FSE

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The wizened sphynx cat stared into the crystal ball, rubbing her hands around it as she peered with one eye inside, while Tasha shifted uncomfortably in the uncomfortable metal chair, waiting for the spectacle to run its course. Inside the translucent sphere seemed to be a bright swirling mist that contrasted the dark shadows of the tend Tasha and the fortuneteller sat in, with little white stars projected from the light in the corner to fill in the ambiance.

"I see...I see.." The old cat, The Great Madam Gazowits muttered, closing her eyes. "A life- no, decades, passing in the blink of an eye. Conflict and bloodshed! The fracture of the self, the loss of innocence..." The clouds inside seemed to grow brighter, sending flickering refractions of light across the tent that bounced off the walls.

Her tone seemed to shift, heightening as she arched her back and stared up towards the roof of the tent, seemingly at nothing from what the diminutive bear-wolf mix could see. "Heartbreak and recovery with regrets for a life long lived..." She moaned. "An imposing size and great winds to come..!"

The fortuneteller bent back down to look back into the orb again. "...But in the end I see peace. The gilded age amongst a life of regrets where your trifles have given way to absolvence." The sphynx cat took her hand away from the glass orb as the billowing clouds inside seemed to recede outwards like they'd been zoomed into, leaving the ball the same milky-white color it'd been when Tasha had first come in and sat down. She looked at the nerdy bolf solemnly before she spoke. "That is the fortune I see for you, young lady. Is that all you require from the Great Madam Gazowitz?"

"Ahm..." Tasha shifted, trying to figure out a way to word her answer in English from her natural russian. Her own nerdy appearance with her round glasses and sweater, combined with her small stature at five feet and the chub around her tummy and hips made it easy for her to get pushed around more often than she liked to admit. "'T'ank you for 'dat, but...I t'eenk my question 'vas about how my scholarsheeps would do for college?" she said hopefully, looking up at the cat.

The sphinx narrowed her eyes down to the bolf in response. "Oh. That is a mistake on the Great Madam Gazowitz's part, then. Let me search the cosmos once more..." Again, the sphinx closed her eyes, and with much less theatrics, rubbed her hand over the glass ball as if it was some water-melon at the farmers market she was testing for ripeness. She opened her eyes. "Poorly, my dear. All of them do quite poorly."

That sucked the wind right out of Tasha's sails. "I see." she quietly. "Vell...t'ank you anyways." She handed off the money to the fortuneteller, who slid it into the register under the table, and then bowed out of the tent; squinting as the bright sun of the afternoon passed through pudgy bear-wolf mix's glasses

She could feel the frosty winter grass crunch under her shoes as Tasha left the empty field the tent had been set up on, before she got back to the cracked pavement of the sidewalk for her trip to the store as originally planned. "Vell 'dat vas vaste of time." she murmured, pulling the neck of her sweater up a little closer as she could see her breath crystalize into clear mist. Tearing her phone out of her pocket, the young Russian emigrant checked the time, before she sighed again. Twenty minutes of her afternoon and twenty dollars gone all at once.

Still, as she checked her emails and saw the most recent update from the college she applied to, it didn't seem the soothsayer was wrong about how her scholarships were doing. It was a list of rejections and half-hearted autofill emails for how someone else had gotten the money instead that she'd need to attend university. Tasha swore in Russian under her breath as a response. She'd really needed those...

The bolf's family had immigrated to one of the New World district cities from a Russia that had been pretty thoroughly wrecked by the Great Machine War, and the college fund they'd planned for her in the meantime had been practically drained with the rest of their funds to start their new life. Her last chances were with the scholarships she'd been able to apply for as an immigrant, but with those off the table, what option could she possibly have to pay for university? She barely had any job experience, and while Tasha spoke English, her struggles with the language on occasion and bare background in the new country wasn't going to do her any favors looking for jobs.

