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Salazzle Used Belch!
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yain55
“Go, Salazzle, Haunter!”
“Alright, Charizard! Tyranitar, I choose you!”
Both trainers launched their Poké Balls, deploying two of their team members on the pristine, crescent-shaped beach of a lush, Lapras-shaped island of the Seadart Archipelago. The cries of the Pokémon echoed over the waves and drifted faintly to other islands. The trainers shouted the names of moves.
Charizard used Flamethrower, which Haunter phased away from with an ectoplasmic morph of his body, but the tongue of flames bashed Salazzle, and she went windmilling over her head and landed against a one-storey cliff of the shore, with fresh bruises marking her belly. Her trainer grit his teeth. “Haunter, use Fling!” A berry arced across the beach. Salazzle’s neck erected and eyes widened, and then a greedy snap of its jaws made the fruit disappear.
GLOWRP!
The berry’s bulge shot down her svelte neck. A slimy ruckus rose from her belly, which sagged an inch down and bulged an inch forward from its meal. Charizard and Tyranitar narrowed their eyes at the curve of her belly, which fluttered with borborygmi of diverse tones. “Salazzle, use Belch!” Both Char and Ty winced. Was that really a move? both of them seemed to wonder.
“BRRUUAAAGGHHHHHWWUUURRRRRP!” Suddenly, a mushroom cloud of hot pink belch streaked five yards forward, fumigating the air round Charizard. A decorative skull and crossbones was drawn by the clearer air amidst the swirling billows of gas.
Charizard ballooned his cheeks with an expression of seasickness, and squinched his face. He stifled gags and teetered back toward the lapping waves, until he could stand no longer. THOOMPH! He collapsed and beached in the shallows of the water, with his eyes converted into black spirals and his tongue lolling out. Straightening, Tyranitar blubbered a noise of incredulity when he saw his seeming cadaver of a teammate.
His female trainer feistily yelled, “You disgust me, trainer! Since you won’t teach your Salazzle any manners, why don’t we, Tyranitar? Hit her with an Earthquake!”
Salazzle, who had been patting her pacified tummy with relief, jolted her head up with a look that suggested she was regretful for having neglected her prayers to Arceus. Facially steeling his resolve, Tyranitar arched his legs apart to prepare for the seismic stomp. Salazzle rose to her feet with the rushed gesticulations of someone late out of bed. Haunter phased beside her, winked and stuck his blob-ended tongue out at her. On it sat a berry which resembled a cross between an acorn and a plume from the coat of a Farfetch’d. It smelled moist and spicy, and her nose recognized it. A Petaya berry! With a snigger, she snapped the berry right off his tongue, then swallowed, and immediately felt excess toxins surge from her pores as her Special Attack rose. Bubbles began burbling and punching avidly against her gut, the borborygmi loud and incessant, as though she’d downed a liter of grape soda. But much more than mere carbonated air was about to be eructed …
Salazzle thought Haunter had approached her only to give her another berry for a Belch, but her trainer yelled, “Haunter, use Levitate on Salazzle!” And the moment next, her foot-paws floating into the air, as though she had reached some transcendent state. Curtains of sand jetted up from the beach, from arising fissures that surged towards her: Tyranitar had attacked. The Levitate move lifted her when forks of sundered beach raced under her, before they crumbled the one-storey cliff and uprooted shrubs like weeds. When the shore debris cleared, she was treading a foot above the ground toward Tyranitar, unharmed, a cloudy bounce to her gait. She smirked deviously and rubbed her belly. It had swelled to be as big and round as a mooring buoy. Its wrathful grumbles pierced the serenity of the tropics. Tyranitar’s snide grin dropped. His whole face changed, as though he had for the first time met his natural predator of the wild. He spun, and galumphed with speed for the water, then splashed into it ankle-deep. He looked like one of the kaiju Tyranitars in those monster movies, retreating to its oceanic home.
Suddenly, leaves of palm trees jerked and flapped from a rush of gas. A deep, freakishly huge belch reverberated across the sea and disturbed the wildlife of neighboring islands. The greenery of the shell-like incline on this one blitzed away. Branches whipped about. Leaves shredded. Tyranitar lay, face halfway in the water, with the look of a dumbstruck paralyzed person. One needn’t check his temperature to know he was unwell. Even Haunter, who was poisonous and immune to Poison-type attacks, hacked from the sheer pungency of the Belch. He managed to squeeze in a couple of comical cackles between his coughs of suffering.
