My part of a trade with  ghostbellies of Lund's encounter with a very large and stripy duke
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“Fah-...truly this will be the end of me…*hurk-*...the indignity!”

The bloated fool was nearly at wit’s end. The agonizing preparation for the coming royal tour was surely the most ludicrous thing ever asked of a royal servant this side of the cosmos, he’d ruminated on for days now.

The moonmare couldn’t speak from experience on what it felt like to be a pregnant mother housing an eightfold litter ready to burst forth, at least not to his recollection, but he certainly felt like a kindred soul to any such poor thing. Gut filled brim with wine, seltzer, and a bevy of scraps from the nobles’ breakfast table, he sprawled out on the floor of his chamber, weighed down by the mass of stomach atop him.

Several of the most affluent dukes of the nearby moons were poised to arrive on the morrow, and Lund’Ore, “jester-extraordinaire to the rrrrrrrRRRRoyal pains of the Solar Waltz~!” by his own joking description, had never felt less like performing. There was hardly a thing amongst the stars which could keep the fool from his daily routine for the court, assuming the rowdiest royal advisors hadn’t goaded him into some drunken amusement the night prior.

Normally, the arrival of special guests was a treat to Lund! A new batch of foibles to point out, a new set of eyes to enchant with his beguiling trickery; all in healthy amusement of course. Perhaps, “once in a blue moon-mare” as Lund would put it, he’d find himself tumbling into the private chambers of a noble or two and giving more exclusive shows of tomfoolery, hoping to procure a fancy trinket or two for his troubles. He found his usual approach to be quite fruitful, even if it stung to have a heavy wooden door swung shut on his snout by a furious countess seeking only their beauty rest. At least it gave him something to honk the next day, it always got a chuckle out of someone.

Lately though, he’d been positively dreading the occasion. “Time and time again, we’ve been raised up as the golden standard of luxury, decadence, and indulgence, and we SHANT be disappointing anyone!” King Addario had been fuming over the “impudence” of the court culinarians and their claims of “lacking the manpower for such an absurd level of work being demanded of them.” The King was quick to anger on this matter, ever since rumblings reached the court of some political concern. Royal spies had it on good authority that, in an attempt to slander the royals and exert their own influence over the Solar Waltz, the visiting duchy nobles would conspire to bring all their greediest and most insatiable subjects with them, disguising them as “advisors, assistants, jesters and the like.”

“If a King can not sate the appetites of a few guests, how can he be expected to supply the man moons of the Solar Waltz?”

In truth, the court had taken heed of the recommendations of their cooking staff, bolstering their forces tenfold above the norm. Whole harvests were brought from the stores of the finest crops in the land, and it was expected that little would remain afterwards. This was a matter of great severity to the nerve-wracked king for weeks on end, and everyone agreed they looked forward to being over and done with it all. Never one to pass up an opportunity to moan when inconvenienced, Lund had been grumbling up a storm with the rest of the servants, even though many would claim to take his place in a heartbeat.

While other servants never quite paid the office of “court idiot” the respect Lund felt it warranted, he knew full-well that this time he’d truly be earning his keep. He’d been specifically directed to make a show of the kingdom’s luxurious ways by stuffing himself like never before, all to outdo the ne'er-do-wells of the duchy’s entourage. “If even a fool can indulge like a royal in the court of the Solar Waltz, then surely all will thrive and prosper under us...yeesh!” The moonmare muttered to himself while remaining spread-eagle on the cobblestone, in a feeble attempt to distract from the pain in his overstretched gullet.

How was he expected to perform at his best when he was certain to split his pants -well- off-cue! He was meant to prance about and make merry while feeling like an overstuffed sausage-casing at all hours, “to expand his capacity to the greatest extent possible!” He’d already accrued a record count of bright-red stretchmarks across his bulging belly, he couldn’t fathom what it would look like after the show. He hadn’t even the time to come up with any new jokes, his attention was permanently fixed on simply keeping upright during his hourly feeding sessions. Only at night was he afforded the luxury of digesting in peace, and fortunately that was only one round of stuffing away.