Absorbed with what the denial of her college scholarships and applications meant, Tasha failed to notice the other person on the sidewalk. As they collided, it was a one sided measure as her pudgy body bounced off the jogger. At five feet tall and only a bit pudgy with the softness on her stomach and hips, she didn't tend to have a lot of staying power keeping her from almost being bowled off the sidewalk. "E-excuse me!" she said in apology, while the jogger continued, waving a hand back behind them to acknowledge it. Fixing her glasses, she tried to split more of her attention on the sidewalk in front of her while she kept considering what to do.

She heard the sounds of shouting to her left, and saw what looked like the newest recruits for the New World military training on the grass. In beige shirts and green camo pants, Tasha watched them laying in the plank position over the dirt before their instructor blew a whistle again and they dropped back down into the grass to do a push-up, an expression of concentration on their faces. Before Tasha could stop herself, her mind drifted back to the army recruiters she'd seen around the cafeteria at her highschool almost every lunch. Handing out pamphlets to anyone passing by, and giving the whole spiel to anyone who stuck around long enough to listen. Tasha bit her lip. She wasn't really considering enlisting in the military was she...?

The brown-furred bear mix sighed. As a last resort, maybe. If it really did turn out that she couldn't find any other way to get the money, then she'd consider it, but otherwise-

Tasha stumbled on the sidewalk, having to stop as a wave of vertigo seemed to wash over her from out of nowhere. "Nghf, vhat-?" Did running into the jogger give her some kind of concussion? As the world briefly spun around her, the pudgy bolf closed her eyes as she bent over to get her bearings, wrapping her paws around her face as she felt tingling like parts of her body had fallen asleep when she wasn't paying attention, rippling from up her legs and through her torso, before feeling like it almost ran to the tips of her hair. It felt almost like time rolled back for the bear-wolf mix, the years she'd spent in the city seeming to stretch back as more years found their way under her belt. Shaking herself from the moment of paralysis, the feeling steadily faded as Tasha opened her eyes, and looked over herself.

She was fine, or at least she seemed fine. There was the imperceptible feeling that something was off as Tasha re-examined herself, but couldn't seem to find anything wrong. She still had on the puffy jacket over the t-shirt and jeans she'd gone out in, good casual clothing for her first trip back on leave from her contract. Though still, on what she could see, there weren't any signs of damage or bleeding from running into the passerby.

Checking her forehead, there was nothing there either. She was...fine, it seemed.

Well not really. Whatever it had been, it'd had the fortunate side effect of distracting her from the onset of anxiety that had befouled her ever since she came back to the district city, but she felt those nerves rising back up again as her head cleared.

Though she was luckily interrupted once more by the growl of her stomach, not in discontent as it usually did. Those awful mission MRE's that felt like they were ripping up her stomach lining every time she finished one. This time however, the bolf felt like she was starving. Looking across the road, she could see a cheap burger joint across the street. It wouldn't be classy, but at least it could be considered 'food' without making her stomach roil for the better half of a detail.

She'd had the military training to transition into the mercenary field, it wasn't like Tasha was the same nerdy bolf who'd gotten pushed around in highschool, after all. She took longer strides now, reflecting on the foot of height she'd grown a foot in basic training, and when she'd accepted the 'discrete' offer once she graduated from basic to work for the Ares Private Solutions, she'd packed on enough muscle by then to have the definite look of a soldier. Passing by the window, she flexed an arm, and what was before a flabby mass of nerd biceps curled into a peach-sized mass of muscle as if it'd always been there. Underneath the black tank-top, black stubbly hairs poked out like seedlings of grass through the dirt. Tasha lamented how she'd be needing a fresh shave on one of her days off when she was feeling more up for it.

