A Skittish Incubation Ejection
A Skittish Incubation Ejection
Written by Septia.
The Gorged Barrel's all-you-can-muster breakfast atmosphere was suddenly tested. -Ghhraaauuuuoooorrlp- The odd belch here and there was commonplace, though this blast had mustache roots trembling. Several pairs of eyes shifted to the off-mint mare, lips still rippling, toting a tray troubled with food.
“Aah-Aha, sorry, bit hard to cover my face when I'm stuck holding a tray,” the unicorn said and lifted up her arms. To which the mare realised her horn was glowing, and suspending the tray in the air just fine. Unveiling the unicorn's broad, bulbous abdomen protruding under her black crop top like a sack of dough.
“Aaah… ahah… I'm just gunna,” she said scooching away, “go seat myself.” As she shuffled away, the gut set into a fluid jostle, a toss of phlegm that rippled under her skin like jelly. She plonked her tray down on the table, shuffling up to the bench so her birdhouse of a burgundy mane covered her eyes. She combed it away, stifling a sigh.
“The way I see it, that's just a way to express you enjoy the cookin'.”
“Whau?” The unicorn mumbled, acknowledging the stallion couple across.
“You waiting for some pony too?” said the other stallion, gesturing to her overstocked tray, “What's your name?”
“Huh? Oh? Ah. Skittish, but, no, this is just for me.”
“Really? But, you got, mashed potato, rice, muffins, that's some sort of pasta, and ice cream? Dun you think that's a bi-.”
-Scquruslh- There was a sickening churn of semi-solids as Skittish dumped the soft-serve ice cream into the potato mash, and stirred them together with a pretzel stick.
“That…” One of them muttered.
Skittish gnawed through the bottom of a pizza-muffin, digging her muzzle down to carve a cavity in the pastry, which was promptly filled with scoops of the mash slurry. “Oh don't get me started, head all woozy after being kept up all night until the windigo hours by… morning sickness,” She explained, and chomped through the stuffed pasty, -Chrrllcsh- a slurry of cheese grease, mash and fluffed cream drooping down the side of her muzzle, decorating the nape of her neck with crumbs gummed to the fluids.
“I see,” Said the other Stallion.
“Ohf, they make em so dry,” Skittish complained and rummaged through her satchel, lifting up a jar of pickles, unscrewing the top, and dipping the hodgepodge concoction straight in the brine before sinking her teeth back into it -Schhrrlrpash- juices flush across her cheeks. “Mmgmf, s that's better… Oh m-my l -Uurrrrhhlp- Luna these cravings are really getting to me. Guess that's what it's like when you're expecting, huh?” The virgin mare asked the two stallions.
“I, suppose. When are they due?” This question came just as Skittish lifted a pancake rolled up with blueberry jam and scrambled eggs, cheeks afluster.
“Aeuhm, That's ah, aha. A few months still I guess?” it is unclear if Skittish herself realised she provided them next to no context, as she sunk her teeth back into the pancakes.
Dusty Crew lowered her newspaper, peering off to her assistant making a fool of herself. “And this is why we get separate tables,” the nougat coat mare mused. It was certainly awkward to have to explain one had gotten pregnant due to a chemical mishap. At least… that's what Skittish still believed to be the case. Duty didn't mind this. The stallion’s attempts were interrupted by an audible rumble across them. -Chhrrggwwrlpgb- -Bhaaauuuursp- Skittish belched again, straps of pancake, apple, and soy spattering the table space between then. -Sllpthtch- Along with… a globule, shimmering like oil, dense and thick clot of green slime…
“I'm s-so sorry, oh geeze,” Skittish excused and quickly wiped the table, crumpled up the paper napkin, and absent-mindedly tossing it in the pickle jar while she gnawed through the rest of the pizza-muffins' defiled cheesy insides. She poured the remaining mash an-cream slurry over the saucy tomato pasta and chugged. -Ghrlghs- Chugging down the pickle jar, oblivious to the fact she drank the napkin as well. People were avoiding eye contact.
-Hyychuup- “Phaa, it really is, s-such a hassle -uAaaooorhsp-, I don't ever feel full, f-feels more like I'm eating for three, hehe…”
“That made enough sense, thought Duty. Though there were way more than three in there. Whatever the Changelings did to that unicorn to erase the memory of what transpired during the night, Duty wanted some of it. Making Skittish aware of this would introduce further complications to the incubation and harvest. Plus it was hilarious to watch her squirm.