After an agonizing wave of gut-grumbles subsided, Lund managed to roll to his side, and hefted himself off the cold-hard floor, using a leftover food cart for leverage he sorely needed. The azure fool with the throbbing midsection limped his way over to the comfort of his bed, and flumped over with a -THUD-, a puff of disturbed blankets. He’d never felt less like prancing, and yet he’d be expected to from dawn till dusk!

Just as he was finding a modicum of comfort in his humble quarters, he heard the clank-clank-clanking of trolley wheels against the uneven stonework beneath, surely hauling the next load of preparatory stuffing for the stout little turkey he’d become.

He pushed his snout into his pillow and cursed in sullen frustration.
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Fanfares filled the air with each guest’s arrival, and yet from within the castle walls only the shrillest of notes could pierce the hubbub of the servants within. Seemingly not a pair of paws was permitted a moment’s rest, and yet the work ahead remained mountainous. Though all were bustling, nothing could rival the clatter of pots and pans from within the enormous castle kitchen, which had temporarily extended past its usual boundaries to accommodate all the new help. Order was difficult to keep on a good day; today the head chefs could barely utter a sentence without needing to vent their frustrations at an unfortunate underling. This would be a feast remembered and recounted by all, it absolutely needed to be.

Contrary to all the servants running about like chickens fresh from the guillotine, a plump little clown was allowed a brief respite in his chambers. Lund had such a tumultuous night that he could hardly think in sentences, much less speak them if prompted, though at least everyone else was too busy to bother him. The clanking of carts outside had him flinching as they passed, slightly traumatized from the past week’s conditioning. While they were not being delivered directly from the kitchen to his chubby, bucktoothed face, he wondered how long he had before the food found its way to him again. Even with all his “training”, he somehow knew the real performance would be impossible to properly brace for.

The moonmare clutched at his gut from all directions in a superfluous attempt to quell its lingering rumbles, curling his toes around its undercarriage as it spread over his thighs. He could feel its latest features, forced upon it by servants stuffing him with royal scraps. Stretchmarks extended far past where he could see, past the crest of his bulbous belly and well into his lower regions. He’d normally be poring over every inch of his form, enamored with his reflection, but that would require stable footing and the will to haul himself over to the mirror. He’d taken on new heft in the past and still managed to go about his usual tumblings without much issue, but he was now certain he’d be pinned to the ground under his own gravity if and when he tried.

Seconds after the languishing fool found a position in bed adequate for dulling his discomfort, he was rudely alerted by a thunderous rapping at his chamber door. His eyes shot open, but then quickly fell back to their half-lidded place as he realized the dreaded time was nigh.

“Oy! The royal fatarse has been summoned by the court! Get’chureself up or we’ll be rolling ye in by force!”

Lund was yet again mortified by the uncouth sort of servant under the King’s employ…

“The nerve! -urp- The disrespect is immeasuuuAaAARRP-...able!” he sputtered towards the disturbance at his door

The immobilized clown tossed his head back and grimaced, knowing full-well he’d never live down a procession of guards hauling him to the court over their heads.

With no small amount of groaning, Lund pulled himself to his feet, stabilizing himself on a nearby chair. He side-eyed his frilled and sequined one-piece-outfit, made special by the court seamster for this momentous occasion. Silvery bells running their way up the side seams of a purple-and-gold feast for the eyes, with matching silver swirls running and weaving through the solid purple halves. With this delicate handiwork at risk, he dearly hoped they’d accounted for his newfound bulk in its creation, and that a fool’s belly bursting from his garb was in-line with the image the King sought to put forth.
As he trundled on, in his best attempt at scrambling over the ticking clock, his dread was becoming more material. The more of himself he poured into the motley attire, the more the brave threads would audibly strain in their attempts to hold back his protruding midsection. He could barely manage the one round back of his neck, but most of the ties in the back would have to remain open, the skin-tight suit already clinging tightly to his lanky yet thoroughly-rounded form. Attempting to reach for his feet over his dome of a stomach was out of the question, and he was forced to slip on his socks by slipping them on and waving them about on his way through the castle corridors. Already panting softly and only halfway to the grand hall, this was bound to be the longest routine of his life.