There were the good parts she supposed, smiling a moment as she flexed there, but that expression quickly faded. It wasn't enough to weigh out the bad, not nearly. Tasha remembered sprinting through the streets as her squadmates tried to take the public square, the sickening feeling as one person fell, a fox that she looked back to see had a dime shaped hole near his eye as he lay there motionless. Meanwhile, the chatter of gunfire and the blinding dust of the desert-

Damn it, she needed something to take the edge off. The bolf dug around her jacket for a small box of cigarettes, lighting one up quickly and stowing the container before she got a puff. Her gaze did linger on the silver lighter before she put it away, coming into the restaurant and finding a seat after her order, carefully hiding her lit cigarette in her jacket to avoid the judgment of the staff.

She remembered holding up in the small shop downtown, the nervous eyes of her squadmates flicking between each other as the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Eventually, the radio had chattered the affirmative that they'd taken the area, but there was no solace in that. Not when it just meant they'd all be shipped back out to the front again.

Tasha's confusion had been palpable when she'd gone to the back to see the captain looting the place, grabbing whatever seemed valuable and stuffing it in her pack, then smashing the glass windows and bottles with either the butt of her gun or on the hardwood floor. Though, as she took a long drag on the nicotine bar, looking back her explanation had made sense, even if Tasah wasn't so sure about the ethicality of it. If the locals heard from them that the businesses in the area had been wrecked while the rebel forces had occupied it, they'd pay to have security assigned while the fighting continued, and that would be easy money. Just sitting around and relaxing, not getting shot at. Still, She bit her lip; They were practically swindling the people they were being paid to fight for, right? And that just meant other squads had to take the mission instead...

.Tasha breathed the dark smoke out, her paws rubbing over the etched finish of the plundered trinket. No, she...she trusted the captain. She was a couple years her senior and Tasha still remembered the kiss they shared on the Zunigra detail and the wild night after, how the captain had expressed her own fears about having to serve through her own contract. It was just...like she said. It's a tough world, but if she didn't take shit from anyone and did what it took to survive, she'd be fine.

And that's what she had been doing in ransacking the place like that. What it took for her- for all of them to survive.

Tasha exhaled more smoke again before she held the cigarette under the table as her server arrived with her order. It was just a combo, with a double-stacked burger, some fries and a drink, but that'd at least hold her over for now.

She smelled her order, the spices of the burger mixing with the saltiness of the fries out of the fryer. God, Tasha had missed this. Laying the cigarette on the tray, she picked up the grease-laden sandwich and took a bite, feeling the tangy juices of the meat hit her tongue, drowning out the moral conflict still being waged in her mind, despite her best efforts. She froze, briefly gulping down another bite of her burger before she had to groan and close her eyes as that similar feeling of vertigo washed over her, and the internal clock of her memories wound a bit higher.

It definitely wasn't as bad as last time however, as the paralysis was now just a strong prickling she could power through as she took another chomp of her cheap meal. Damn it, some stupid random bout of shock wasn't going to keep her from enjoying one of the singular best meals she'd had since she got on leave.

Feeling the tingling wash under her skin again, Tasha was just able to ignore it in favor of the greasy, savory flavors that washed over her taste buds. As she continued, those bites became more ravenous. It felt like her taste buds were overwhelmed by the fact that they were getting to experience something that hadn't been dried out and prepared with enough preservatives to last over five years crammed in the jeep box for a tour.

Moreover, Tasha ate to drown the sudden emotional cavern that seemed to open up inside her, finishing off the burger with gusto as she opened her eyes and moved on to the rest of her meal while the prickling sensation of the world going topsy-turvy finished. Her meal seemed to have expanded to fill it, in that sense, her simple combo expanding into about three multitudes worth of food for the bolf to wolf down with.

She scooted her chair up, feeling the discomfort as it was beginning to find it's way up her rear. Tasha didn't remember for the life of her why she'd gotten a chair seat when a booth would've been so much more comfortable at her prodigious size. Her height was one thing, but it was almost embarrassing to try and squeeze her chunky rear into the chair like that, having to account the extra hundred pounds of fat she'd picked up in her mercenary career, dwarfing her old highschool size. She'd gotten more used to "guaranteeing" those easy assignments as per captains orders when they'd had the time, and Tasha had more than adopted some of the same pleasure seeking habits of her superior as they'd been together.

