//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Bowstring and the Chunky Chagrined Cinematic // by MetalBrony20 //------------------------------// A pleasant breeze blew across the platform of San Franciscolt station. Autumn was beginning to set in, and with the changing of the season came a change in the weather. The sun above shone with far less power than it had done just a few months ago, but it was still hot enough to bring a sweat to anypony caught in those rays for too long.  With the cooling breeze, came the strong smell of coffee and sweets. Wafting from a pair of open glass doors, the sight inside was a good reminder of why it was so easy to make a pony sweat nowadays. The shop was jam-packed with nearly two dozen equines, grabbing a coffee to start off their morning, or filling up on an equally jam-packed confection to tide them over until lunchtime. Despite how large the interior was, it was simply insufficient to handle the size of its patrons. Not a single mare or stallion could claim to weigh anything below 350 pounds. Nothing but useless, wobbling fat, that was squished and squeezed inside whatever ill-fitting clothing they wore. Great slabs of belly flab oozed out of the bottom of shirts, just as skirts were lifted up by great mountainous orbs of wobbling butt blubber. The cafe had a great many rolls in stock, yet they couldn’t quite match up to the vast collection of flab rolls that swaddled arms, legs, and backs. This wasn’t just true for those inside the cafe, everypony in the station shared the same engorged appearance. From businessponies waddling around in a hurry to day-tripping gaggles of younger mares and stallions, not one pony was left un-marked by the touch of obesity. Some amongst their number had given up on walking, a few of the largest ponies confined to a variety of mobility devices instead, though this was a very small minority indeed. On the platform, a slight rumble and vibration could be felt through the hard paving slabs. A prelude to the sounds of a train puffing into the station. The huge locomotive rumbled along the platform, bringing with it a procession of carriages. All painted a deep green, they coordinated perfectly with the train. Well, all except one. Sat right in the middle of the line was what appeared to be a freight car. It lacked the aesthetic touch that graced the rest of the cars, composed instead of hard, utilitarian angles, the paint flaking and exposing the bare metal and rust below.  Passengers began to spill onto the platform, just about managing to squeeze their way through the doorways. At the same time, one of the drivers got out from the front. Her uniform struggled to contain her enormity, pockets and folds of flab oozing from every part of her sweat caked form. Coal dust had generously been spotted across her form, her wobbly cheeks smeared with the stuff, with several handprints apparent across her boilersuit. Weaving between the hordes of passengers she approached the freight car. Before her was a huge sliding door, at least three times her width. Taking a deep breath, she grasped at the latch, panting as she leaned her full weight against the door. With a metallic squeal, the rusted mechanism gave way. Bbbrrrbbbttpprrbtt!!! The instant the compartment was opened, a visible cloud of smog billowed out, accompanied by a deep rumbling burst of gas. Those that were closest gagged, their noses filled with a deep, organic stench. Methane mingled with the smell of dozens of half-digested foods. It was hard to pin down one exact stench, all blending together into one overpowering gust of odour. Caught in the slight wind, several paper bags fluttered out like disturbed leaves, each printed with the same logo ‘Berry Pie Bakeries’. A low, mechanical whine mingled with the hissing of steam from the train, both of which were overtaken by a rolling burst of flatulence that echoed through the interior, strengthening the smog that was just starting to peter out.  From the open door, a great mass pushed its way forwards. The electronic whine grew louder as a great mass of flesh ballooned from the doorway. Two immense rolls of belly fat were the first to appear amongst a great collection of rolls that gyrated and undulated like a great sea of white gelatin. Bouncing about upon the machine which could charitably be called a ‘mobility’ device, clear parts of anatomy could slowly be identified. Two lard drowned arms hung limply at their side, immense swells of bingo wings beginning to swallow the engorged forearms. A pair of breasts rested upon her upper belly, each mammoth, pillow-sized mammary held by a tent’s worth of fabric in the form of a simple top. A nice bright red, though the material was liberally spattered in a spectrum of different food stains and detritus, leading up towards their face. Somewhat beginning to sink into the rest of their mass, a doughy neck roll merged into a cascade of chins, the oversized jowls wobbling as the owner slowly chewed away. Their bright yellow eyes could just about be seen beneath their long red mane and tennis ball-sized cheeks. The heavy-duty wheels of the mobility device crossed the slight gap between the carriage and the platform, the slight change in height causing the ponies’ entire form to madly jiggle about. The slight shift in gravity caused her body to sag forwards, the mobility device’s motor complaining from the sudden shift in speed. With the lurch forwards, the true sink of the mare’s weight was revealed.  