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Lund was most certainly late for his showing and he’d hoped that his overloud jingling down the halls of the castle would at least signal his impending arrival. He’d done his best to pick up the pace, but the combination of his extra width and all the extra help running around drastically hindered his progress.

“Aha...and look! The bumbling buffoon has decided to grace the hall with his presence!” King Addario bellowed with a nervous undertone, and a glare directed squarely into Lund’s soul.

The impact was surely felt, as for the first time in days Lund felt prompted to pay all his attention to something besides his overstuffed stomach, which felt like sinking in response. At least he was here, and at least the show could go on. What show, though, was still difficult for him to understand. Surely, the King could understand that a bloated buffoon was bound to be far less nimble and performative than a lithe one?

Though as Lund gave a good look to his surroundings, he began to feel rather small. The King and usual subjects were all present and in their best attire, all seated at massive tables filled brim with the finest of foods. Even with the guests and their entourages accounted for, there was clearly enough for an audience twice as large. That is to say, if all ate their fair share, which by the looks of their visitors and their prodigious girth, was a far cry from reality. Lund was not one to tower over many, but he was orders of magnitude smaller than even the most diminutive guest he could see. In the spaces between the King’s words, you could hear the creaking of many undersized chairs under many oversized bodies, shifting about in place. They were not the stuff of myth, but the attending duchies made those of the castle appear like mice amongst titans.

At the head table, newly extended to fill the hall almost end-to-end, sat a lineup of gaudy beasts who made the king appear as a speck between them. While the court was hardly a spartan sort of place, the jewels, baubles, and enormous flowing cloaks and capes adorning the visiting nobles made anyone seem underdressed in comparison. Their opulence was practically spilling from their auras, much like their massive bodies seemed to spill from their seats, over the cushions and almost to the floor. The stubby moonmare was quite comfortable with large audiences, but he’d always considered them in terms of quantity, not feet or acres or whatever would be appropriate for such obvious gluttons. Fat jokes were most certainly off the menu today; he felt a primal flight response kick in as he pondered whether or not moonmare was a delicacy in any of their parts.

“BAH! Shall we move on with the next course, or shall my gut proceed to digest itself in starvation?” bellowed a feline fellow so large he brushed against both of his neighbors’ sides at once. He bounced a meaty paw off his thinly-furred tank of a tum, let loose and propped up on the table’s surface. The hit reverberated with a -THOOM- through the hall like a mallet on a tightly-wound tympani skin, a feat which seemed to stop all crowd murmurs at once.

“And let’s see how your bold claims fare, if even the lowliest fool can be treated like royalty in the Solar Waltz”. The tiger of epic proportions snatched an enormous drumstick straight off a nearby attendant’s cart, torn clean from the bird who supplied it. He chomped an enormous hunk out with his titanic maw, tugged it away with a flourish, and pointed it straight towards the blue bumpkin, who stayed transfixed on the apparent star of today’s show.

As if all feared swift and divine retribution of the grandiose cat, a flurry of food service stirred up in moments time. Lund fell back on his immediate instinct, breaking into a tumble towards the nobility, followed by a ponderously-weighty cartwheel. In the midst of his moves he was both astounded at what his muscle memory could manage, and fearful of how long his limbs could bear such punishment. Yet before his feet could meet the ground, his scrawny ankles were caught by two pairs of burly paws, bearing his weight with ease. A hound-dog’s jowls, a lizard’s thick neck meat, and a pair of unfamiliar guard uniforms could barely be made out by the inverted clown as he was flopped and jostled over their shoulders and carried straight through the room.