'Together' having multiple meanings there.

But by all means, she wasn't just a fatass; there was hard muscle under that flab, as her record for fights could attest. Whenever some upstart had gotten in her or a squadmate's face, she'd been able to lay them out with a solid punch to the face. She had the bulky body of a champion powerlifter, and the intimidating coconut sized biceps around her arms backed up the idea. Underneath the bush of arm hair poked out, completely ignored as the bolf had stopped maintaining the more feminine parts of her appearance when she had the battlefield to worry about.

She could feel her stomach push out from under her shirt, the cushion of fat that before had diminished with her training swelling out to rub up against the table as the mercenary had done her fair share of glutting when she had the chance. The spongy mass groaned for a moment, and she grunted as she let loose a burst of foul smelling gas into the seat. The MRE"s had practically destroyed her stomach, and the wolf was beginning to have a 'digestive issue' with how much she could spew sometimes. Reaching behind to scratch her ass, she felt the edges of her fat-ringed anus against the butt of her pants. Tasha didn't feel like MRE's caused the bloating it'd had over the years, but the last time she'd had it checked it'd been some 'family genetics' thing so she was fine to leave it alone. Letting loose another burst of gas to free up more space for the low-class feast in front of her.

Chomping down the last bit of burger, andwiping the spare bits of sticky grease from her snout as it settled inside her, she leaned back as her food settled. Reaching over, she picked up the thick cigar that some faint instinct had mistaken for a cigarette a second ago to take a puff. It'd been from a wealthy house her unit had 'searched' to see if any damage was done to, and wouldn't you know it, the head's personal stash was raided by what must have been insurgents!

Funny, that.

Tasha scowled, her chubby fingers rubbing over the scars on her chin and briefly brushing against the strap of her eyepatch as it rubbed against her fur. She'd expected to feel satisfied, that emotional pit from before filled to the brim with digested meat, cheese, potato and congealed with carbonated syrup, but it still felt as gaping as ever. If her captain had gotten one thing right, it's that usually that was a sign she hadn't had enough, though she still had to sigh.

It probably didn't help that she was thinking about her in the first place.

Really, the whole point of leaving her contract and getting some protection gigs back in the New World districts was so she could forget about her.

"Sir?" Tasha's attention drifted to her left, as the fast food employee stood nervously behind, ignored as she'd been busy binging.

"Yes?" She snapped. "Vhat ees eet?"

The terrier froze at the feminine sound to her voice, before continuing."Oh, I'm sorry ma'am! It's just-we, uh, don't allow smoking."

"Vell now," She growled, Tasha's seat leaving scratch marks on the floor as pushed it out from the table, pouring her bulky mass out of the chair. Nearing her 40's, the bolf's bear-like qualities definitely showed themselves as she came to her full height. "Eez 'dat right?"

Tasha was an intimidating presence at 6'4. Combining that height with her powerful arms, thick keg of a stomach that pushed down through her shirt, showcasing some of the darker hairs growing up to the navel, the fat melons pushing against the shirt under her jacket and the thick yet muscular legs contained in the camo pants underneath with her pistol strapped to the leg, the bolf cast a powerful figure compared to the pudgy nerd she'd been almost two decades ago.

The young woman backed up as the wide mercenary loomed over her, scowling. Despite her age beginning to show as parts of her fur faded and whited out, the eyepatch and the scars more than did enough for her. "I-it's just company policy ma'am..."

The fearful expression sent Tasha back to her memories of the captain as she'd seen her intimidate one of the locals for information, nearly beating him bloody. As they'd been together and their contracts were renewed for another term of service, it'd only felt like she'd gotten colder and more detached as she'd followed in the captain's steps, steeping themselves in whatever vices the mission and security money could afford them for the chance they'd never have it again.

