KABOOM
Like every loose racial that’d been shaken and fallen in Vergel’s home, both he and Spitfire were shaken by the thunderous impact resounding from outside, captured in a shockwave along the mare’s paunch like a spike in the Richter scale. Vergel clung to the other soul in the room out of fearful instinct as the blimp-like mare showed her own look of apprehension, but unlike the human’s uncertainty knew very well what was outside and to be very, very uncomfortable about it.
Spitfire inhaled loudly through her nose, releasing it back out through her mouth. “I guess introduction time is early.”
Stepping outside onto the front porch, the two joined every neighbor for a block in gawking at Vergel’s lawn at what’d shattered all the glass in their homes, a beacon of attention laid out on his front step on his most dreaded day since knowing the pony acquisition was in motion. Crated and other military rations were strewn about his property and being picked over by a platoon of some eighteen exasperated-looking Pegasi, the royally dressed ponies more pleased at the prospect of the end of their damned work shift than making sure their cargo wasn’t getting busted up any worse.
Not that their main cargo looked more eager to be there, even taking a challenge to Vergel’s title as the most miserable soul in town. A snap broke out from the axle of the chariot’s wheels, magically reinforced military-grade steel still warping and buckling under the strain of thirty tons worth of sapient pillowy fluff before completely disintegrating, the tremendous white pony’s makeshift audience still collectively jumping despite seeing for miles him tumbling down in front of Vergel’s home, summoning another pony-made earthquake.
The beluga of a pegasus was left a whole minute alone in a painful as it was to watch a circus act as painful as it was fascinating to witness of the stallion writhing and rolling along the grass to right himself up, left alone by his comrades and the gobsmacked humans in a hypnotic marathon of marshmallow-fluff blubber sloshing and undulating against itself, a surreal misery and pity that the greatest minds of human and pony creativity combined could not put to words or paint. Something the mortal mind couldn’t comprehend till it was jiggling about right in its own neighborhood, so when at an angel played its harp and the giant pony managed to roll upright, a third and final tremor resonating from Vergel’s house as his vastly oversized belly hammered down on the lawn, a veil of reality had been collectively pulled over everybody’s mind, leaving all memory of what’d happened lost to legend.
“Hrm.” Spitfire coughed, cursing both Vergel and herself before waddling up to the white pony whose snowy face was ablaze with red, looking so much that he wanted to be anywhere else in the world but was too paralyzed with humiliation to follow it through. Vergel lamented following Spitfire, but seeing her move closer to the other pony made him outright refuse, able to visualize how not only how this pony towered over her by five feet, but his stomach on its own completely outclassed her total form, the leviathanic globe of white flattening a massive circle of grass in front of his house as it avalanched almost totally naked from his gray ‘shirt,’ dubious to call it such as its ability to contain the twin hills formed by his pecs made it some surreal male imitation of a bra, a pit of chins formed in the collar where his soft pink eyes darted about fearfully, ears dropped over a full mane of scruffy purple hair.
“Hrrrrrm!” Spitfire grunted again, a lot less conspicuous about her anger to Vergel, who at least walked half the distance between he and them. “Always, Vergel, I can see you’ve acquainted yourself with our fellow guest, project jdsd-DFS-s.”
Project Vergel-wasn’t-even-going-to-bother-remembering-that sweated on top of his first layer of sweat, but put on the barest attempt of some semblance to a smile. “H...H-Hi.”
“Hey.” Vergel somehow said place of a no right to Spitfire, Him, and the powers that be.
When smiling looked like too much to do that the pony would break out crying, Spitfire pat him on the back. “Hey, JD, how about you go help the guys with your bags? We’ll catch up with you.”
“O-Okay, S-Spitfire...” He managed back, wailing off to find some sweet concealment, and in the act of doing so Vergel managed a stray glance at the binary set of moons that sat crammed in his pants, forged by some apparent witchcraft that kept them even clothed, if just skintight.
“...project?” Vergel parroted.
“Vergel,” Spitfire enunciated, clear at her refusal of a greeting, “Project jdsd-DFS-s is, or...maybe was an attempt at the world’s first genetically enhanced super soldier, but as you can see, it well...” she cricked her head toward her fellow Pegasus, “Modified him, at least. He can whistand bomb blasts, gunfire, energy shots, he’s perpetually hungry, can eat anything, will eat anything, and-“
“Hiya!”
“YIPE!!!”
Realizing how high-pitched his voice could be at a cursory glance to his left right into a direct blow to his personal space, not curtailed by the bubbly demure of the other mare’s face. Mere inches hung between his nose and the point of the gray pegasus’ muzzle, and yet the two shared an impossibility for eye contact, one of the mare’s topaz eyes glued to the ground as the other clung to the sky.
