assume at the sight of Ria. The latter jumped up, how was beyond her, with a girlish squeal and sprinted, again, how was beyond her, over to Vilkas before throwing her flabby arms around the Nord’s shoulders. Vilkas was only able to partially return the gesture due to Ria’s bulk, but the man did give Ria’s wide, bulbous ass a quick grope, in tandem with a mischievous, lecherous smirk that she never thought she would see cross that face. Ria, for her part, only responded to the gesture with a mildly surprised gasp, and a coy, seductive grin. Both the former and the latter sickened her slightly.
Another shriek, this one nearly identical in sickening femininity, came from her far right. And when she turned her head to look she was met with the sight of an even larger woman, no, girl, practically smothering the new whelp in a pair of breasts that out-sized barrels. Her right eye started to twitch in disgust at the display, as she realized that this particular girl was the shop-keeper for the general store, the one that blob Ysolda had purchased. She didn’t know the name of the girl, but the one hugging the new whelp and Ria exchanged friendly waves as the latter waddled into Jorrvaskr, being led by a smiling Vilkas, so she would assume that they were close. Go figure.
Her thoughts were spoken, but not by her. “Disgusting isn’t it?”
She looked to the voice, finding Njada bluntly dropping into the seat Ria had abandoned, making it shriek just as much, if not more so. She hadn’t seen the only other female member of the Companions in a long time, not since Njada had gotten her arm broken by the giant and she figured out that she should distance herself from Magnus if she wanted to keep her figure. The intervening time had not been kind to Njada’s body. The other woman possessed a folded belly that completely filled her lap, drooping down over her knees, and reached out over bulging hips in a truly impressive, empirically, set of love handles. Njada’s thighs, currently barred to the world in all their wobbling, cellulite-riddled glory flowed down from a jury-rigged set of shorts, much like drumsticks on a cooked turkey, just vastly bigger. Njada was also, currently, not wearing shoes, showing off, of all things, fat ankles. Up top, Njada had hardly received any growth to her chest, it had only grown flabby and spread wider across the top fold of her belly. Neither had her face changed much, growing only a single extra chin for all her bulk. The largest growth above the waist, oddly, and perhaps ironically, was Njada’s arms. Each limb was so fat, so flabby, that they pushed out against the woman’s already impressive width to the point where she doubted Njada could touch any part of her own body. “Stone-arm” was now a completely historical title. She might have raised an eyebrow at the former Companion’s state of semi-undress, but it was a fairly warm day, and she could personally attest to finding herself significantly less cold after being fattened.
The other woman continued her short tirade. “Don’t you find it insulting that The Companions is now a boys-club? And they’ve all got those fat, lazy tarts to cheer them on.”
As disgruntled as she might be, this statement amused her a little. “Well, you don’t seem very close to changing that.”
Njada gave her a glare. “My arm was shattered. I’ll never wield a shield again.”
She responded instantly. “My leg is gimped. I can’t keep up with anyone on a street, let alone in a fight.”
A long silence fell as storm clouds broiled in Njada’s eyes. She knew the feeling well, still felt it. She’d just, sort of accepted it. What happened had happened. She’d grumble about it till the end of her days, but it’d happened.
The clouds fled Njada’s expression and the other Nord woman looked away for a moment. “I, damn it, you’re right. I’m sorry. I just, needed someone to vent to. I thought you’d feel the same way.”
She smiled, rather forlornly. “Oh, I do. I just do all of my grumbling internally.”
Njada scowled. “You make it sound so easy.”
Silence fell again, and a light breeze slid through, sweeping the delightful smell of the steak she had yet to inhale into her sensitive nose.
Njada, while lacking the werewolf-enhanced sense of smell, reached the same conclusion. “Damn Ria.” The other woman gave her a meaningful look. “You know she learned how to cook from that Saadia woman that cooks for the Bannered Mare? She puts so much butter and, everything, in these things…”
The complaint was noted. What Njada didn’t seem to realize, and probably lacked the senses to detect, was that Ria prepared markedly different meals depending on who was going to be eating them. Vilkas and any of the other hale men, Ria dropped the butter and fixings down to normal levels. But for any woman, Njada, herself; butter, sugar, lard, everything under the sun that fast-tracked a person towards obesity. She’d hate Ria for it, but it was all just so damn GOOD!
