Rhea's Buccaneer Blowdown


Written by Septia.


The duskfisk tavern's eating hall laid lit up in commotion. Fists were flung, bottles were lobbed and rum drenched words were pelted between sea dogs. It was the largest brawl the – admittedly small – tavern had seen for weeks. Yet, at the neighboring bar in the duskfisk – the fuse that had instigated the brawl – the mood was far more subdued. The storm had already passed. There were shards of green marbled glass strewn across the floor, accompanied by toppled chairs, broken furniture and the occasional tooth. A table laid cleaved in twain with a broad gut wedged in its gap, bridging the sides of the upturned tabletop and welling out in blubber. The sea of belly surged to and fro under commotion from within, broad bloats swelling up in the likeness of fists, feet and elbows across the surface, tugging the gut this way and that, only to snap and sink back under the roiling ripples of furred flab -Thhngngsb- -BggBbppnngwmmp-. A sloppy peal of churning chyme reverberated from the hill of jiggling meat -Chhbgrllrpghthhsh-, stirring its occupants within. Though the gut welled and eclipsed the width of the table, it appeared to lack an owner, a disembodied gut churning away in the aftermath of the brawl -Chgllpthghs-. A belch shook the stomach to the core -Bbhruuaralp-, and the belly began tipping forwards, heaving over to bulldoze the bellybutton to the floor and hoist up – from being smothered in its bulk – the body of a rodent, clad in captains attire. 
	“You ballast better settle, or I'd think it is not worth me effort to chug ya down. You know the code, no pray, no pay.” Captain Rhea said with her arms on her gut. Standing in the wreckage of the table the rat measured barely a meter off the ground, surpassed by her own gut which occupied a magnitude more space than herself. With her splayed coat along the end tip of the mountain of meat, she resembled the scuff at the top of a bindle stashed with loot. A pronounced kick jutted out in a malformed bloat on her gut, sending ripples across her belly and shudders down her spine. “Phah, but a whale ain't worth its weight in a pursuit, less its weight can measure up some worth,” Rhea said with a few pats to the top of her gut, soft claps that rustled the surrounding fur compared to the rowing squirms within -Gptwwnb-. “Ye thought ah was running a rig with ye when ah told ye I’d swallow ya up?” The stomach bounded and surged below her, muffled groans muted under the bellows of digestion -BgMmfn- -Chhgrluuuurllpg-. 
	“Phaawumf, phaa, thar she blows,” Rhea huffed to herself at the sight of her whale of a belly, “got down least a quarter dozen of those sharkbaits.” Rhea yawned as she stretched her arms above her head, cracking her neck from side to side. “To be sure one of em's that rowdy skallywag of a captain,” she muttered as she got up on her feet, with the gut still tossing ahead of her. -Bgbgllpghhs- gurgles broiled up through the gut, rushing up her gullet. Rhea's muzzle bulged out triangular with a peak in each cheek, before she unleashed a salty breath of a belch that heaved out the clog from her throat -Bhhaauuuurlrlsp-. A tattered three corner captain's hat flopped out of her maw and plopped onto her the gut, obstructing her vision -Kkrpplsttch-, tendrils of drool slopping down the sides of the stomach treated garment.
	“Mpfha, mmwahs, ayy, that do clear up at least one of the seadogs down my bilge are.” Rhea wiped her maw with the hat and tossed it aside. The rat stretching and standing tall, began to waddle forwards, carrying the gut many times her size ahead of her, steering the lurching mountain of a gut like the bow of her sloop. A chunk of her stomach held up and reeling back off the ground, closest to her torso, whilst the majority bulldozed the ground, swabbing away teeth, splinters, and glass from her wake. The motions only stirred up more tides of writhing commotion within her middle. 
	“What's the matter, lads, never swabbed a deck b'fore?” she asked and jostled a stretch of her gut. The stomach broiled into a burble of churns -Cbbgllpg- and visibly retracted, the muffled cries and struggles amplified as it contracted by a couple of gallons under a meaty squelch -Cghhrlpuughtls- -Ghrbhlllrgh-. Rhea patted down the side of her gradually contracting gut, the pressure and commotion only ramping up as the room in her bowels diminished. “Gonna need a bit more struggle to make any headway, my sea leg's more than apt to handle the squirms of a bunch of landlubbers,” Rhea taunted as she strode up to the bar. Her hat barely reaching above the counter. She spun around, and grabbed the glass keg she'd been drinking out of. But once brought down to eye level she saw the upper half of the glass had been smashed. She shrugged and chugged down the rum at the borrow. 
	“Phaa…” her stomach contracted, swelling outwards with a disparity of contorting bulges -Vbbggllpgh- only for it to rocket back in a crash of buckled bones and spilt porridge -Cbbglggs- -Sphhclprutg-. As if an invisible corset had tautened around the gut, jerking back a good half meter of gut, which still left about a meter's worth of belly slumped flat on the floor in front of her. -Bhouruaaahlp- She belched and smacked her lips. “Phaa, Sorry, ya old salts won't be reaching davy jones's locker in one piece,” Rhea said and adjusted her hat, sauntering towards the main hall as her gut contracted and roared, the struggles inside still rampant as the gut shrunk, though its bulges and throes were getting all the more sluggish and stiff. She cradled the bottom of her gut and hummed. “Mmm, well, perchance as one piece all together,” she noted.


As she walked her stomach gradually reeled up from the ground, only occasionally dipping to scrape the wooden flooring as she strode. The brawl around her settling as more of the participants saw the captain. The commotion of the fight dying down in tune with the commotion of her gut. The broadside of her stomach reeled in a touch with each step. A sluggish heave and squirm under a mire of pressure whistled out of her abdomen -Chhrrrvllsh- Rhea clicked her tongue. She cleched her fist and tautened her stomach, the abdomen momentarily caving inwards to bounce out even smaller than before accompanied by a series of carbonated crackles and crumbling calcium -Kkrlggbghslrpsh- -Ckkrrlxbbrlts-. Afterwards, the rat captain's gut now sported a manageable girth an of a average meter across, disrupted by a crumpled bouquet of bumps and towering protrusions. The captain's coffers crunched its occupants to a gemstone of meat -Sbbrllgpththh-. A pressure vented through the rodents hind in a cone of smog -Ppbrhrhtpph-, the flatulence drenched with a stank of brine, jerky, and leather, which melded into the tavern's similar atmosphere. 
	Reaching the door, the captain saw her crew filtering out from the crowd to accompany her. “We're leaving, captain?” First mate Rynera asked. 
	“Ayy, me girl's just about scuttled those squiffies, let the rest a' these carousers nurture their grog blossoms best they wish. We'll load the -boauuarjp- last of the cargo and set sail in that dawn.” 
	“Ayy aye captain. But, question, have ya seen Stinky Sal? Last I saw she'd be drinking wiff ya?” 
	Rhea smacked her lips, and quizzically let her palms roam around the gut, kneading into the soft parts betwixt the sprouted bulges -Chhggllssh- -Shclplllch-. “Mmm, The lass'll seemingly be livin' up to her moniker soon enough, savvy?” she said and glanced back into the tavern. “Suppose we'd need a new experienced deckhand here? A position just -Guuurrahp- opened up…” she flashed a grin and clicked her tail up to coil and squeeze into her gut. “That, and me crew'd always welcome our larder padded with some fresh bilge fodder.”