Whilst her breasts, belly and other fat rolls certainly outweighed anypony else in the station, the two mountainous globs of butt flab were the clear champions of her weight. Atop each mound, the barest bit of a skirt laid, doing little at all to cover the rest of the saggy flesh that oozed forwards. So wide they were, that each cheek kissed the edges of the door frame, creating the slightest bit of pull on her bum, her cheeks flushing from the contact. At this point, each mound could quite happily double as an admittedly foul-smelling bean bag; each so soft and plush pair of soft masses that anypony would easily sink into. And like a bean-bag, these mounds were pockmarked with a plethora of cellulite dimples and creases, marring the great swaths of skin.  Even so, through the distortion of her folding, sagging flesh, one could identify a stylized image of a crossbow, the image creased by the strange canvas it had been projected onto. A simple image that identified this mass of lard and blubber as none-other than Bowstring. Using a small remote clutched in her flabby hand, the rear wheels slammed down with another heavy impact, the suspension creaking and groaning in protest. Adjusting the overwhelming stench, or just simply ignoring it, a crowd gathered around. Before anypony could say anything or do anything, a pair of suit-clad mares pushed their way through, using their weight to barge past the group.  “Ms. Bowstring, we’re here as your escorts. We have transport waiting to take you down to the studios.” Bowstring turned her head, the mound of face and neck flab making this endeavor rather difficult. “Already? I’ve only just… buuurrrppppp… arrived here. I ought to check in at the hotel first…” Bowstring responded, managing to get the words out amongst heavy belches.  “Normally yes. However, Montage was very keen to meet with you and insisted we take you straight to set to meet with everypony.” One of them replied, adjusting their dark glasses. Getting no other response from the panting mare, they motioned her towards the station’s doors. Having no choice otherwise, she pressed forwards on her remote, the overworked scooter trundling along. Despite how slow she moved, the journey itself was straightforward. Trundling through the terminal, she was met with the same stares. Not unreasonable, considering the markedly different sizes on display. Compared to a few years ago, the increase in weight the city had experienced was still extreme, but compared to locations like Manehatten and Canterlon. It wasn’t though they hadn’t seen immobile ponies before, or seen Bowstring in magazines or billboards. In-person, however, it was a whole different ball game. Nothing could quite brace them for the sight of a near ton mound of stinking equine flesh currently trundling its way through the middle of the concourse.  The gasps, the confused, disgusting comments, even as quiet as they were, were still heard by Bowstring. She ignored them, her nervousness about meeting with the director and the myriad of thoughts buzzing around her head helped to keep her from acknowledging them. It was certainly a different reception to those towns and cities in the east and centre of Equestria, that was for sure. Pushing open the front doors for her, the two escorts guided her outside. From there, it was just a short trip to her ride. In her mind, she imagined it would be a limousine, or some luxurious SUV. Unfortunately, the bulk she possessed would have been far, far too much for those to accommodate. Instead, a large van was parked there, a heavy duty ramp leading to the interior.  “Apologies Ms. but when Ms. Berry Pie sent us your dimensions, this was the smallest option available. I hope this won’t be a problem?” Bowstring said nothing for a moment, squaring up the boxy machine. It wasn’t ideal, sure, but then again, she had been riding in a slightly modified freight car for the best part of a few hours. Humming, she nodded, her expanse of face fat wobbling and squishing about from the slight motion.  Pressing forwards, she mounted the ramp. Her mobility device loudly complained, the slight increase in gradient straining the motor. Her belly pressed into the sides of the van, flesh being squished upwards as she forced her way inside. “Nnnffff… ooh it’s a bit… huff… of a tight fit… hahhh… when did Berry… phew… give you the measurements?”  “I think about… two weeks ago?” “Well… that explains it. I’m a… uurrppp… growing mare you… pant… know. Nnrrrghhh… oh Celestia, I think my ass is a bit stuck!” Indeed, whilst her belly and love handles had just managed to squeeze in, her immense orbs of ass flesh were a different story. From the side of the van, a round mass of white ballooned from the back. Without any prompting, her escorts took one cheek each, leaning their own considerable weight into the mounds. Bowstrings cheeks flushed a deeper red, her sausage fingers mashing the forward button on the controls as she felt their own doughy forms become almost absorbed into her considerable mass. Little by little, they forced her through, the back of the van filled with a mixture of strained grunts, moans and bursts of rank flatulence. With a final shove, the last of her ass flesh crossed the threshold, the rear doors slammed home.  Inside, she was rather cramped, to say the very least. Her flesh touched every side of the van's interior, making her look like dough in a tin. A small bulb helped illuminate the space, accompanying the thin shaft of light spilling from the sliding hatch in front of her. Around her, she could feel the suspension shift from side to side as the two escorts got into the cab. The engine rumbled, and Bowstring felt her body begin to rock about as the vehicle turned this way and that. “We should be there in about half an hour, provided traffic is good.” Bowstring hummed in acknowledgment, closing her eyes and letting gentle sloshing of her body lull her into a doze. Or, it would have done, had a sudden buzzing not rang through her ear. Jolting up (as much as an immobile blob can anyways), she strained with her left arm, tapping the small device latched to her ear. It was a definite struggle, what with the copious amounts of fat blocking and padding her joints, making a simple arm bend almost beyond her capabilities.  “Bowstring? You there, big girl?”  “Berry? Yeah… I’m here, you didn’t need to surprise me like that!” A bubbly laugh came from the other end of the earpiece, followed by a moment of wheezing and a muffled burst of flatulence. “When have you ever not been surprised by a phone call?” A small moment of silence hung after the question, both parties laughing a moment late.  “Yeah, I guess so. Oh, before you ask, the train ride was fine. Bit cramped… huff… and I ran out of snacks halfway… urrpppp… there. And can you believe that I have to ride in the back of a van?” “Well, that’s not too surprising. They haven’t taken to their weight gains as much as we have. But, after all, that why you’re over there now, to be a star and an… whew... inspiration to show those living in San Fransicolt.” “Yeah, and who was it again that pushed me to take the role?” “Don’t deny it, you were eying it up the moment it appeared. Fortunately, I was there to give you a little poke as all. What with your overall national fame, it was no wonder the director went for you. Your name alone will make theaters sell out for weeks. And hey, you were looking for a change from the norm, weren’t you? Mark my words, you enormous ass is going to be on the big screen… your big, wobbly, gassy backside…” “Uuuhuh. Are you sure ‘giving me a break’ was the real reason? You just want an excuse to ogle me some more.” “Bow… you know I don’t need an excuse to do that. We could be in a meeting with the literal princesses and I’d still be sneaking peeks at you.” A lurch suddenly propagated through her form, jolting Bow from her conversation. She could feel the van slowing down, taking slow, wide turns as it cruised along. “Well anyway, I’d best be heading off. I expect you’ll be arriving soon enough. Speak to you soon!”  “See you.” Bowstring finished, the line going dead after a few moments. A few more lurches the van slowed to a dead crawl, before stopping entirely. Everything was still for a few seconds more, her opening their doors and slowly marching around to the rear. The doors opened, the slight pressure against her rear dissipating as the twin orbs oozed forth. Bowstring sighed, mentally preparing herself for the struggle to extract herself from the cramped confines. A temper that was only flaring stronger from the hunger roaring in her gut. Some ten minutes later, and copious amounts of sweat, excretion and gas, Bowstring was busy trundling through the studio doors. Her drivers had been considerate, parking in the nearest spot they could manage. Fortunate, as the temperature seemed to be far higher than it had been earlier on, Bow’s literal meters of insulating flab did little to keep her cool. Her dress clung to her flesh, the fabric thoroughly soaked in sweat. Every curve, mound, and overinflated fat roll was on full display, the copious amounts of sweat tricking off her like mountain springs doing little to improve her already strong stench. Even so, she smiled widely as passed through the foyer. A rather substantial room, a few tables, and chairs facing across from the reception area. “Ah, Bowstring! It’s so wonderful to see you!” A sudden exclamation came from her side, causing Bowstring to awkwardly pivot the mobility scooter to find the pony talking to her. Sitting in a mobility device of their own was a unicorn mare. Weight-wise, Bowstring could see that the mare was a bit beyond the average she’d seen so far, the copious amounts of belly flab oozing around the scooters’ tiller a dead giveaway. It seemed as though the vast majority of her gains had accumulated there, with the rest of her form relatively thin. Between the mare’s chubby cheeks, a bright smile beamed forth, complementing the twinkle in her golden eyes.  “Oh! You’re Montage, aren’t you?” “The very same. It’s a pleasure to meet you Bow. I apologise if I sound a little impolite, but the magazines really don’t do your size justice.”  “It’s fine… most ponies say the same anyways.” She laughed, Montage joining in moments later.  “I can see why. But then again, that’s one of the reasons why you’re cast… I’ll have to thank Berry for the recommendation because I mean, who better to play the princess than the princess of fashion herself?” Montage happily exclaimed. “Even since your video audition, I have been dying to get you down to the studios. Whilst this isn’t quite the same as the work you do on the catwalk, I’ve seen the passion you put into the shows. I’m more than confident that side of you will come out and shine for us.” Grabbing the scooters handles, Montage began to maneuver herself, making an approximation of a three-point turn.  “Well, if you follow me Bow, I’ll take you to the main set, I’m sure you’d love to meet your fellow co-stars wouldn’t you?” Bowstring hummed, the slight nod propagating throughout her form, undulating her body like jelly. Thumbing the controls, she followed behind Montage, pushing through another set of double doors. On the other side, Bow was greeted by a sight that wouldn’t look too out of place in Canterlot. Composing much of the room, the interior had been converted to look like a castle. She’d had the pleasure of visiting Canterlot, but the architecture seen on the set seemed so impractical and fantastic, she couldn’t help but grin.  