Not that it bothered her, really. Tasha had to do worse to friendly faces she'd fought besides when it turned out they got hired for the wrong side of a conflict. She doubted she'd even need to do that much to make her message clear to the employee standing in front of her. Finger the trigger a li'l bit, get close enough to scare her. She'd have enough money to pay off the local P.D. if any showed up.

...But she didn't. For some reason, a part of her, one she thought she buried after her first contract and signed on for another tour, roiled at the thought. Was she really gonna waste her time threatening a teenager? The pimply wolf in front of her looked like she'd just gotten out of class for christ's sake. Instead of intimidating her further, Tasha snorted, shoving the hapless worker out of the way as she left, and slamming the door of the burger place with a crash that sent ripples through the open containers.

"Vhatever. Your food ees sheet anyvays." she muttered behind her as she stomped into the parking lot.

It wasn't like she had a problem with the captain and the coldness she developed, that was what it took to survive after all. It'd only been when things had gotten...painful between them that there had been a problem. Those tender moments between them became more one-sided as the captain seemed to vent everything on to her, expecting her to just take it all. Monopolizing her time away from the squad to just be around her- and it wouldn't be as bad if she wasn't treating Tasha with the same cynicality she did with everything else either, but it just-

Gah. Tasha took another long drag of her cigar, feeling the embers burn up the paper as nicotine flooded her lungs. She needed to drown the feeling in something. Food, drink, drugs, anything that could cover it up. The aging bolf squinted, seeing the lights of a drugstore sign, before she stormed across the road towards it.

Tasha was a wide woman, but luckily was still the perfect size to squeeze through the door, though she felt her hips brush against the edge of the doorway. She pushed through the entrance, ignoring the greeting of the middle aged weasel at the desk. Beelining towards the alcohol section, she briefly surveyed their line up before aiming for some of the strong liquors toward the end of the aisle.

Not caring about the cashier at the desk, she pulled the bottle out of the cardboard case, popping the cap off to put the nose to her lips. Immediately the strong, familiar, and comforting bitter taste of the vodka mix hit her tongue, and she tilted the bottle back to drown the battlefield of conflicting emotions inside her, gulping down the contents with an experienced fervor.

She grunted, and the familiar feeling of vertigo washed over her, but she largely ignored it as she grabbed another bottle and did the same, tilting it back to guzzle down the drink as she could feel it dull her senses. The world spun a little more, though Tasha couldn't tell if that was from the drink (drinks?) or that vertigo feeling she tended to hit her every...what? Ten years or so? It always passed anyway, so it's not like she had any reason to pay much attention to the light sense of prickling as it ran down through her fur again.

Tasha finished downing the rest of the bottle, letting her arm hang as she stepped back and the benign feeling of pins and needles faded away just like it always did. She could feel the buzz of alcohol in her system, and the movement of the world was almost syrup-y, as she stood there. That emotional pit inside her seemed to be filled for the moment as the aging mercenary wobbled a bit in place before she belched, feeling the bitterness burn the back of her throat, the bottles surrounding her on the ground clinking together as her foot brushed by them to steady herself. It looked like she'd already boozed her way through at least a couple cases already.

She raised an eyebrow in inebriated curiosity. She'd drunk that much already..?

Well, tonight had been one full of reflection anyway, and she usually needed a bottle or seven when that happened. Thinking about the captain, how...bad it had been- for both of them, really. Tasha cringed thinking about those nights, how the relationship between them had become something toxic as the captain vented the trauma of the battlefield, but now Tasha realized, probably never processed it for herself. She'd treated the captain as a senior, following her lead, never questioning her, not even as her lover, not until it was too late. Tasha reflected on how she'd become so possessive and cold funnelling into a hard spiteful attitude, and how maybe if she'd said something sooner, done something different, maybe it could've ended better between them. Instead of the yelling as she announced she wouldn't renew her contract for Ares, maybe they could've both left, and they would have both been drinking their brains out in some bar instead of just her drowning it out in a liquor aisle after hours.