The tray in front of the pale mint mare laid desolate, crumbs and debris cleaned off by her tongue. The stallions hadn't made any headway in comparison. “Phaa, that sh-should keep ‘em satisfied. For a little while,” Skittish joked. Of course the hunger could never be sated. The changeling eggs couped up in the unicorn's insides extracted their nourishment form Skittish's maternal instinct, the emotions imposed on them, through the act of cravings and binge eating. It was irrelevant how much she ate, they wouldn't be sated by any amount she could cram past her lips. -Huraaoourl-. Skittish began to belch, instinct guiding her throat, it was wet… drenched… by the time she was made aware, the mare was already deep in the process of the belch. The skittering broil burgeoning up her throat unleashed. Distress spun in her mind. In one heartbeat she could feel the circulating blood tense up her throat, constricting the solid stuffing within. Already past her gullet, roaring upwards, subsuming the access to her lungs as the mass trudged onwards, upwards. Skittish saw the expression of the stallions's faces dip, as hers in kind was warped by the payload flooding to her maw, carried by the belch that went too far…
-Huuaaarrlllcchcrk- -Haawwlkrrk- The onslaught of barf billowed past the breadth of Skittish's lips like a sundered tap. Her lips forcibly spread and morphing along the outline of the squirming spaghetti she'd chocked down moments ago, tossed with masticated mire of wheat and whey. -Cthdlsbgptphtsa- -Cjjrddlwpthpglptwhwtpd- The slurry piled up on the clean bowls and plates, refilling them with the guttural congestion shaken through Skittish's guts, weighty smacks like porridge launched off the porridge were catapulted over the tray, swirling bundles of pasta surface only partially dissolved throughout the mire.
-Huuaaarruurllglgrgah- Skittish clamped her palms onto the table for the second wave, feeling her gullet distending around the cargo congesting and congealing at her teeth, welling past her lips to cloak her surroundings in a lingering, rotting perfume of her grand breakfast dunked in a vat of ammonia. -Slptchth- -Chhrlptrrtch- along with the visible tomato, macerated bread and pasta, were clots of vibrant, dusky green jelly, melding in to the slurry and glowing like radioactive deposits in the barf drooling over the lips of the bowls.
“Phaaahuaa, phaaahuoooa,” Skittish breathed with her whole rib cage, the acidity plaguing her tongue.
Those who previously averting their gaze could not help but peek… Skittish sat panting, -Pspwhowp- the slurry bubbling in the bowl… -Slpthaht- a chunk of crumpled napkin surfaced. Skittish wedged her way out of the seat. “I'm gonna… gonna be… bathroom.” She excused herself, -clasping over her maw as she teetered and swayed all the way to the lavatory. Ponies veering out of her path.
Duty Crew stood, and sauntered after her. “Please, excuse my assistant. She is my friend, and I will take care of her,” she ensured the patrons. A marvel that neither statement was truly false.
~ 1 ~
Skittish stumbled through the door, twisting her head to find it… -Cllspthah- This upset her gullet all the more, a budding carbonation roiling through her throat on a carpet of dull needles, melting enzymes that were never intended to leave the safety of the her guts… She crashed through the door, the throat carbonation stirring, -Bwgmga- her cheeks inflating to bob full of lime nausea, flipping the lid just in time…
“Bllrwaauruhspgchrhc” To unload a ball of saliva slobbered vomit, held back in her maw to round off in a globe of green and beige throat batter, its surface iridescent in the veil of the bathroom light fixtures, divoted in pocks and speckled in stray straws and jostling jelly. -Sllgpahtbgalwpa- -Ssptltcht- The waste splashed up around the lip, painting the wet porcelain lining in vibrant greens. -Chhrhtah- Skittish felt her gut contract, bloated gut deflated in a hiccup that ferried -Shrhglapga- sludge up her throat, worries faded as her mind was clouded in the sheer effort the retching exerted through her. -Huruaaruugglpths- clutching her stomach as the flood of chunky batter stormed past her lips.
-Bhuooraaahlp- She could taste the rancid air on her belch, polluting the atmosphere in the stall. Skittish held her breath -Grbrbgllgpah- as a jostle through her gut vaulted up her rib cage. But she refused to yield, gullet contracting in its attempt to tame the deluge of gunk. “Mfmpghg. Mfmpgh,” she huffed through her nose, throat invaded by the glutinous mire clinging to her sinew. The longer she held it, the more her stomach -Bbrgglflprrhghs- growled. The nausea in her barrel calcified into a brick of marble, the physical manifestation of her sickness bobbing and swirling in her depths…
“Fmmrmogw…” she wheezed through clasped lips. Then her eyes shot open, a vitriol fog of sun-baked salad dressing and baked lime fog plumped up her nostrils with no way out another way posed to it, the vapors vented out her muzzle, imprinting the sour character on her snot.