Spiral pillars, grand mosaics, and embrasures jetting multicolored flame. It was all so over the top, so silly, but done in such a convincing way too. She was gobsmacked by the sight, a fact which hadn’t escaped the direction one bit, who was beside herself as her smile seemed to widen that inch more. Just about managing to turn her head around, she drank in the atmosphere, watching as ponies working on the set busy themselves with props, lighting and all manner of other small things Bow didn’t understand. But, as she made her way through the room, her presence was noticed. More and more of the stagehands glance up from their work, catching sight of the mound of pegasi skirting her way around the set. By their size, Bowstring assumed they were locals, given that not a single one amongst them appeared to be more than 400 pounds. Muttering filled the air as she turned to co-workers, Bow hearing her name spoken a few times amongst the crowd. They talked about her, awed, and mostly disgusted. Their body language and expressions, those closest to her staff looking queasy as she passed by.  True, there’d been little fanfare at the station, but she was only there briefly. She felt more uncomfortable than she had for a good long while. Emotionally uncomfortable, the feeling surging through her guts and tingling up her spine. Caught off guard by the animosity around her, a fart bubbled it’s way forth, causing all those watching to flinch. “Celetia’s tit’s, that is foul…” “How is she a top model! I’ve smelt and seen pigs better than her…” “Oh, I think I’m going to puke…” “So, I’m going to be working with you, huh?” A flat, relatively emotionless voice came from her left. Standing just a few meters away was a pegasus. The first thing that struck Bowstring about the pony was their demeanor. Like the mares coat and mane colour, everything about her seemed standoffish. Her expression was a near mask, staring at Bow with a blank mask, one of her cool blue eyes covered by the curtain of mane obscuring it. Her lips were downturned, but not quite pulled into a scowl, the corners of her rounded cheeks creased somewhat. By the standards she’d seen in the city, the mare appeared to be on the larger side, appearing to just be deep into morbid obesity. A rounded pair breasts sagged down onto a fairly modest belly, which in of itself was just beginning to form an apron of fatty meat, oozing down onto her considerable legs. Even from where she was standing, it was apparent that the majority of her gains had gone down below. Two huge mounds of adipose ballooned to the side and behind her, formed by the twin forces of her thighs and butt. These were connected to column-sized legs, the concentric overlapping of all the flab rolls gave the appearance of a stack of deflating inner tubes. All this rampant obesity, hundreds of pounds of light blue flab was concealed beneath an almost laughable suit of costume armour. The costume designers clearly had little idea on how to design a piece of combat gear for someone so immense, the plating seemed to mostly accentuate the mare’s already considerable size in some areas, whilst hiding it in clothes. Where there was no plating, leather and chainmail covered instead, allowing the mare to take on a close approximation of a knight. “Ah, Bowstring, this is Freeze Frame, one of your fellow actors. Freeze Frame, this is  Bowstring, who is playing the part of the princess.” The armour clad mare took a few steps closer, the leather straps of her outfit creaking and groaning from the movement of her gelatinous form. Their frown deepened, regarding the immobilised blob of mare. “I don’t like her, Montage.” She spoke, her voice just as icy as her name suggested. “How can you expect me to work with somepony so unkempt? It's her first day on set and she turns up looking and smelling like that?” The words cut into Bowstring deeply, her emotions flaring. Montage cut in before she could respond, however. “Now now, Freeze. This is Bowstring, she’s a…” “Top model in Manehatten. But acting in a movie is a far cry from wearing a few clothes and strutting around. Well, I guess it would be slowly wobbling around on that ridiculous machine of yours. I’m a professional, Montage. You can’t expect me to work with somepony so utterly incapable of doing even the most basic of tasks.” “Screw you!” Bowstring growled, her fists clenched tightly in their sleeves of fat. “I guess being a professional actor also means you’re a professional bitch as well.” “And I suppose being a “professional” model means that you're entitled to be a disgusting sack of lard then.” She cooly shot back. “Ladies please! I think that’s quite enough of that… I’m sure one you two settle into your roles, you’ll move past this nonsense, yes? We’re here to make a movie, not squabble like school fillies.” Montage clumsily broke in, managing to get her scooter between the two, though they didn’t break eye contact, the pair glaring daggers at one another. “Bow, if you’ll come with me, I can show you to the dressing room and the break room.” She perked up at the mention of food, but did little to calm her down. “Sure, sounds good to me.” Finally breaking contact, she slowly drove away, though she could feel the icy mare's eyes bore into her back. Her belly was empty, grumbling away to itself. But her mind was filled with swirling emotions she hadn’t experienced in a long time. The initial doubts she had about the role seemed to be coming back to her in full force. She let out a shuddering breath, steadying herself. She only hoped relations with the staff would get better in time.