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TRP - Day 12
🕑 Added 2017-10-01 07:55:40 +0000 UTC Today we follow Rigel! As he bloats and expands to a worrying degree. Can salvation be found at the hands of the school nurse? And what's with her whole talking to herself deal? Read on, to find out!The following contains delicious blueberry inflation, permaberry, and a school nurse who seems to be but isn't in fact talking to herself.
Written by the marvelous Rabidbadger of FA! Illustrated by yours truly.
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Rigel hesitated further, clutching his plant against his chest – while he had a chest. The more he lingered, the more he shuffled awkwardly from foot to fit, the more he felt the sloshing, fluid mass inside him spread. It took formerly taut scaled limbs and left them soft, pliant, and ill defined. It was like an egg-shaped mass had replaced most of his body from the knees up to his abdomen.
In the end, two things made his decision for him. The door to the nurse’s office opened, and as it did, he realized his legs weren’t in a shape to make it anywhere further away. Inside the office doors was a green plumed bird with a clipboard.
“Sir, do you need – oh, wow. Yeah you’re coming this way.”
Rigel opened his mouth to protest, but all he managed to do was let loose a belch that tasted intensely fruity, and served to prove to him he wasn’t going anywhere but through that door.
The bird wasted no time, Rigel found it difficult to keep that kind of pace up with his hips apparently having dissolved into some kind of pseudo-solid, pulpy mass inside him. There was the distinct impression he ought to be more worried (read: terrified) right now, but it wasn’t quite hitting him like it should. It still felt real – but whatever part of him was meant to care was sleeping on the job.
“That is – wow. Pretty advanced alright. How many did you eat? How long have you been nibbling on them? I’ve already scanned your student’s badge so we’ve got that taken care of – I’ll let the doctor know this is an emergency, so…”
The office was small, that much Rigel was thankful for – particularly since the longer he walked about the more he jostled the contents of his middle around, and the tighter all his clothing seemed to feel.
“J-just a couple days, and I uh, I don’t… know? This is fixable, right?”
The bird keyed in something at the door at the far end of the office, and then began pushing Rigel in by way of one wing arm against his smooth, and still spreading butt.
“If anyone here can fix it, it’s her. Or, well, presumably whoever grew that plant – but I wouldn’t count on them caring to. So yeah, best chance, right on through.”
It struck Rigel as distinctly odd that feeling the semi-solid mass of whatever was happening to him start to lift his arms up at his sides, and sink down low enough that he wasn’t sure his knees really existed in any real way anymore, was less troublesome than the sight of the office around him.
The place was too dark, for one. Too humid. There were little wisps of movement everywhere. The only real source of proper light was from the far end, where Rigel saw a large desk set up with precisely what he would’ve expected of a doctor. Sheafs of paper, books, a large monitor, a handful of what had to be biological samples in cubes. That, and the doe behind it, who was staring at him.
Staring, saying nothing. Rigel shuffled awkwardly around on his feet, feeling the weight in him sinking, leaving him wanting to kneel down and let it collapse to the ground but afraid of what it might mean if that happened. What kind of finality it could carry.
But could he just… get her attention? Didn’t he have it already? She was staring right at him! Why was she-
“Just stop it already you filthy worm, this is not your – he needs…”
The doe stood abruptly, knocking a fair bit of the papers down and taking two steps toward Rigel.
“He needs something a great deal more tender than you can be, Doctor. The child is scared, and with good reason.”
This was perfectly accurate, in an entirely unhelpful way. Rigel blinked, and then felt a sinking sensation. For two reasons. One, the apparently unstable woman across the room from him. Two, his balance decaying to the point where he pitched forward helplessly on the floor, and was left reaching out with both hands to steady the plant he was carrying and try to stop it from spilling too much dirt.
That abrupt change in his center of gravity sent a sloshing rush of fluid into Rigel’s upper body, threatening to dislodge his hands as the area where they connected to his torso swelled and attempted to peel them apart. The only thing he found himself more afraid of than this room he was in, was the idea of losing his professor’s gift to him.
He hadn’t even seen the doe finish crossing the room, not until he saw her feet step into view right by his face.
”Advanced floral repurposing, rapid growth – high saturation levels. Willing to bet you’ve got a fungal infection rolling around your head too. I swear I’m going to kill that…. That- stop- STOP FIGHTING ME you insidious worm!”