Past seven grueling seconds of awkward silence, Vergel let himself observe the mare’s body instead of her face, and while carrying a form nowhere near on par with the volume and height of the seismic stallion from before, still held an abundant roundness in the abdomen, still too small to reach the floor like Spitfire’s or Mr. Gibberish’, but held the musculature of a yoga ball that seemed like it’d keep its shape no matter how many kicks and punches it could receive. All balanced atop a pair of legs each weighing several hundred pounds, forged by the perfect ratios of fat and muscle to give her the ability to crush watermelons betwixt her thighs, perhaps several at a time.
Just as strong were her arms, boasted by the pair being thrown around his shoulders and against her chest, forcing an even higher-pitched squeak out of him as he went from zero to full body contact in a millisecond. There was a stray gasp of horror to your side as the wall-eyed whale held you nice and close, pulling her back up slightly so your feet could only kick with no ground to stay balanced.
Only when she was sure that he’d had a thorough enough grinding of her chin around the top of his head did she set him down, looking down to the frazzled human with one last smile before venturing off. Clothes wracked with wrinkles and his already bedridden hair tossed up even worse, the sun burning against his skin felt like it was caused by all the eyes on him, and with so much luggage still left on his lawn to pick up, getting inside meant grabbing the first bag. Fancying a red plastic case left astray on his front walk, Vergel sighed in annoyance and-
“NO!!!”
The sound of Spitfire’s voice hit him like a physical force. Not just the fact that it was the sheer volume in that word, but the pure, unadulterated fear weaved into it.
Arms out, eyes bugged out in terror and her jaw still caught open, Spitfire shook herself straight, almost surprised with her own actions, then waddled up to you and pushed you away from the offending case.
“Don’t-“ She started, choking, then continued. “Do. Not. Ever touch that case. Ever.”
“W-What...” That was almost all of Vergel’s sentence until her kept asking,” “W-What is it?!”
“That was agent 8654794.” She Pointed to the door where the gray mare had entered you home, then to the red box “If you believe me after seeing her eyes, she’s one of...no, the most top elite soldier, fighter, assassin, sniper, interrogator, all around really good mare at making people wish she’d only killed them.”
Vergel scuffled away from the case like it had a dirty nuke in there, assuming it wasn’t. Assuming it was better than that! Weapons? Torture instruments? The trophies of her victims? “...and that?!””
“That’s her muffin stash.”
Choice 1: Suddenly, Vergel (as well as everybody on the block) hears jdsdDFSs‘ stomach rumbling...
Choice 2: The two suddenly hear a loud crashing as jdsdDFSs tries to enter Vergel’s home!
Choice 3: Something happens to the muffin stash...
Like every loose racial that’d been shaken and fallen in Vergel’s home, both he and Spitfire were shaken by the thunderous impact resounding from outside, captured in a shockwave along the mare’s paunch like a spike in the Richter scale. Vergel clung to the other soul in the room out of fearful instinct as the blimp-like mare showed her own look of apprehension, but unlike the human’s uncertainty knew very well what was outside and to be very, very uncomfortable about it.
Spitfire inhaled loudly through her nose, releasing it back out through her mouth. “I guess introduction time is early.”
Stepping outside onto the front porch, the two joined every neighbor for a block in gawking at Vergel’s lawn at what’d shattered all the glass in their homes, a beacon of attention laid out on his front step on his most dreaded day since knowing the pony acquisition was in motion. Crated and other military rations were strewn about his property and being picked over by a platoon of some eighteen exasperated-looking Pegasi, the royally dressed ponies more pleased at the prospect of the end of their damned work shift than making sure their cargo wasn’t getting busted up any worse.
Not that their main cargo looked more eager to be there, even taking a challenge to Vergel’s title as the most miserable soul in town. A snap broke out from the axle of the chariot’s wheels, magically reinforced military-grade steel still warping and buckling under the strain of thirty tons worth of sapient pillowy fluff before completely disintegrating, the tremendous white pony’s makeshift audience still collectively jumping despite seeing for miles him tumbling down in front of Vergel’s home, summoning another pony-made earthquake.
The beluga of a pegasus was left a whole minute alone in a painful as it was to watch a circus act as painful as it was fascinating to witness of the stallion writhing and rolling along the grass to right himself up, left alone by his comrades and the gobsmacked humans in a hypnotic marathon of marshmallow-fluff blubber sloshing and undulating against itself, a surreal misery and pity that the greatest minds of human and pony creativity combined could not put to words or paint. Something the mortal mind couldn’t comprehend till it was jiggling about right in its own neighborhood, so when at an angel played its harp and the giant pony managed to roll upright, a third and final tremor resonating from Vergel’s house as his vastly oversized belly hammered down on the lawn, a veil of reality had been collectively pulled over everybody’s mind, leaving all memory of what’d happened lost to legend.