“Mwmgrg-” -Chhgrrlrlsh- Her cheeks ballooned. -Blleeuuurroogghps- She hurled. A monsoon of sludge billowing past her lips, globueles thick as cookie batter melting in with a slurry of stomach wilted wheat and botched zucchini stew. As mounds of cheese dense slime. Skittish felt every mound of molten cheese thick slobby slime budging through her face, fingers tautened white around the porcelain brim, head weighed heavy in its acting position as a sluice for the onslaught. Locks of burgundy mane draped along her field of vision, brain throbbing under the pressure. She kept staring into the bowl -Chrlrlpdhth- -Cddpprhghths- as the yellowed and lime slop bunched over itself, solid segments mixing with the runny slop, specs of food twinkling up at her before being buried in the avalanche of barf. Skittish's head was pounding now, weighed as a sack of bricks tied to a broom shaft, suspended over the bowl and stewing in the concoction of sickly sweet pickled brine and distilled zest emanating from sickness.
Right then, she felt a hand on the back of her head, and her heart skipped a beat. Support, comfort, her head held up to share the burden. She felt a few droplets of mash and brine trickle past her lips, making llittle spots of oil in the sludge. She peeked up, seeing the blazing orange mane of Duty at her back.
“T-thank. Y-you-ouhorrrghghs-” She retched in the middle of her words, pupils rolling back in discomfort as she projected the tart mortar back into the bowl, tendrils of sludge trailing from her molars.
“This particular method of potion preparation does seem a tad unorthodox, though you might be onto something. This concoction, don't let me s-.”
-Brhurlrreeeurupgsh- Skittish heaved out a mouthful of off scintillant greens sludge wrapped in sundered, melted strands of pasta.
“Oh by all means, don't let me stop you. Who knows, you might be breaking new chemical grounds, should I fetch a notebook to detail your method?~”
“Shftaaahp,” Skittish wheezed, before her face flashed a lush emerald, -Cphrrlwlptuh- -Crlspthsa- Spewing more of the glistening goo along the phlegm speckled soup of stomach silt. The sour carbonation torching her nostrils. “It's coming o-out my noose,” she whined.
“Fascinating, but it seems you are merely hallucinating that part;” Duty Crew ensued as she patted Skittish’s back, then leaned in and rubbed over her gut, trailing fingers in groves along the engorged abdomen until she heard the displacement of vapors -Chhgrllg- -bGbrllgpsgaop- rustle within. Do let me know what you ate to get all this, seems like a lot of those pickles you carry on you, must ‘ave been warm from getting towed around your bag, huh? And so much celery, but what else did you indulge in, hmm? Hayburgers? Cheesy enchiladas?”
“Mmghgrh…” Skittish panted and -Buuhrralp- belched in between Duty's taunting. The thought of food as she marinated in the rising steam poisoned her mind.
“Buttery potato mash? Come on, spill it?”
-Pullreeeeuurksp- Another onslaught of paste was upchunked past her lips, smearing them in sodden sludge and glimmering globules of shining slime all plopping into the bowl.
“Wasn't what I meant, but you did spill it.”
“P-pleeaheheease,” Skittish exclaimed with an arch of her neck, “Have mercy.” -Hgmgm- -Blleeauuurpsch- she dunked her head right back down, unloading a tidalwave of her inner marshland, coursing past her lips as smooth as yogurt curdled by earl gray tea.
“Mmgpghs armmgmffm….” Skittish squealed as the grip of her the bowl loosened. -Hyychyup- hiccups followed by a trudge of -Chrllpgghsa- gunk stirring up her gullet, lips trembling, eyes watering in the prickly fumes flooding up from below. Panting and coughing with strength sapped form her shoulders and knees, legs spreading below her and head dipping after it.
-Bhuraaaaapurslop- -Bfhhurraugugpsha- a thick belch culminating and divulging into a discharge of hot vomit ointment slopping out her cheeks, her head held steady by Duty's hand as her throat deflated in the hurl of clotted gruel wallowing into the bowl below. -Slplghthsb- -clspthhga- the mulch splatting and decompressing on impact, drooping around the thicker globules of shining phlegm and soaking over the surface in the sludge, the orange hues melding into the discoloured green, -Slcpshthkt- -Vrslspthat- together slushing into one desaturated marshland, complete with a folded spruce of lettuce and cabbage bobbing in the rich concoction.