Maybe she could've kept her from being the person Tasha had only realized later she couldn't stomach being with by the end. She'd left for the wrong reasons, the bolf knew that now. It wasn't the brutality, the corruption, the death that had pushed Tasha's departure, not at first, it had been her own discontent with her treatment by her lover. Only later had she realized how dangerous the captain's "anything for money" attitude was, and how if she had gone along with it further, she might've lost the last part of herself before still unharmed by the warfare. One that'd only gotten to grow back after a healthy dose of separation from the front lines.

"????????..." She cursed herself out in Russian as she thought about it, rubbing her uncovered eye. An old contact had told her about the heinous work the captain had done before she'd met her end. Participating in a massacre for some dictator in Brazil. Men, women, children. To think she'd been saved by her own selfishness from participating in that...

A much softer arm reached out to steady herself as she felt her nerves wind down. In any case, working protection and other jobs within the city had been easier than the front lines, both physically and mentally, softening up in both of those aspects as a result. Her rampant hedonism's consequences had begun to show itself as she'd swelled up, her stomach pushing out more into a soft tire of flesh over most of the pants she wore, and her body, while still having some hard muscle underneath, was now more composed of fat than anything else. What she realized had been a coping habit for the stress of her former work had easily transitioned into a habit she could use to drown her regrets in when they hit her on nights like tonight, and she'd certainly ballooned in size with that new direction.

Tasha realized how cramped the corridor she'd begun drinking in was, her ass and stomach filling the aisle to be practically impossible if anyone had wanted to get by, and feeling the cold steel of the shelves on both. She could feel a similar rumbling in her stomach, and before she could stop herself, belched foully from her top and bottom, her cellulite painted asscheeks rippling with the movement inside her pants as her fat, bloated donut pushed against the pants edge. Her best apology was a hiccup as she placed the bottle back on the shelf, seeing herself in it.

She was definitely showing age now, looking at herself through the glass. Wrinkles and bags around her eyes, the shape of her body beginning to droop as gravity firmly placed itself upon her bulk. Her breasts, fat and soft, but sagging to either side of the shelf of her stomach. Her bottom lip had always been a bit thick with her underbite, but the scraps she'd put herself into when she was still working through her demons had bloated it just a bit more as the tip of her yellow canines just pushed over it. Soft sloppy jowls had developed as the number on the scale seemed to push higher and higher, and the bolfs capacity for the running and fighting had tanked as her stomach pushed further and further over her waistband.

Tasha spared a hand to scratch the dark treasure trail on the underside of her exposed gut, feeling her fingers dig through the ungroomed body hair. It was almost funny her younger self kept it around because she had "better things to do," and spiraled into letting it grow into dense forests across her, thick forests under her arms and above her genitals, and furry patches along the rest of her and on her arms.

These days it was more common for her to be mistaken as a man with her short crewcut, scarred visage, and the coating of graying whiskers, but she supposed she couldn't bother herself to care for it too much while she was running down the years on how long she'd stay in the protection game.

It fit with how she'd been taking easier and easier jobs these days too. Her younger self had been stupid, but her work for Ares and the urban work she'd done had left her a nice nest egg to sit on when she was ready for it. An easy retirement out of the business all together.

For now though, the bolf felt satisfied as her regrets seemed to sink between the muddied channels of her drunken stupor. She took a careful side-step out of the aisle, her stomach still pushing aside boxes and other goods to get through, and made her way to the front, waddling as her lardy thighs rubbed up against each other, carrying an extra two cases of the less-strong rum to hold her over for the night.

The middle-aged weasel working at the desk looked up from his magazine as her loud steps shook the cereal boxes stacked close by. "Tasha," He greeted. "Hard night again, hmm?"