“Hrm.” Spitfire coughed, cursing both Vergel and herself before waddling up to the white pony whose snowy face was ablaze with red, looking so much that he wanted to be anywhere else in the world but was too paralyzed with humiliation to follow it through. Vergel lamented following Spitfire, but seeing her move closer to the other pony made him outright refuse, able to visualize how not only how this pony towered over her by five feet, but his stomach on its own completely outclassed her total form, the leviathanic globe of white flattening a massive circle of grass in front of his house as it avalanched almost totally naked from his gray ‘shirt,’ dubious to call it such as its ability to contain the twin hills formed by his pecs made it some surreal male imitation of a bra, a pit of chins formed in the collar where his soft pink eyes darted about fearfully, ears dropped over a full mane of scruffy purple hair.
“Hrrrrrm!” Spitfire grunted again, a lot less conspicuous about her anger to Vergel, who at least walked half the distance between he and them. “Always, Vergel, I can see you’ve acquainted yourself with our fellow guest, project jdsd-DFS-s.”
Project Vergel-wasn’t-even-going-to-bother-remembering-that sweated on top of his first layer of sweat, but put on the barest attempt of some semblance to a smile. “H...H-Hi.”
“Hey.” Vergel somehow said place of a no right to Spitfire, Him, and the powers that be.
When smiling looked like too much to do that the pony would break out crying, Spitfire pat him on the back. “Hey, JD, how about you go help the guys with your bags? We’ll catch up with you.”
“O-Okay, S-Spitfire...” He managed back, wailing off to find some sweet concealment, and in the act of doing so Vergel managed a stray glance at the binary set of moons that sat crammed in his pants, forged by some apparent witchcraft that kept them even clothed, if just skintight.
“...project?” Vergel parroted.
“Vergel,” Spitfire enunciated, clear at her refusal of a greeting, “Project jdsd-DFS-s is, or...maybe was an attempt at the world’s first genetically enhanced super soldier, but as you can see, it well...” she cricked her head toward her fellow Pegasus, “Modified him, at least. He can whistand bomb blasts, gunfire, energy shots, he’s perpetually hungry, can eat anything, will eat anything, and-“
“Hiya!”
“YIPE!!!”
Realizing how high-pitched his voice could be at a cursory glance to his left right into a direct blow to his personal space, not curtailed by the bubbly demure of the other mare’s face. Mere inches hung between his nose and the point of the gray pegasus’ muzzle, and yet the two shared an impossibility for eye contact, one of the mare’s topaz eyes glued to the ground as the other clung to the sky.
Past seven grueling seconds of awkward silence, Vergel let himself observe the mare’s body instead of her face, and while carrying a form nowhere near on par with the volume and height of the seismic stallion from before, still held an abundant roundness in the abdomen, still too small to reach the floor like Spitfire’s or Mr. Gibberish’, but held the musculature of a yoga ball that seemed like it’d keep its shape no matter how many kicks and punches it could receive. All balanced atop a pair of legs each weighing several hundred pounds, forged by the perfect ratios of fat and muscle to give her the ability to crush watermelons betwixt her thighs, perhaps several at a time.
Just as strong were her arms, boasted by the pair being thrown around his shoulders and against her chest, forcing an even higher-pitched squeak out of him as he went from zero to full body contact in a millisecond. There was a stray gasp of horror to your side as the wall-eyed whale held you nice and close, pulling her back up slightly so your feet could only kick with no ground to stay balanced.
Only when she was sure that he’d had a thorough enough grinding of her chin around the top of his head did she set him down, looking down to the frazzled human with one last smile before venturing off. Clothes wracked with wrinkles and his already bedridden hair tossed up even worse, the sun burning against his skin felt like it was caused by all the eyes on him, and with so much luggage still left on his lawn to pick up, getting inside meant grabbing the first bag. Fancying a red plastic case left astray on his front walk, Vergel sighed in annoyance and-
“NO!!!”
The sound of Spitfire’s voice hit him like a physical force. Not just the fact that it was the sheer volume in that word, but the pure, unadulterated fear weaved into it.
Arms out, eyes bugged out in terror and her jaw still caught open, Spitfire shook herself straight, almost surprised with her own actions, then waddled up to you and pushed you away from the offending case.
“Don’t-“ She started, choking, then continued. “Do. Not. Ever touch that case. Ever.”
“W-What...” That was almost all of Vergel’s sentence until her kept asking,” “W-What is it?!”
“That was agent 8654794.” She Pointed to the door where the gray mare had entered you home, then to the red box “If you believe me after seeing her eyes, she’s one of...no, the most top elite soldier, fighter, assassin, sniper, interrogator, all around really good mare at making people wish she’d only killed them.”
Vergel scuffled away from the case like it had a dirty nuke in there, assuming it wasn’t. Assuming it was better than that! Weapons? Torture instruments? The trophies of her victims? “...and that?!””
“That’s her muffin stash.”
Choice 1: Suddenly, Vergel (as well as everybody on the block) hears jdsdDFSs‘ stomach rumbling...
Choice 2: The two suddenly hear a loud crashing as jdsdDFSs tries to enter Vergel’s home!
Choice 3: Something happens to the muffin stash...
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April 19
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