She looked down at the steak she had taken, which was still steaming merrily, and back to the tray Ria had brought out, which had more steaks and several of Ria’s seemingly obligatory pastries, and back to Njada. “Feel like helping me get through all of this? Ria will cry if we don’t, and that’ll just get us a tongue-lashing from Vilkas, Magnus if we’re unlucky.”
Njada shivered at the thought. “Who knew that bardic training made his tongue so, harsh.”
She assumed that Njada was talking about Magnus, what with “bard” and all. She would further assume that Njada had already received one of those verbal beat-downs.
The other woman stared at the waiting meal. “His tongue is sharper than any steel.” Njada looked at her plaintively. “I’m, I’m only going to help. I’m too fat as it is.”
Grimacing, she picked up the fork and knife that came with her plate. “Fine, but when I catch up with you, and I think we both know that I will at this rate, we start sharing equally.” She paused, knife resting on her steak as her eyes glanced at her meal-partner, specifically the other woman’s shirt-straining gut. “You might want to unbutton that shirt.”
Njada, who had gone right for the elderberry pie, paused and looked down at the mentioned article before looking back at her and scowling again. “Maybe, but I’m not the only one.”
She scowled back, but internally, as she forked a large chunk of meat into her maw. Njada wasn’t wrong, her outfit was quite tight, and liable to burst if the other woman kept to her promise of only “helping” with this veritable feast. Maybe she just didn’t like to admit to herself that she was in fact, that fat. But she was, she looked very much like a smaller Njada, minus the incredibly fat arms. The bulk that might have gone to her arms though, went straight to her hips. Even now the chair she sat in dug painfully into her sides, sides that flowed over and around the creaking wood, displaying her corpulence for any who cared to look. She was clothed though, fully, as opposed to Njada’s half-nakedness. Wearing an old dress that Ria had given to her. Which was mildly insulting in and of itself.
Five bites in, not even half-way through her first steak, she heard a rip. Silently groaning, she glanced down. Such an action was really only a formality though, to confirm the tear in the dress across her belly, a tear through which her fat was pushing with gusto. The relief of pressure on her midsection though, felt like a relief, which made her silently understand Njada’s choice to go about in less than full dress. Three bites later, and the tear only grew with each one.
She pushed back from the table and stood. “Damn it, that’s it!”
Njada looked up from her pie, a small smear of juice across her lips. “What’s ‘it?”
She bent over, only creating another great rent in the dress, across her entire, wide ass, and reached for the hem. “This dress, that’s what. The longer I wait the harder it’s going to be to get out of the damn thing. So, you’ve got the right idea of it. I’m taking it off now, rather than later when I can’t bend over to reach the bottom and even then can’t get it over my fat gut.”
Njada chewed slowly, slowing either because she had been reminded of the inevitable consequences of this gluttony or because she was distracted by the outburst. “You aren’t concerned that people are going to see how fat you’ve gotten?”
With a great deal of effort, and just about as much wriggling and jiggling, she lifted the dress over her head and dropped it, leaving her standing there in nothing but her, for once, taught, but not painfully so, underwear. “You don’t seem to be having that problem.”
Njada shrugged, swallowed, and just as quickly started on the second half of the first pie. “I have no one to impress. And you know I didn’t give a damn even before…” The other Nord grabbed a whole fistful of love-handle. “… All of this.”
She sat back down, cramming her too-wide hips into the violently protesting chair. “Fair enough. I still think you should…”
She would have reiterated her point to Njada about the shirt buttons, but the other woman’s paunch made the decision for the both of them by springing open on Njada’s first bite of the second half of elderberry pie. She would have just considered it an “I told you so” moment, if the button hadn’t pinged off of her forehead.
Njada stopped chewing, swallowed, and shot a look down at the steadily expanding gut pushing through the shirt before shooting her a mildly apologetic look. “Eh, sorry?”