"Da," she agreed. 'De, eh, demons. You know? 'Dey caught up to me again." She slurred digging around in her back pocket. "De usual fee? For 'da 'cleeneeng' and such?" She was almost surprised at the gravelly sound of her voice, how tired it was, though it wasn't a surprise. Too much drinking and smoking as she'd gone through the long process of understanding her demons was not usually kind to one's self.

He nodded solemnly. "Usual fee. I'll have someone get those in the morning." He flicked through the bills before he put them in the register. "Y'know, you're one of the only people I know who can down that much of the hard stuff."

She shrugged, her chins jostling with the movement. "Ees a talent. Again I-'' She let out another drunken belch, just narrowly avoiding bathing the weasel in more foul air. "'Dank you for letteeng me do 'dis."

He smiled. "Well, when you pay enough to replace the stock and for the cleaning after hours, I think I can let it slide."

She put down her usual wad of cash as payment for her binging and the mess, though her gaze drifted to an empty mason jar on the counter with 'college' written in sharpie, and stuffed with a couple bills. Regret briefly flashed in a pained expression as she remembered that day when she'd chosen to enlist and become a mercenary, the regret that fuelled her life afterwards from that decision.

He followed her gaze. "Ah. That's for one of the new hires. Trying to make enough for college, but she's been having trouble-"

Tasha's palm cut him off as she smacked down an extra two hundred dollars on the counter. "Make sure she does not join mileetary, Da? Especially not companees een eet. Not good vork." He raised an eyebrow as she grabbed her two cases to leave. "I'll...be sure to let her know."

Actually exiting the drug store proved to be an issue though. While Tasha understood her 7 foot height would make her duck, she overestimated the width of the door, and underestimated the sheer width of her ass, getting stuck part of the way through as her flabby butt; a veritable dumptruck of a rear, lodged itself firmly in the door.

It took a second for her alcohol soaked brain to recognize it, but once she did her hands went back to push herself through, grunting with effort as it refused to grant her exit. Her stomach slapped against the lap of her pants as she tried to force her way through to little effect as the frame creaked against her large, jiggling mass.

The cashier leaned out over the desk. "You, ah, need some help there or-?"

"Nyet, I've-" With a final heaving grunt, she shoved herself through, the frame bending out as fat hams wrapped in her barely fitting pants were forced unceremoniously through the door. "Got eet."

Wth the soft footfalls of the fat bolf going into the night, the cashier was left to wonder if he should start adding "door repair" charges to the vets usual fee.

Walking, or more waddling back through the cold night air, the bolf huffed as the sounds of the bottles clinking in their six pack combined with the quiet musings of the night, her mind brought to peace by her drunken binge. She squinted though, her drunken ambling interrupted by the bright lights of a sign that seemed...vaguely familiar.

In bright lights next to a purple and yellow outside tent, a neon sign proudly displayed 'Fortunes by the Great Madam Gazowits' in alternating purple and yellow neon, while the tent itself seemed to sit unassumingly in the middle of the empty field beside the sidewalk.

Tasha racked her drunken mind, trying to figure out where she'd heard the name before. Had she taken a job for a Gazowits before? Visited the tent at some point? It was an old name, but the way it tickled her reminded of something much further back to when she was younger, but she couldn't seem to pierce the sands of time that buried the exact placement in her subconscious.

Mmf, she scratched her stomach idly. Probably stolen from her then. If it was pointing towards young, it was probably around 'stupid' too. Maybe on a mission or something she'd looted something from a business with that name. In which case, her drunken brain connected, she probably owed her a drink or so as an apology.

There was the slight sensation of the world spinning as she stepped onto the grassy field, waddling her way towards the tent, but for the most part it blended into her drunken stupor, completely negligible.