Plunked down like the jangly sack of potatoes he felt like, Lund soon found himself laid flat on his back in front of a panel of curious nobles, several of which brought their plates up to their maws so as to not interrupt their indulging. Of what was visible through the frenzied eating, there was a looming rat-gourmand licking his chops, a flabby goat with more chins than could be counted, and the obese tiger obscuring the side of King Addario. The Duke of Stripes, a colloquial name given to the boastful feline by his nearby countrymen, seemed to be the most invested in Lund’s predicament. He turned his attention towards the moonmare and bared his fangs in a cheeky grin, tongue between his teeth.

“Oh ho-I’ll admit, for one so puny and scraggly, he bears a bountiful waistline. Though I shan't be swayed without a demonstration of the appetite he seems accustomed to”

The glint in his eyes spoke volumes for his suspicions; Lund felt transparent under his knowing gaze. Whatever power he commanded day-to-day, far more than most ever could dream of, his command of all things hedonic clearly shone through and surpassed it by leagues. The fool here was plain as day, and he was staring over his engorged gut at a hungering beast of striped orange and cream coloured fur. He gulped back the lump in his throat, beads of sweat falling from beneath his cap.
“Prance on up, foolish soul, and live it up in the lap of luxury with us!” The tiger pounded in half-feigned merriment on the table, beckoning Lund to clamber up from his dazed state.

“G-gah! Milord, surely you’d prefer a lowly thing like myself to keep distant from the glory of your majesty! Plus, you never know where a fool’s feet have been.” He pointed at his wiggling toes as he balanced deftly.

The lumbering lord heaved his mass over the table and hoisted the blue gremlin by the collar, dangling him over his plate at eye-level. With all paws tucked in close to his rotund body, a crimson blush of exhilaration filling up his snout, Lund found it impossible to hide his fluster from his captor. He forced out a big toothy grin like the trained entertainer he was, but had to grab for his tail braids to keep it from fluttering about. A broad pawpad was heaved up from the menacing Duke’s side, and directed at the globe of a gut covered in gold and purple. Unsheathing a pristinely-sharpened clawtip, he ran its rounded curve across the apex of Lund’s overstretched middle, bringing out a couple of unexpected nervous gurgles.

“Hmm...the glitzy getup isn’t quite to my taste. There’s bound to be more to show, with even more to come” he sneered, leaning in to almost have their snouts meet.

In a gleaming slash, with the precision befitting a royal chirurgeon, the motley was split in twain, letting Lund’s unharmed belly spill forth in plain view of the court.

“Ah, adequate preparation for the long road ahead.”

The fool was surely some shade of purple by now, he was supposed to be in-charge of his own wardrobe malfunctions! His tomfoolery was meant to be of his own accord, carefully planned and skilfully executed from top to bottom! For someone accustomed to prancing about in little more than checkered pantaloons, he’d rarely ever felt so exposed. Thankfully he was soon let free of the Duke’s dangling, free as his bouncing belly now swayed in the castle air.

“Though a jester must still jest, the show must go on. Now, on with the show!”

Another bang of the table from the fist of a raucous tiger sent nearby plates airborne for a brief moment. Lund sprung from his stupor once more, shaking his cap and doing what he knew best-physical comedy. Except the twists would not end there, he was plenty certain and anticipated further instruction while defaulting to his usual stable of tricks. What he could not foresee was a full pint of mead being poured straight overhead while his mouth was left agape after sticking a full-bodied front-flip. His reactions were sharp enough to catch most of it and gulp it back, but regret instantly washed over him as the liquid flooded his gut into an even further-distended balloon. It only took a sway or two before the tipsy belching took command of his movements.

