Late-night Pine'd, Morning Grind
Late-night Pine'd, Morning Grind
Written by Septia.
Early one late winter morning, before “the powers that be” had even lowered the moon over the quiet village, a unicorn stumbled out the back of the Shoe-in tavern. Hooves bumbled through the residual rim-frost whilst a sagging stomach steamrolled through the dew-frozen grass, at least at the low points of its bobs -Bggnnowwng-. The gut reverberated with rumbles, roused through the ruckus of digestion, to the noise of scooping tadpoles into a sack of mud -Gllrrrtchh-Glourrrlltwwps-.
Pitch pine – the unicorn in question – had yet to gather himself. Currently he struggled with the haze brought on by early morning consciousness, mingling with the buzz gained from a night out. He gave his lower lip a nervous nibble as he felt the cold ground brush his underbelly. This reminded him of the tracks his stomach would pave in his wake, whenever it makes contact below in its buoyant locomotion.
“You could be a bit more of a pal, friend,” Pitch mumbled as they stalked the empty streets. The gut rocked wit forwards with a protrusion taking form at his gut's bow -Brgourrbrrrlg-, only to sink back in with a bubble of a mince stew -Thwnnwg-Chrrt-tchlourls-.
“That's just mm, fine, I have you,” Pitch said, aiming his fin-haired tail underneath his belly from below, and hoisting it up like a chubby pancake on a spatula -Chhhgloour-Gllpths-. Quivers sprouted through Pitch's spine as the lift stirred the congestion cooking in his core -Bbglootussh-.
“Phew, hoo, oh you are a big boy.” His pace hampered from a trot to a walk: This savoury sample of satisfaction, soothing the stallion. “Would not wanna have you knocking me over, you've caused enough of a bother for me already, you… Hmm…,” Pitch pondered.
The previous night was, dim, though definitely there. After a long day of clearing out the fields he had sought himself to Shoe-in tavern; apparently he’d had a few too many.
“I was already tipsy before you joined in, and then you were so eager to share a few tankards, weren't ya? Mmmf, you… Hill… Hole… Hind…?” Pitch mumbled to himself. His gut gurgled against his tail in the stride, before the internal oscillations rose -Bbglrlpgughh- -Cbhgrlpggush-.
Pitch's cheeks ballooned for a moment, before their prisoners’ escaped in a base-toned belch -Bhuuuoooaauuurrhrllp-. Along the hot air streaming over his lips, were the glimmer and sparkle of magic, tickling his tongue.
“Hedge, Hedge Fern, I remember now. Thanks for that one, stud,” Pitch commented whilst his tail cuddled in against his tummy -Chhgglourtch-, “bit of a hassle to remember some stud I barely met…,” he admitted.
The swats sent the bloat of molten meat juggling -Bbwwnngsl- -Bddwwnglls- and elicited a further congregation of gullet clouds up his neck. -Ahhouuraaahhhlp- This belch grew louder as it disrupted the air in front of him, and past his lips arched a chunk of partially dissolved spinach-green matter. It landed on the ground ahead of him, its tip jabbed into the ground -Cllpttwhd-.
Pitch paused for a moment to stare at the unicorn horn he'd just expelled, a similar colour to his own.
“That settles it, I definitely remember you now, Hedge.” Pitch unleashed his gut which bobbed down with down to its full girth with a drum of moist flesh -Bhhgloourltch-. He swiped the horn off the ground as he walked, and flung it to the back of his open maw. The severed horn sunk, -Glooouunng- deflating as a bump on his neck. “Appreciate jogging my memory, but ya got other spots to jog along to, Hmm, suppose Hind is, soon, a more accurate moniker for ya?” Pitch was feeling more composed, though it was still a chore to lug around a full equine's worth of meat in his guts, a sensation he, could savour.
“Mmm, look Hedge,” Pitch said, passing the border out of town, closing in to his home. “Yesterday, neither of us thought this is where we would end up by now; you would be off doing Hedge things, and I would be off handling Pitch stuff. I must have warned ya, a few too many drinks and I can get pretty intimate with folk. But, also…,” he was mumbling now.