She didn't notice the changes as the wind carved across her like an artist's pick across a canvas of soft, fleshy, fur-covered marble. How the lines across her face deepened and her jowls filled even more into fatty overflows of cheek and another extra chin filled in the space where her neck had formerly left at least a bit of space. How the fat of her body seemed to sag more as her frame seemed to bloat in one last rush, her fatty beergut becoming a hairy, oversized sack of lard encumbering her movement as it fell down over her knees, a central fold in the center as the thick oak-sized trunks of her legs struggled pushed the pillowy weight, relying more on inertia than anything else.

Her breasts sagged as they plumped out one more time into pumpkins of fatty meat, the hair from her treasure trail rising up past them to connect to the jungle between her chest, at least providing a hairy cushion between her stomach and upper torso.

The saddlebags on her thighs filled out into fat sagging suitcases of cellulite covered in grayed brown fur; the vitality seeming to be sapped even more as Tasha rolled back into her golden years. How her ass filled out even more, the cleavage spilling from the pants too small for her as her almost equally bloated tire of an anus pushed out over it.

There was a further sense of calm that embraced Tasha as she hit and passed her 60th birthday, her memory jogging to at least provide her the comfort of retirement she'd taken as soon as she hit the magic number though that had been a couple years ago now. She was more at peace with her regrets now, though still a complete hedon as she lived out her retirement. Some habits were just too hard to break.

She wasn't necessarily happy with the mistakes her younger self had made, but she understood that was the folly of youth and desperation. At the very least, she'd made it to be an old woman in a career that usually didn't allow longevity, and she'd enjoy it as much as she could.

But right now, Tasha thought, grunting as she pushed her mass forward on weakened muscles buried under what felt like a ton of lardy old bolf, she had one last amend to make first.

---

"I see your fortune has come to pass then." The sphinx said somberly, sipping from her own drink. "You have my apologies. I am but a translator for what the ball sees, but I cannot affect its visions." Sasha grunted as the few chairs the madam had offered to use to cushion her bulk bent under her weight, her sides spilling off the end. The sphinx had seemed to recognize her, but her memory was still hazy about the 'fortune' she kept going on about.

"Mm. I vouldn't know about 'dat. Mebbe a heavier night for 'de dreenkeeng is all." She took another sip from her own bottle, hiccuping before she gestured towards the cat again. "Your sure I, ah." She paused, in her inebriation trying to find a way to say the next words nicely. Deedn't steal anything from you? I 'vas bit of sheethead in my youth, you know. I vouldn't be sooprised..."

Gazowits chuckled. "No, you have not stolen anything from me. In fact, I'd say I would be the one who might have slighted you, if anything-"

Tasha interrupted her, letting loose another wild, *BWOOORP*-ing belch like she had in the drugstore, and patted her stomach, the fluid contents in the meaty tank still sloshing around. "Bah! Forget eet. If it deed happen, I can't remember. Life ees too short, eh? Ve do best ve can vith vhat ve 'ave."

The sphinx nodded hesitantly, observing the massive retiree reclining in her tent. She was a stark contrast to the diminutive, pudgy, nerdy mix who'd come in originally. Tall enough to tower a full head and a half over the fortuneteller, and so overweight she needed three chairs to hold her, her gut spilling over her legs and seemingly out of breath and sweating from the couple feet from the sidewalk she'd had to walk from the tent. Hairy and scarred enough to be mistaken for a man if not for the fat mammaries sagging over stomach, and bearing a deep tiredness from life that seemed to settle across all of her.

"I suppose." She said, sighing. If the recipient of the fortune no longer remembered life prior to the crystal ball's cosmic interference, what point was there in trying to bring up her involvement? The bloated old mercenary across from her seemed happy at least. Drunk off her car bumper of an ass, but happy nonetheless.

"So!" She raised her bottle in a fat swaddled arm. "If 'dere is no issue, then to 'de future 'den! Let's hope 'dese golden years treat us well, eh?" Sighing, the sphinx raised her own glass to toast to the drunken old bolf across from her.

Madam Gazowits supposed she owed Tasha that much, at least.