Rigel tried to scoot back on the floor at that point, since he seemed to have a bundle of crazy looming over him. It didn’t work so well. He couldn’t feel legs per se – just a bulbous mass with feet on the end of it, and trying to move himself with one arm only really led to spinning around on an increasingly taut belly.
It was when he realized the floor was getting further away that Rigel finally felt that bit of worry he ought to be about the current situation – as opposed to about the several other very good reasons he had for it.
The slightly panicked noise it led to, and the wet gurgle that it decayed into which left a dribble of juice running down Rigel’s chin, left Rigel feeling a strangely tender hand on the back of his head.
“We are not letting you and your atrocious bedside manner handle this matter, Doctor. Child – Rigel – you have a rampant transformational agent inside you and it must be removed. I promise, that’s not actually as bad as it sounds, but it’s going to be rough.”
The voice was almost relaxing. Which was nice, since Rigel was relatively certain he couldn’t do anything about it. The doe crouched down, which left her right about at eye level to Rigel as he slowly rose up on the floor, feeling his arms gradually sinking into himself. The last thing he could really make his body do was shake the plant a little, and look imploringly at her. The doe did seem to get the idea.
She smiled, taking hold of the thing and placing it on a shelf he could barely see – one that seemed to be covered with plants. The turn of her head left Rigel blinking a little as he saw something odd there – a length of something on the back of the doe’s neck that looked bumpy, but smooth, and thick, right across where her spine would be underneath.
It was only a quick glance, before the doe tensed up and turned her head.
“No, no, you little alien squid. You are not just grabbing another sample to play with here, we haven’t got the time – and don’t you argue with me you squirming shit, I’m the Doctor here. You’re the hitchhiking worm.”
That hand of hers went from a comforting pat to a firmer grip on the back of Rigel’s head, which was enough pressure in itself to leave him feeling another bubbling of fluid rushing out of his lips. Just as well, he couldn’t even begin to think of what the hell to say to what he was seeing. And he very much hoped this angry side of the crazy was as good as it sounded, and could actually help. He was feeling that curious, mushy sensation work its way through his arms, and it led to the worrisome question of what happened if it did that to his head.
By the time Rigel was finishing that thought he realized he couldn’t actually see the doe’s feet anymore. She’d moved off somewhere else in the room, and he was well and truly helpless to even turn his head and try to figure out where.
There were a few sounds around him – none he recognized. At least not beyond the basic impression of electronics being used. Eventually something pressed itself against his left shoulder – then his right – and then (much to his embarrassment) on both ass cheeks.
“This is going to feel weird. You’re going to bear with it until it’s done. You’re also not going to complain about the methods afterward because it spares me cleaning up a phenomenal mess in my office, and frankly I don’t have the patience for whining, entitled students. If you’re not one of those to begin with, great.”
That phrase from her drew up about four different very good questions in Rigel, which were promptly answered by a sharp pressure that ran itself directly through the (impossibly elastic) uniform he had on, and into the slight divot in the very round bulge that had at one point been his ass. Whatever it was, it went in deep – and lodged there.
After it did, Rigel finally saw the woman again. The doe knelt down by his face, and he saw that curiously tender, motherly look around her again. She had a mask in hand, like a gas mask or oxygen mask, which she set against his face and strapped on much more gently than her demeanor of moments ago would’ve suggested. This, he gathered, was the… worm?
Well, the worm was clearly nicer. She at least tried to offer him a comforting smile before the tubes (both of them) stated a rough vacuum seal right as those four disk shaped plates he’d felt pressed to his back began pressing down in unison.
What followed rumbled around in Rigel’s mind like headless poultry. That pressure coming from four quarters at once sandwiched him against the floor mercilessly. What had dribbled out of him a couple times in the last few minutes billowed forth in a torrent, like his face had become a hose. Logically, he would’ve thought it should feel like vomiting – but it had none of the muscle clenching nastiness to it. It was more like a distinctly heavy, fluid exhale.
His butt was having a similarly strange, parallel experience. One that invited much less wholesome comparisons.
“Good, the maglev plates are doing the job. Normally we’re using those to keep students’ fat asses off the floor, but reversing the direction is pretty easy thankfully.”
