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Literature
Weekly Prompt POST-APOCALYPTIC
"Large ends for Mankind", said Dara.
"God no, much too gauche" Zola snapped
Should I even ask, thought Dara. They were still at least an hour away from the moon, captive to regular elevator groans. Not to mention, staring at the ceiling rust lost it's charm after her third trip. "Alright i'll give: what's a gosh" she asked, sighing under her breath.
"Dara darling, are all you Earth siders such rubes" Zola asked, almost betraying a genuine curiosity in her haughty tone.
"Only the ones fucked enough to have this job", Dara muttered amid Zola's pacing,   lecturing her on the finer points of culture. Feeling they were almost there, Dara once again tried for some common ground with her fickle partner. "Alright if you don't like my idea what do you think we should name it".
"Oh hush, who cares what we name the damned thing I got half a mind to"-  Zola was suddenly interrupted, as the elevator cab's momentum shift sent her flying.
I have to admit, sometimes this scrap box had its ch
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Literature
Weekly Prompt: Ships and Sailing
Far off the coast of Marseilles, the S.S. Beatrice cradled her grand white hull; steadying her frame in the wake of a promised storm. A few floors beneath the deck, her namesake followed suit; facing all together not too disparate conditions.
"My lady, you must attend your lunch arrangements, your parents were very insistent on your diet".
"Oh I know, I simply can't" sniffled Beatrice from underneath her blanket.
" My lady whatever could be the matter "said the maid . Cloaked under silk sheets Beatrice reached under her blouse flopping a plush purse of silk white fat.
“The storm” she squeaked.
“My lady your parents had this ship built to ensure their heir a comfortable diet regimen”."Be assured of the safety of you and your friends”.
“What about my best friend, Annabel she’s awfully frail " plead Beatrice.
"If it would please my lady i’ll personally attend to her". Moments later once sure she was rid of the maid, the Beatrice made her way
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Activity


"Large ends for Mankind", said Dara.

"God no, much too gauche" Zola snapped

Should I even ask, thought Dara. They were still at least an hour away from the moon, captive to regular elevator groans. Not to mention, staring at the ceiling rust lost it's charm after her third trip. "Alright i'll give: what's a gosh" she asked, sighing under her breath.

"Dara darling, are all you Earth siders such rubes" Zola asked, almost betraying a genuine curiosity in her haughty tone.

"Only the ones fucked enough to have this job", Dara muttered amid Zola's pacing,   lecturing her on the finer points of culture. Feeling they were almost there, Dara once again tried for some common ground with her fickle partner. "Alright if you don't like my idea what do you think we should name it".

"Oh hush, who cares what we name the damned thing I got half a mind to"-  Zola was suddenly interrupted, as the elevator cab's momentum shift sent her flying.

I have to admit, sometimes this scrap box had its charms thought Dara; her uppity compatriot railing at the impertinent machine behind her.

Dragging her charge through the lunar atrium, it occurred to Dara how embarrassing this would look if anyone was actually there to see. On reaching the front desk Zola tensed her eyes meeting the sleeping employee behind it.

"Dar you don't think she's-"

"Infected? No honey just fat" chimed the receptionist, her sudden arousal a testament to Dara's working theory; there wasn't a sleep deep enough, to stand the prick of Zola's voice.

While the office woman tucked a bulb shaped waist pressed against where her shirt met her skirt top, it was nowhere near the level of being genogen symptomatic. Brushing off Zola's false sense of alarm, Dara gave her usual apologies, for her better half's untactful disposition. After signing them in, she bee lined for the door, dreaming of when she wouldn't have to play diplomat to Zola's colorful persona.

"Oh come on, don't tell  me you didn't think the same thing" Zola yipped in her defense

"By now you'd think you'd be able to tell the difference" Dara shot back, exasperated.

Zola shrugged, "I'm more of a big picture girl"

Yea that's what i'm counting, Dara thought as they entered the main hall of the Lunar Palliation Center.

Great globes of grey steadily glid through a still framed space, the orbs gradual turn revealed a craterous underside of...cellulite?

“Wild isn’t it, you never really get used to it”, Zola said noticing her friend’s shock.

They both stopped and stared through the glass entrancing in astonishment at the bloated women expenses.

“You the camera people,” asked a voice from behind them.

Spinning around they faced a stout flight suit with the words: Zero G Genogene Treatment Staff, printed in front. Pulled from their shared moment, they could only nod. Confirming their identity the man motioned for them to follow out the viewing area through a series of hallways.

“Why do you shave their head” Dara asked, hurrying to keep pace with the fully covered hospice worker.

“We don’t, happens naturally after the bloating. Our docs think it's a side effect of some Senustrogin or whatever”

“You mean xenoestrogen?” Dara corrected

“Yea that’s probably it”, the worker replied absent minded, focused on a blinking tablet.

“I thought that theory was debunked”, Zola interjected

At this he looked up and turned to face the the girls. “Alright listen, right now we know about as much as the stooges back home do. We would know more except for the fact we grind to a halt every time a pair of kids want to play news reporter”.

“We aren’t dying to be here either bub so scram and get us some interviews for both our sake” Zola snapped back

At this the man snickered, “Interviews? If that’s what you came for you’ll have better luck making a barnyard sounds compilation, about the only thing these butterballs can manage is a moo”. With that he led them into the staff dormitory and left them to consider the the weight of what he just said.

