The food went quickly, and my hunger came back. I shoveled in egg rolls after kung pao after potstickers, my light burning hot inside me and illuminating the whole room.
Beside me, Fofaa ate, with a daintiness unusual in non-anthros, but steadily and relentlessly. Her light didn’t brighten so much as it increased in splendor, the fire changing colors, and becoming visible through more of her scales, bathing her in an amazing aura.
I lost track of how much I ate—I figured they’d be keeping track well enough. My gut was straining from fullness and I know I had to push my seat back to make room at least three or four times.
I would have loved, desperately, to stop and give my gut a good rubbing for comfort’s sake between plates, but by this time my belly was way too hot to touch. I was glad I didn’t have to worry about undoing a belt—my backside’s generally plenty to keep the pants up—but I was just reaching the point where I’d have to open up the button and reclaim some breathing space.
I grabbed a couple of spare forks from the table and used one to lift my overstuffed belly out of the way, and I stuck the other one under it and jiggled the button till it came free.
I exhaled heavily and put down the forks. That was a lot better. Before I could do anything about it, though, the girl who was bringing my next plate dropped it—the plate shattered and eggs foo young went everywhere. She seemed frozen in place, and I turned to see what she was looking at.