Inspiration Transformation

Outside, Trixie recoiled at the touch of the disgusting stallion. "What in Celestia's name is wrong with you?!" She shrieked.

"Heck, y'all sure is purdy, miss," Bluebuck drawled, a dopey smile spread across his face. His hand was in his pants, and Trixie could see the idiotic redneck was playing with himself. The stallion farted, and a nearby mare in a PETA shirt gagged in disgust.

"Not your kind of pretty, creep!" Trixie shouted, twirling around and jogging away from the weird pervert.

Soon, Trixie had to take a break. She was suddenly exhausted, after running only a couple blocks. "Trixie needs a smoke," She mumbled to herself as she began to walk. "Wait a second, since when do I smoke?"

Trixie's jeans became frayed at the edges. Threads seemed to unravel and fall down her legs, quickly losing length until they could charitably be called shorts. Her legs swelled up at the same time, filling and stretching the denim. They took on a pockmarked cottage cheese texture, jiggling with every slight movement.

Her fashionable camisole became baggy and against her thin torso, but that didn't last long. Her body started to bloat out into a lumpy mass, barely recognizable as a mare's torso. Her gut flopped out until it strained against the fabric, which barely reached her belly button. Her perky breasts swelled up until they resembled huge, saggy bags of flesh, hanging over her belly like a shelf.

Trixie reached into her jiggling cleavage and pulled out a crumpled, sweat-stained pack of Everfree Reds, the cheapest, nastiest cigarettes in Equestria. She popped one into her mouth and dove back in, this time finding a plastic lighter, which she flicked to light, then stuffed everything back where it belonged.

She took a long drag, blowing it out in a ring. It was good to get some nicotine into her body. It was so big, she figured, she needed a lot of it. As she smoked, she noticed a very fat, very dirty mare in a tattered Cabella's shirt walking past - Something about her seemed familiar, but Trixie just couldn't place her.

As she thought about it, she heard a pony clearing her throat, and looked down to see a short mare standing in front of her, almost hidden by her enormous rack.

"Um, miss?" The mare asked, "Could you smoke away from our doorway please?"

Dixie looked at the mare in front of her. She was a short, young mare dressed in a simple black uniform. Her nametag read Ruby Mare, and she looked every bit the part of the young maitre'd. Dixie exhaled smoke in the mare's face, causing her to cough, before continuing.

"Like Ah was sayin'," The mare said, her voice taking on an uneducated tone, "Why don't y'all come inside? We don't need none o' them anti-smokin' laws in here!"

The two mares pushed open the doors and walked inside. It was a fancy restaurant, lots of dark and woodsy tones, mood lighting, the works. Ponies in business suits sat in booths along the walls, nibbling on hors'deovers and discussing their latest deals.

But as Dixie walked through the room, smoke trailing as she walked toward the bar, things began to change. The fancy, minimalist in the room took on brighter colors, changing into tacky plastic decorations. The leather benches turned into frayed vinyl, with lots of holes and stains. The quiet atmospheric music turned into loud, staticky rock n' roll, perfect for a low-class food joint with low-class customers.

Ponies didn't notice as their meals turned from small, well-made portions, to plates piled high with greasy burgers, sandwiches, and fries. Nor did they make a sound as they changed, turning from wealthy, affluent businessponies, to poor rednecks.

Suits frayed and fell apart, turning into denim and leather jackets. Shirts became checkered and stained. Well-maintained physiques bloated up, swift minds slowed to an idiotic crawl. Some shouted dirty jokes across the restaurant, others guzzled cheap beer and smoked in their booths. Nowhere in the restaurant was a pony who earned more than a janitor, and nowhere was a pony who weighed less than 200 pounds.

The fancy restaurant had become a greasy spoon diner, and nopony was the wiser.

Dixie took a seat at the counter, which creaked beneath her weight, and looked at the menu on the chalkboard behind the bar.

"What'll ya have, hun?" Ruby asked, notebook in hand. This fat mare was dressed in a grease-splattered pink apron which strained against her belly and tits. Her mane was done up in a beehive, with frayed ends sticking out all over. Wrinkles and cellulite marked her face and body, showing her increased age. Her nametag had changed too, now reading Trudy Mama. She had become a true redneck waitress.

"Ah'll have," Dixie replied, tapping her flabby chin in thought, "Two burgers, a plate o' fries, two chocolate milkshakes, an' a big ol' slice of apple pie!"

Trudy scribbled it down on her notepad and tossed it through the window to the kitchen. Inside, a great prench chef had become a slovenly fry cook, working without gloves and spitting in the hay fries. Dixie couldn't wait to see what this culinary genius would serve her. As she waited, she heard a jingle, and turned around to see a familiar face.

"Hey there, cutie, what's yer name?" Bluebuck asked, clapping a hand to Dixie's huge ass. A loud fart sputtered out, which the white stallion took a deep whiff of. She giggled and took a drag from her cigarette.

"Th' name's Dixie," She replied in a sultry tone, "How 'bout y'all, stud?"

"Call me Buck," He replied, slipping his hand into her sweat-soaked panties. Dixie giggled, and Bluebuck chuckled in his low, dumb voice, then leaned in to kiss her cheek.

Outside, staring through the dirty windows, was a purple alicorn. Her expression was one of mixed horror and anger as she watched the disgusting display within. Her horn glowed, then she teleported away.