Sundae had hesitated, it had taken a few minutes more to find the right words, but he had been honest with her. That he wanted it all, he wanted it so badly, and that right now, at this very moment, he would do almost anything to get it. He’d force himself to swallow a thousand sticks of butter for every meal if it meant he became the world’s fattest. What he couldn’t be sure of was whether—if his body started to falter, if his friends and family abandoned him, if he struggled to billow outwards with blubber like he so desperately desired—he would be so eager or willing to continue.
Fuller was understanding. There would be time to adjust to the increased intake of food, she stressed, but at his current weight Sundae would need to be consuming more daily calories than Solar within the next few weeks if he hoped to surpass the current champion any time soon. Solar had a several-year lead over him, and Sundae needed to be eroding that lead with every mouthful if he wanted to pose any kind of challenge.
A few weeks, that would be the point of no return.
With that settled, Fuller had sent him on his way. He was welcome to return to her facility whenever he was ready to make his final decision. In the meantime, she encouraged him to take a recess, think about it, and—if he did decide to go through with it—to enjoy his last days on earth as a normal pony. It would be all change from then on.
It had been a lot to take in; the obligations, the risks, the Rules of Consumption. His mind was racing as he waddled slowly homeward, trying to weigh every facet presented to him, trying to make sense of it all…
He stopped as his stomach let out an audible gurgle, the smell of hot food loitering in the air around him. He hadn’t actually eaten yet today—he’d assumed his day with Fuller would be more feasting than training—and his whining stomach was getting all too persistent in reminding him of that fact. He only had to trot a little further to find the aromas were coming from a small restaurant, an all-you-can-eat if he recalled correctly.
Well… he could eat quite a lot, couldn’t he?
The interior was poorly lit and the furnishings plain. It was essentially a room with some buffets against one wall and tables and chairs scattered through the rest of the space. A couple of disinterested staff milled around towards the back. Sundae remembered that he’d been here before, years ago; the service was poor, the food lukewarm, and it was generally a depressing little place to be. No wonder he hadn’t come back.
He had already started to leave when he suddenly remembered Rule 14: Choose quantity over quality.
Reconsidering, he turned back and entered the restaurant. The place was nearly deserted. It was too early for the dinner rush—if this place even had one—so the maître d’ invited him to sit wherever he wanted. Sundae selected a table next to the buffet (Rule 31: Move less, gain more) and, with a drink of elderflower soda ordered, wandered over to the offerings.
As anticipated, it was all a little… lacklustre. He spooned some lamp-warmed pie into a dish and brought it back to the table, digging into it quickly. The crust was moist and floppy, and the filling was bland but, at least, plentiful. Still, it was only a couple of minutes before his plate was clean again.
He sauntered back to the buffet, committing himself to a larger portion this time as he picked up some more pie, lasagna, pastry rolls, curry puffs, and a dozen or so hay nuggets. He arrived back at his table just as the soda arrived, muttering his thanks.
The other food was similarly disappointing. He idly picked away at the plate, questioning the wisdom of choosing “quantity over quality” when it came to this place. He was shocked when his glass slipped off the edge of the table, splashing sparkling elderflower across his gut before smashing on the floor. He could only apologise profusely to the disgruntled unicorn who came to sweep up the mess, dustpan and broom suspended in their magic aura.
He excused himself to the little colt’s room for a bit. The bathroom was even more dingy and poorly lit than the main restaurant, but at least it had paper towels for him to clean himself up with. With a bundle of them in hoof, he angled his stained stomach towards the mirror and started wiping away the moisture, rapidly at first, but he quickly found himself slowing.
This… was nice, actually. He wiped over his barrel again, feeling the mass squish beneath his hoof and expand back into place as it was freed again. Egregiously he dropped the towels and hefted his gut upwards, taking a moment to appreciate how heavy and malleable it was before letting it go, unable to contain a smile as it returned to pressing against his legs, wobbling all the while.
He loved being large. He couldn’t imagine life any other way.
He’d spent so long looking up to those bigger than himself, the fattest ponies in all of Equestria, he’d neglected to remember that he was already fatter than most ponies! He’d already overcome the flimsy, flight-ready bones and ultra-high metabolisms inherent to pegasi biology to get this far; giving up now would be as disappointing as this buffet!
And he was not going to be bested by this godawful buffet!
Filled with renewed determination, he trotted quickly back into the main dining hall, bee-lining to the nearest buffet. Whatever staff ponies were around earlier seem to have sequestered themselves to a back room somewhere. Perfect.
He looked upon the table to find mainly accoutrements to other options: rices, fries, noodles, the like. Fine. Pushing his belly against the buffet’s edge, he plunged his muzzle into a warming tray and began to eat. The soba noodles were bland, but that wasn’t the point. The point was calories, in abundance, as rapidly as possible, the very essence of Rule 64: slow and steady wins the race; fast and reckless puts on weight.
He wanted to be the fattest, and by the princesses themselves, he would fight for it with each and every breath. Every ounce and pound, and hopefully every ton, would be cherished whether he ever reached his lofty goals or not. This was for him. This. Was. Happening.
The practicalities of trying to stuff an entire table’s worth of carbohydrates into himself had rapidly become evident. So too did the staff eventually noticing his endeavour, who asked him in increasingly forceful terms to stop eating directly out of the warming trays.
Though vim and vigour pushed him onwards through increasingly infrequent mouthfuls of tasteless, plain rice, the staff’s threat of ‘the authorities’ proved itself enough to make him finally settle the bill and leave the premises last night as a thoroughly satisfied, if not quite full, pony.
He’d been able to fix that final problem by grabbing a few extra hayburgers on the way home. After all, the Golden Rule couldn’t be ignored: There’s always room for more!
The bounty of the previous day’s trial was evident on his body upon waking up, his scales registering a few extra pounds, his barrel slung just a little bit lower. He gave those cherished ounces an appreciative, welcoming rub.
His thoughts flashed back to the photographs on Fuller’s walls, of those gargantuan ponies who had achieved their impossible dreams under her tutelage. That opportunity stood before him now. The world’s best pony fattener, exclusively willing to help him get fatter than any pony had ever gotten before. He felt a fool for ever having hesitated.
An hour later, he was standing at her door with suitcase in tow, knocking eagerly. Fuller cracked the door, one eye peering out for a moment before the door swung open wide.
“Ah, Sundae Brunch,” she said, gesturing inwards. “Make yourself at home.”