Pitch took the sideloads off towards his own lil stretch of land. “Sorry you ended up like this,” he said, as another tremble jolted through his spine and he hissed in a breath through his teeth, letting out that hot air in his next, sighing sentence.
“But, mmfff, buck me sideways… does a big ol' cut of cheval like you do wonders for me… How long has it been since I crammed a real, mfm, hunk, in there and just let my gut, go to town, on every single morsel,” he mused. Pitch Pine deliberate weighed his tummy down against the cobbled path -Gtwllmmp- leading up to his house – framed by his lil’ patches of an orchard. “You made one heck of a full-course meal, and I have been neglecting dinners while working, so it was mighty kind for ya to fill in and, be my food.”
He sauntered up to the door, and stopped, peering down to his tummy, brushing down its side, feeling his hoof sink in and ply through mounds of molten stallion slag congealing in his guts -Chbglrlprugh- -Bllghouutrsch-.
“I would be lying, if I didn't admit I was at least, mmmf, a bit appreciative of you ignoring my warning and getting right down my hatch… Still, if I could I would let ya out. But, full night of brewing is not leaving much to ‘let out’, mostly just a stew down there at this juncture.”
Pitch opened the door, his tummy caught on the threshold, at its zenith, a light bump of the steadily condensing stomach.
“Looks like we will both have our hooves full of ‘Pitch stuff’ now. And if I could be so selfish, could I ask ya to take it easy on the way out my flank? Big boys like you feel like ya would end up as a fat, stiff bale of booty bile.”
Pitch kicked the door shut, the sudden motion lurching his stomach up between his front hooves and bounding back with a bounce of moist worbles -Vhhrgllotuhghs- -Chgllogunk-.
“Sorry, I mean no offense, but I think we would both prefer if I could put ya behind me, as smoothly as possible. And I don't mean ya have to hold back in terms a size, hard for a stallion of this mfms, caliber, not to end up one huge steaming hillock. Just avoid being a pain in my plot, right?”
Pitch shuffled inside, stretching and huffing to himself, Maybe a bit more rest? But there was chores he might as well deal with first. “Hmm, Hind hill, be a more accurate name for ya by tomorrow, huh? What do you think? Hill Hind?” Pitch Pine said back to his rear.
The cheeks clenched -Cltphp- and rumbled. A festering flourish of flatulence fanned through his fanny -Pbrphrhpprprrlbth-, billowing out into the cabin atmosphere with a tinge of tar-boiled jerky and allspice berries.
“I gotcha stud, get to it now, keep up that pace and we will have ya stashed up in a big ol’ sack by tomorrow.”
~ 1 ~
Pitch pine spent the early dawn by the table, inspecting jars filled with seeds from squash, zucchini, and pumping gourds he had grown himself. All whilst their gut hummed and masticated the stallion beef in under the table -Chbgglprrllutch-. He siphoned off the seeds that floated to the top, keeping only the healthy and well nourished pods at the bottom.
After laying the good seeds out to dry, another burble ventured up his neck.
-Bhuraalhhp- “Phaa, still hogging away in there?” Pitch huffed.
He shuffled his gut against the wall, and planted it to the boards. The gut rumbled as the pudge pelted to the boards -Glrrlgbrrl-Gtwwwdd-, pancaked under the weigh Pitch applied to it with his grinds. -Gllrrgphs- -Bggplluch-
“I will help you along, I got ya. Could use just a bit of help, ain’t that right?” He consoled the smooshed, burgeoning belly, “breaking down that last bit of stallion to some sloppy clay… Still got your role to fill, have a whole field for ya to tend to, gonna be all mfms yours. Because, you might have suffered an accident, but I will ensure to be deliberate with your results~.” Pitch snickered.
-Crrkkktnnn- Then the walls creaked of tension.
He stumbled back, watching the wall rebound ever slightly from the release of pressure. “Huh, Hoo… Okay, gotta make sure to reinforce those supports in the wall.”
That was but another task on Pitch's list, that further separated him from the lingering thought of last night's – semi-successful – date.