“Hmm, a bit sloppy, you could have let left it to brew a little longer,” Duty shot in a snide comment.
-Bhuralaleghs- Skittish heaved out another mouthful of watery slop, rolling past her lips in a tang of pickled pine syrup. “I-I r-really couldn't.” she panted and trembled.
-Chglrpg- -Bligh- The surface of the toilet was a bubbling muck as a sea of desaturated cement with slimy parcels of iridescent phlegm floating through it like oil on water, a membrane starting to solidify over the barf, a thin skin ripped and fractured by the brewing bubble of vapors escaping below.
“How is my, very special, and gorgeous apprentice feeling?” Duty asked, pinching Skittish's cheek.
“Urrhhgsk…,” the unicorn groaned in reply, “my tummy and brain…”
“Oh, you still have both of those – I am fairly certain. And never you mind, I am certain this morning sickness will have to pass,” she then mumbled, “in another two weeks or so…” This would give her ample time to harvest enough of the changeling incubation nectar to distil a memory-loss brew that would make Skittish forget about this whole pregnancy hassle.
“I-I didn't c-choose motherhood,” Skittish whined.
“But look what a pro you already are,” Duty ensured and smacked Skittish's back.
-Cbbrlglpgsha-
“Ooofmgpsh,” Skittish retched, her torso constricting, and vision getting blurry… that… calcified chunk of her sickness… it was moving. -Clglpthha- it pried its way upwards.
-Bhhruaap- -Bughgch- -Cbhgjaha- Burps stifled to coughs and heaves. Duty held herself steady, eyebrows furrowed. -Cllprshha- A dome swelled up over Skit form underneath the crevice of Skittishs's bosom, warping the skin of her neck as it shimmied upwards. Viscous green drool trickling over her lips as the mound lodged in at the back of her throat.
“Pfhahc. Ahrhclch agp-.” struggling and grasping at her neck… -Cllptths- “Huuraaarprooghsl.” it was predisposed, prying its way forward, warping her lips along its ovoid contours as a thick, solid emerald egg of slime launched into the bowl. -Cllprthhdat- The egg was dunked into the muck, carving out a crater in the membrane around it, lodged back with a garnish of the glistening slime. Skittish stared, befuddled, panting and swallowing down mouthfuls of goo to clear her throat. “That… kinda, it looks…” Somewhere in her mind surfaced blurry images: her window pried open in the night. Shadows encroaching upon her, green and cyan eyes surrounding and boring into her head…
Duty snatched up the egg, to get it out of her assistant's sight. “Looks like you've filled this to the brim, have to find somewhere else to hold the rest of your barf.”
“Bu-but I think, I'm d-don-”
-Swwptch- Duty spanked Skittish gut.
-Ghrbrbglgpgah- “O-ogh In-nhor Iahm n-naht,” she mouthed from under clasped palms, crawling out on her knees and stumbling up on the floor, grasping the sink and -Huwuraaglpgsh- projecting a salvo of gullet balm to pack the sink in droves of spicy orange vomit, what remained of yesterday's burritos coming back with a searing vengeance as the pungent bean mush crowing past her teeth.
~ 2 ~
Duty held up the egg, inspecting the semi-translucent husk and rolling it in her palm. “Fascinating, that was a tad too close though,” Duty considered rewarding her assistant, perhaps after all this was said and done she'd take her out for a proper date. Where she'd spill the beans in a less literal manner than Skittish was currently indulged in, that felt like a fair exchange. Duty scooped up the green and yellowed changeling nectar, storing it in filling up a saddlebag's worth of jars, what a haul. When she rejoined Skittish, the unicorn was rinsing out her maw with tap water. The sink, also, clogged. And the spoiled lime stench percolating through the bathroom.
“You feel ok?”
Skittish stared at her. Breathing in huffs that swelled her chest and jostled her gut. “I'm fine…” she mumbled. As the two exited the bathroom Skittish clutched her gut -Ghrlrpghgsha- giving off a low rumble. “Duty… I'm… Kinda hungry.”
Duty patted her on the back. “I know a cute pancake place nearby.” She still had another saddlebag, after all.
The remaining patrons eyed them on their way out. The walls of the Gorged Barrel were thin enough that they'd heard everything. They left without explanation. And a creeping zest permeating out of the bathrooms.