“What are we going to do now interviews were our main segment” Zola said flinging her pillow in frustration. But Dara didn’t answer her thoughts were on the people of Earth, shuffling below completely unaware of what loomed above their heads.
Far off the coast of Marseilles, the S.S. Beatrice cradled her grand white hull; steadying her frame in the wake of a promised storm. A few floors beneath the deck, her namesake followed suit; facing all together not too disparate conditions.

"My lady, you must attend your lunch arrangements, your parents were very insistent on your diet".

"Oh I know, I simply can't" sniffled Beatrice from underneath her blanket.

" My lady whatever could be the matter "said the maid . Cloaked under silk sheets Beatrice reached under her blouse flopping a plush purse of silk white fat.

“The storm” she squeaked.

“My lady your parents had this ship built to ensure their heir a comfortable diet regimen”."Be assured of the safety of you and your friends”.

“What about my best friend, Annabel she’s awfully frail " plead Beatrice.

"If it would please my lady i’ll personally attend to her". Moments later once sure she was rid of the maid, the Beatrice made her way towards the supply quarters treading waves of vivid plans and a ravenous appetite.

An oak door, was all that anchored a vast locker of refrigerated shelves stocked with an array of pastries out of Beatrice’s grasp. They were harbored for an end of cruise celebration but this would prove an ill-fated voyage for the sweets.

"Oy lassie".

Right on time thought Beatrice.

"If it ain't my favorite silver spooned sweetlin" said the auburn haired woman.

"Hello ma'am, would you mind helping me" Beatrice said motioning towards the door.

"Oh I don't know that I should little missie... but if the young Missus Pellam would allow me a lil’ emergency snack maybe in all me storm preparin’ I forget the door behind me..." the woman said patting a jutting gut. The only daughter of a thriving business tycoon Beatrice knew all too well: never hire someone you can't bribe.

The first wave of dough met Beatrice's cheeks oozing thick drops of cream down a burgeoning double chin. Fistful of cake mass were shoveled into her cushioned snout as the once dessert marooned girl met her beloved sweets. Mouthfuls of cheese cakes and sugar glazed breading melted into full and honeyed taste. Suddenly the room swayed ebbing her sugar rush, and rousing her eyes under a frosting laddered face. Looking down to find the rest of her gushing out from under her blouse she consoled her squirming midriff, easing out a deep belch. Again the room shook, pushing Beatrice to sit up, her doughy thighs pouring against the cold floor. Realizing what was happening, she mobilized with a considerable effort: the storm was here.

Every mogul needs a rival and Catherine Mundelein was anything but that, as far as Beatrice was concerned. An amorphous pyramid of overlapping folds she was at least three times Beatrice's weight and relied on an infallibly loyal attendant. There was no doubt she was immobile now but her lifelong commitment to being sedentary was in effect even at half her size . Beatrice was reminded of their past days of play dates when Catherine would shake her drooping fat until her mother met her whims. It was everything that Beatrice couldn't stand; whereas she would cut deals for what she wanted Catherine was content to throw fits. Today was different however whether Catherine knew it or not from onto of her wheelchair, a rising tide lifts all ships.

Beatrice ducked and weaved through the ship's hallways intent to not be seen with the smeared remains of her pastry binge on her person. Eventually coming upon Catherine's room right as the ship's head nutritionist finished her daily consultation. Beatrice wasn't sure but she could almost make out a profoundly dispirited look in his eye as he left.

"Dearest Catherine it's been too long you look smashing" Beatrice coaxed with a nod towards her assistant.

"Beatrice... is that frosting" huffed Catherine totally indifferent to the impeding squall.

"Why it is Catherine but before I tell you about that, all this weather has put me in the mood for a spot of chips."I don't suppose you would know anything about that".

Beatrice lay in her room happily snacking away at the bag of potato chips from Catherine's secret stash.In spite of her weight she had made it back to her cabin long before the call was made to lock down and brace for the weather. But not before making sure the ship staff noticed a certain ellipse shaped girl pilfering the confectionery supply whilst on their last security sweep. That reminded Beatrice, where her maid get off to?  She wondered if perhaps  she was still searching for that made up friend of hers. Regardless Beatrice knew they would both understand, it was just business.

Leadership demands hard decisions in a disaster, in turn you earn delicious success Beatrice said to herself with a hand on her distended belly.

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:iconsmileofworlds:
SmileOfWorlds Featured By Owner Jun 19, 2017
Thank you for W, good sir.
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:iconpressurizedpleasure:
PressurizedPleasure Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the :+devwatch:
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:iconbamboo-ale:
Bamboo-Ale Featured By Owner Mar 25, 2016  Student Digital Artist
Thanks for watching!
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:iconabomasno:
Abomasno Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2016  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Okay you get brownie points with me because of that there Abra, but awh thankee kindly for the Watch! It warms me heart, it does! Makes me smile too! C:
'Tis much appreciated!
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:iconowlizard:
owlizard Featured By Owner May 31, 2015  Professional Digital Artist
thx for the watch :3
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:iconninguno69:
ninguno69 Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2015
thanks for the wach dear :heart:
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:iconhardcorecrocomire:
HardCoreCrocomire Featured By Owner Dec 6, 2014  Student General Artist
Thank you for the watch!
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:iconhotbento:
hotbento Featured By Owner Oct 1, 2014
Thanks for the fav! :iconsqueeeeplz:
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:iconunsocialjester:
UnsocialJester Featured By Owner Oct 3, 2014
np
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:iconknittedponcho:
KnittedPoncho Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks a bunch for the watch :D
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