mccrockers (unfin)

The night was still young as the teen carefully steered his old, beaten-down convertible into the parking lot of McCrockers Restaurant and Establishment. After a grueling 12-hour work shift, he was desperate to get home and begin his weekend of resting, but the panging hunger in his gut was enough to force him to take a detour into the more commercial district.

As much as he would rather eat at Burger Prince, or...well, anywhere besides McCrockers, it was the only restaurant open 24/7. The place had a reputation, and as negative as it was, it was still the only fast-food chain privately operated by the Empress herself, which had to amount to something good. Maybe the rumors, about the sheer lack of quality in their food and their employees, were just that. Rumors. Maybe the place wasn't as bad as most people made it out to be. Maybe.

Maybe wasn't enough to calm his nerves as the car came to a stop, and he stepped out in the icy night air. Either way, it was either McCrockers or bust until he got home, and he didn't think he could drive for an hour and a half on the verge of starvation. With a deep breath, he made his way to the glass doors, swallowed hard, and entered.

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"Welcome to McCrockers, how can I help you."

The troll's voice was dull as she idly licked her lips, glancing over the hapless teen at the counter. It was obvious just by looking at her that not only was she a prized employee, but that she had been reaping the benefits of said status for quite some time. Her waist-length hair was more akin to a dirty mop, sticky strands trailing down in all directions, glistening in the low lighting of the room, and crowned by a rumpled McCrockers hat that hung loosely from one horn.

Underneath the stringy, coal-black mass, her face was coated with sweat, the occasional droplet rolling down her brow. Any makeup she may have been wearing had long been smeared away, faint streaks of dark blue visible around her eyes. Her cheeks were puffy and pale, accentuating the bulbous masses that were her chins, drooping and giving her face a spherical appearance, although it was hardly the least spherical aspect of her.

"Fat" would be putting it kindly; the blueblood was positively obese, thick rolls of flab oozing from what remained of her uniform. The top had ridden up almost to her breasts, twin mammaries threatening to burst through the garment and forming a veritable canyon of cleavage speckled with the remains of unidentifiable foods. A majority of the buttons had popped off, and even fully opened her shirt could barely succeed at wrapping itself around the upper roll of her torso. Deep, dark stains marred the surface, various condiments both familiar and alien seeping into the fabric, mingling with sweat and grease to turn the poor uniform into an overused napkin for the blubbery girl.

It was hard to tell where her belly ended and her chest began, thanks to the sheer amount of slick flesh forcing it's way out of her frame. Rolls of grey, quivering fat hung openly, the shine of the light showing off her chronic perspiration to all. Although it was hard to see from where she stood behind the counter, her pants weren't faring any better, the zipper having long since been torn clean off from the strain of trying to hold in her mountainous legs. The odor of sickening food emanating from her top was practically unnoticeable next to the rank scent of sweat and sex her various rolls and crevices were creating, and whenever she lifted one bulging arm or slipped a thick thumb under the waistband of her shorts in a vain attempt at comfort, a ghastly smell powerful enough to strangle a horse would make itself apparent, often due to her complete lack of apathy towards her own flatulence and hygiene.

The teen stood and stared, trying to avert his eyes from the jiggling catastrophe of health that was the cashier, eventually managing to force himself to look at the ground. "U-uh, I'll...have the, uh..."

"The what? Or are you here for the specials?" Suddenly perking up, she leaned forward, her stomach squashing against the countertop with an audible gurgle of half-digested lunch, breasts drooping down in a manner that would have been seductive several hundred pounds ago. "So which'll it be? Handjob and milkshake? Bukakke with a side of fries? Or maybe you want something more, you sick little f-"

"VRISKA."

Startling, the young man's head shot to the side, caught off-guard by the sudden appearance of another woman. Vriska, or so he guessed the obese cashier's name was, seemed significantly less enthusiastic at her arrival, and groaned in annoyance, one hand reaching under her stomach to scratch at her inner thighs.

"What nooooow, Maryam?"

The newcomer was practically the polar opposite of the bulging blueblood. Waifish to an almost unrealistic degree, her heels clicked on the floor as she marched up to the counter. Her uniform was much more reasonable, although it's tightness only served to highlight her astronomically small waist and petite hips. She seemed unsteady, often leaning one hand on any nearby supports, eventually coming to rest on the counter, and between her wobbling gait and skeletal figure, the customer was quickly realizing that although she was far from being the disgusting mess of a troll Vriska was, she wasn't much healthier in general.

The bob of hair crowning her head was neat and tidy, seemingly untouched by the filth of the establishment, although the occasional stain was visible on the rest of her clothes. Jade-green mascara attempted to cover the dark circles under her eyes, presumably matching her blood color, and although she was diminutive compared to the colossal cashier, she carried an air of firm authority about her; fittingly, the silvery tag pinned to her breast labeled her as "Kanaya Maryam, Senior Manager".

"How many times to I have to tell you this? The specials are-"

"Are only available after 11pm until 3am, have to be ordered by the customer, blah blah blah." Rolling her eyes, Vriska leaned back, the crumb-crusted indent of her navel visible as her body jiggled from the motion. For his part, the teenager was happy to be farther away from her, even if only a small distance. "You're the one who tells me to sell more, fussyfangs! Stop getting on my case when I try!"

It was Kanaya's turn to groan, closing the gap between the two trolls until the blueblood's gut was almost pressing against her, and jabbing one finger into her chest, the contact creating a slick squelching sound as the pent-up grease and stains slid against Kanaya's touch. "I will stop getting on your case when you actually do your job properly, and not sit around eating the stocks we're supposed to be serving the customers and then taking all of Aradia's...jobs." At the mention of eating, the jadeblood's stomach gave a weak gurgle, although she ignored it.

"Uuugh, FINE. YOU deal with it, then." Without another word, Vriska turned and waddled away, huffing despite the short distance. The still-silent customer could only watch, transfixed, at the troll's gigantic ass, barely contained in what were once pants. Her rump was just as sweaty as the rest of her, and as she reached the small, employees-only door, she paused. With a soft grunt, a sudden blast of hot gas erupted from her rear, thick cheeks slapping together as the noxious air forced it's way out of her body, the scent beginning to waft over the room and the sound frighteningly wet. Seemingly content, she snorted once and pushed the door open, squeezing her cellulite-ridden body through with a slick squelch.

Kanaya scowled, before turning back to the young man and putting on a surprisingly convincing smile. "Well, then. Welcome to McCrockers. How may I help you?"

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