-hic-

“Woofh...did you know you’re a big big BIG guy…” *urRRrRrp*

“A real big tub-’a’-lard, you and all yer friends here”

The King had been peering over on occasion, and upon hearing Lund’s familiar drunken slurring slip out, he leaned forth in his seat nervously. He was already preparing to look for replacement jesters at a moment’s notice.

The Duke chuckled at the brusqueness, and instead of taking offense, hefted his prodigious gut up once more to flaunt for the masses.

“Do you think us oblivious to our own breadth and obvious bounty? We wear it with the fullest pride, as any with the means ought to!” He gave his blubbery paunch a hearty slap with both his palms, leaving it rippling for seconds after.

“And what of you lot, presenting a miniature capering clown as your testament to prosperity? I’ll personally see that he prospers as much as I deem fit.”

Just as Lund was catching a trio of chicken legs used for impromptu juggling pins, he was blindsided by a heavy paw once more, this time pinning him to the table beneath his feet. He laid his palm flat upon the fool’s belly, using a miniscule fraction of his force to rub over it in playful circles. Lund couldn’t make out the insolent grin filling the tiger’s fat face, with his mammoth mitt covering most of his body, yet the teasing intent was clear from feel alone. Between chomps out of a whole cake he kept hoisted to his cheeks on a platter, the Duke snidely leaned into his pressed paw, so to assure that the lowly fool could get an occasional glimpse of him between his fingers.

He let up briefly, just to take a heaving fistful of chocolate cake and stuff it straight into the skittish maw of the bucktoothed bumpkin. Lund could barely manage to catch his breath before...

-glrk!-...”Mmmph!!” -gulp- “gah!...s-surely the royal confections are wasted on the tastes of a simpleton such as myself!” Lund choked out, never one to belittle himself or refuse delectable treats of any sort. He simply reached for the first excuse his racing mind could summon while quite literally beneath the thumb of such a dominant being. Though amidst the adrenaline rush of the situation, Lund wished he could enjoy the perfectly moist and decadent pastry being shoveled into his maw; he’d likely not handle it very differently of his own accord if let loose upon it.

The mischievous public handling of the moonmare continued unabated in full view of the nobles glutting themselves stupid. Known to be an inflammatory figure, the King was pleased to see the infamous Duke of Stripes quelled for the time being, if still wary of how long his plaything would last. Between his queasy belches and increasingly-pink belly on show, he prayed to himself he’d remain entertaining for the remainder of the day-long feasting. Meals blurred together as the hours ticked by, service coming in waves with delicacies from across the landscape. With each and every succulent dish, the Duke reminded the diminutive fool of his burgeoning collection of stretch marks, new lines peeking out and riding up his gut. He’d poke daintily, mockingly at them with a cool clawtip, mouth half full and still bragging about how many times over he could handle what he was cramming into Lund. He’d elbow his massive compatriots and have them join in on packing their food scraps into the weary blue thing, hardly able to remain conscious, let alone upright for more than a second of half-hearted capering between rounds. The Duke would dangle the fool overhead by his tail, opening his fearsome jaws and smirking, threatening to let go should his plate not soon be refilled.

By nightfall, after many rounds of wine and mead and sweets of all sorts thoroughly worn-off, most found themselves face-down at their places. The merriment had all but passed, and none felt much like moving, least of all the true blue guest at the head table. King Addario remained stalwart and vigilant, with a strange sense of appreciation for the trials the fool had borne. The poor thing’s belly was outstretched far past his tattered outfit, it was clearly miraculous any of him was kept decent. The Duke, never one to let hedonism go unmatched, had drunken several kegs-worth himself and ended up with his massive form sprawled across the messy table, by the side of his overwhelmed and overstuffed toy.

Knowing his plan had succeeded, and little would be recalled of the day’s antics by any of the loathsome fiends invading his castle, the King finally stood from his place at the head after a tiring ordeal. He gently patted over the snoozing fool’s stomach, hoping he’d know that his duty had been done to the finest when he arose.