Obligingly, Njada undid the next three buttons, freeing the majority of her pale gut. And, as if nothing had happened, went back to inhaling pie. Herself, she went right along with it, forking the rest of the steak into her mouth as fast as she could chew it. It was needed, she told herself, otherwise they’d be here all day. Or at least until dinner, when Ria would inevitably bring them both even MORE.
And they ate, silently. She took a pie next, a part of her jealously indignant about Njada hogging all of the sweetness. She ignored it when her belly started to touch the table in front of her. She continued to ignore it when her belly started to deform around the table, pressing against the rough wood more and more with each bite. She even managed to ignore it when her panties started to make stressed, tearing sounds, despite only being “taut” before this particular binge. She distracted herself by keeping an eye on Njada, primarily on the other woman’s growing gut, given their mutual predicament. At a certain point, somewhere at the fourth pie, Njada, whom seemed to have reached the point of fullness at which she had to start leaning back, reached down with both arms, defying her earlier assumptions, and scooped the lower fold of her belly out of the makeshift shorts. The other woman then let the gelatinous mass fall to her thighs with a loud slapping sound, which Njada completely ignored. After the next pie, her second, she imitated the gesture, at the very least abating the pressure on her tortured underwear. It felt almost, liberating. But, more practically it gave her more room to cram steak and pie into her maw without destroying what few clothes she had left. However long they would last.
It continued like that for a while, the both of them occasionally making small adjustments to either their seating or their diminishing wardrobes to accommodate the continued feasting. Njada turned her chair sideways to the table so she could still effectively reach things, finally moving to steak instead of pie. She again, mimicked the gesture after her fifth pie. Njada released all but the last button on her shirt, preserving only the modesty of her breasts. She had nothing left to doff, unless she felt like being a nudist all of a sudden. Finally, it came down to one last pie, snowberry if her nose told her true, sitting square in the middle of the table between them.
Njada looked long and hard at the last pie, lusting eyes contradicting the long, exhausted gasps coming from her mouth. “I, ugh, I think you should have it.” Displaying a shocking amount of manners, for once, Njada covered her mouth to muffle a great belch. “Remember, I’m, I’m only helping till you catch up.”
Exhausted herself, she wearily dragged the pie tin to her, not about to bother with a plate at this point. “Fine job with that, devouring very nearly half of the mess by yourself.”
Njada only gave her a sidelong, muted glare while massaging her greatly distended gut with both hands, and licking up the pie juices that had escaped her greedy maw.
Between bites, trying to ignore the mounting pressure around her body as this marathon of gluttony started to deposit itself, she spoke. “You know, I really think we both need to start thinking about what we’re going to do with ourselves.”
Njada’s feeble glare vanished, replaced by confusion. “What do you mean?”
She cleaned up half of the pie, mutely feeling the side of her panties snap. “I’m just being practical. Neither of us is in any shape to continue calling ourselves Companions. And I know that by sticking around I’m only being both a burden on Jorrvaskr and a slave to Ria’s endless cooking. I hate the former even more than the latter, if you believe it.”
The other woman looked off into space. “I, didn’t want to think about it. I’ve never been good at anything other than fighting so, I haven’t the foggiest idea where I would go or what I would do.”
She emptied the pie tin, dropping it to the table with a clang, while simultaneously noting that, for once, her bra actually felt a bit tight. “We could, if nothing else comes to mind…” She silently shuddered at the thought. “… We could, try to get work at the inn.”
Njada’s glare returned with a vengeance. “Are you insane? You think Ria’s making us fat, we’d be contenders for ‘fattest women in Whiterun’ in a month if we did that!”
She reflected the look. “You think I like the idea of being a tavern maid? Let’s see you come up with something better!”
Njada was silent, as she had known the other woman would be. For the both of them it seemed, continued growth was inevitable. Damned if they stayed, damned if they went.
Skyrim: Goldenglow Estate
Mjoll the Lioness glared into a mirror, rage and hate etched into every inch of her face. Violence and vengeance on her mind, she slammed a fist down on the letter she was writing. She wanted blood.