Rigel felt a rush of relief as the pressure lightened briefly, or maybe it was just a rush from the liquid inside rearranging itself – and feeling his skin shrink and tighten just a little. It all drew itself back into tight pockets again, and as soon as it did the pressure resumed – leaving him ejecting liters of juice into those hoses being siphoned off to who knows where.
The doe gave Rigel another worryingly pointed look at that point, and opened her mouth as if to speak – only to pause, hesitating.
“I- no. Stop- just-“
The doe winced visibly.
“Honestly. How hard is it to offer some comfort to them?”
The slender woman’s whole frame shuddered, and hissed.
“This is not about comfort. It’s about long-term quality of life and there’s more than just pressing his ass like we’re in a winery involved in that. I want a sample of that fungus.”
There was a silent moment then, during which Rigel watched the woman’s face go quite still.
“And I want a nerve tissue sample.”
Rigel let out a quiet little whimper as he watched wheels turning inside that tight, tense face. He had just enough of his limbs back to wiggle futilely while the doe pressed a button on the mask he wore, leaving it hissing faintly, and inviting a creeping, dark tunnel to the edges of his vision in the moments that followed.
***
Rigel woke with a start, unsure of where he was, of what was going on. It took a full three seconds to recognize his own bed, in his own dorm. Glancing around, he saw his tablet by the bedside – and his plant – along with a message laid out on top. As he reached for it, hands shaking, feeling unsteady and bloated still – feeling a little like his arms were laced with gelatin instead of bone – he tried to gather what the heck he could remember last.
Mostly, as he looked at the note (bearing two distinct forms of handwriting), he just remembered a dark, humid room and a lot of liquid leaving him. Details got fuzzy after that.
Rigel,
Your body is going to do this again if you over-expose to those fruits. They build on each other exponentially, and if they gain enough liquid mass the rate they produce at will exceed what you can keep drained by yourself. If you end up in another emergency, call for help getting to me immediately, or try to make do with what you have around if it’s too far. Ending up in that state and staying there too long will render the condition permanent.
Also. Don’t trust that professor of yours.
Hi Rigel!
Try not to worry too much. Just lay off the berries, and don’t worry – I’ll be able to help if things get too hard. Just come by the office again if the cravings get out of hand okay? I know a thing or two about psychological needs and physical needs getting confused.
And yeah, definitely don’t trust that professor.
The combined letters left Rigel blinking slowly, setting the note aside and curling his arms around his chest. His hands, he noted, were still a rich shade of blue. All of him seemed to be, the more he looked around to check – and his belly felt full. It was even stretched out a little, and squishy to the touch – just like an over-ripe fruit.
A little noise beside him left Rigel turning his head, seeing he wasn’t alone in the room finally. Across the other side sat Genevieve, looking as chubby as ever, and currently hugging a fuzzy, mechanical bee for… some reason.
She looked as haggard as he felt, he thought. From the way they made eye contact, he suspected she was thinking roughly the same.
“H-hey. Thank you. For getting me to go down to the nurse, and walking me most of the way there. It helped. At least, I think it did. It definitely did in the short term.”
There was a small spot on the back of Rigel’s neck that felt a little sore as he thought that, and needed rubbing at. Genevieve let out a dry, mirthless chuckle over the heavily qualified statement.
“You’re welcome. Sorry I ran off – this little one here found something bad that needed checking out. Which turned out to be some kind of really, super serious problem that is now at least partially my really, super serious problem.”
Rigel let his eyes drift back down to his slightly swollen lap at that. For a few, long moments he just stared, not actually thinking at all. His mind playing white noise as things moved around in the back of it. Abstract issues arising and solving themselves considerably faster than they would if he wasted time thinking in words. All told, it took about four seconds before he raised his head again and looked over across the empty middle bunk to the vixen and her bee.
“Well, tell me about it? Maybe I can help.”
Genevieve looked up with a good deal less soul-crushing dread hanging around her than had been a moment ago. It wasn’t quite hope, just a somewhat less severe presence of the opposite thereof. It would do though. She fidgeted briefly, before gathering what she thought was a reasonable account of events in her head.
“I- okay. I’ll just start where we split up. I picked up this little guy kind of screaming from down a corridor, and…”
The evening didn’t grow much less tense for either for finishing the story, or for Rigel sharing the rest of his, but it did feel less lonely in each of their cases. Though that, too, started to decay as it grew increasingly obvious that their roommate wasn’t coming back tonight.