A graveyard fog of gaseous toxins hung over the beach, diffusing over the once sparkly ocean, which frankly ought never to have any pollutants, but here we are. Smells of gastric spice and decayed fruit pervaded the air, until the sea’s breeze scattered these to make the atmosphere tolerable and the Pokémon left standing visible, so that only a faint violet haze remained. Here, Salazzle, Haunter and her trainer might have celebrated their victory against their long-time rival, if only Salazzle hadn’t fainted her trainer. In fact, both the trainer and the rival lay unconscious. The lizard stood, rigid and embarrassed, sputtering noises that seemed to say, There must be some sort of mistake! while Haunter banged his fists on the ground, face puffy and red with laughter. That last Belch had been too deadly. Well … on the other side of the island lay a Pokémon Center. Maybe she somehow seal her trainer in a Poké Ball, carry him over to the PC and have a Nurse Joy take a look?
No. She slapped herself on the snout. What an especially silly idea.
Speaking of health, she could use some quick HP, because that Flamethrower from the ’Zard had not only depleted her; it had parched her. Nurse herself first, then figure out a way to doctor her trainer, she decided. Maybe, if she was feeling altruistic later, she would aid the other trainer, too.
Usually, he a Super Potion or two in his bag, didn’t he? She pranced to him, while Haunter drifted around her, looking sardonically amused. She rummaged through the bag. Her claws found nothing but balls. Then: What’s this? She snagged a cold, metal cylinder with condensation on it, and her face lit up innocently. These are her favorite! What’s the phrase her trainer used for them? Ah, that’s right, grape soda.
She cracked open the cold one then glugged, reverent for hydration. She sighed, crunched the empty can, littered, then loosed a rattly burp. Haunter clapped at that. Although much smaller than her previous burps, she had a better opportunity to enjoy this one because she needn’t worry about battling anymore. To relax: That’s all she needed to do now. And she would. “BUWWHARP!” The brusque, motoring belch drilled her body and dazed her for a second. Impressive, but she could do better. Next up came an “UuuuuwwwghooARP?” Although much longer, it came out rather reedy. Try again, Salazzle.
Nodding grimly, she rubbed her tummy, her gaze trailing down to it. Suddenly, her eyes brightened horribly, like the sky when lightning breaks a thunderhead. Despite all her previous eructions, her belly hadn’t deflated. It had swelled from the size of a mooring buoy to the size of the Charizard’s fat, round paunch! Carbonation disturbed the purple spheroid, bulging its curves, forcing the overall circumference to enlarge. More and more soda gas impregnated her tummy. Burbling monstrously, the gassy dome burgeoned over two arm spans ahead of her, and the helium-like pressure of her bloat caused her to yearn to purge every ounce of gas in a single, cathartic belch.
Except … when she tried, a few consecutive belches leaked out of her, misting hot-pink, but her digestive tract felt clogged. She brought down her scaly brows, resigning not to play around anymore, then clamped the peak of her belly and pushed, but a larger belch never came: only one that started deep, but turned into a whimper and ended on a humorous wet note.
There came a direct response to her failure: an effervescent rumble of her tummy. The belly burgeoned forward so fast, it threw her on top of it. Blushing with a wail, she bounced atop the marshmallowy flab of the purple balloon, and although Haunter had been laughing up an ache at her pitiful burps, the sudden unprecedented ballooning of her belly widened his eyes. He uttered fretful sounds, then started zooming around her, searching for the source of the issue.
Ten feet from the ground, twenty feet, thirty …
Her belly rapidly puffed up into a small blimp, albeit slightly less ovular than a manmade one. The hot pink ribbon markings on her lower tummy stretched with her creaking scales and flesh, until they dwarfed the girth of Haunter’s entire body. Foam and fizz, she could feel deluging her stomach enzymes and punching against her innards. She started hiccuping and looking about with a pleading urgency. Just what kind of grape soda was that? Why couldn’t she upchuck the gas fast enough?
Mounds of sand traced her enlarging stomach, the tracery dispersing exponentially across the beach as the bassy borborygmi evolved into a bigger, ghastlier concert, and then Mega-Evolved, and then evolved into something beyond that … The wet, vulgar sounds engulfed half of the island, echoing out like 808s coming from the speakers of an outdoors stadium. Within just a minute, Salazzle’s belly dwarfed a Wailord in size, and a “HUP!” hiccup escaped her, which vaulted her body about ten feet off the beach before it splashed tumidly into the ocean waters. Buoyant, it rose and bounced on the breaking seagreen waves. The glisten of the waves was snuffed out by the shadow of the paunch in expansion. Although her belly surfed the sea like an inflatable raft, it would overshadow such a raft like a great sea monster at this point.
“BHWWUUUOOOOORRRHHP … HHGHUUAARK! HHHRRRUUURRRHHGHHHGP, H-GBHURGHHWHLWLGHGLPPP, BUOARP!”
What felt like hefty, respectably noisy belches blasted from her lizard maw. She panted from the exertion and from the torturous, surging pressure of her tum, yet her most honest effort at burping had done little. She may as well have tried deflating an air mattress in under a minute by jumping on it while the mattress was being pumped by the hose of an inflation machine. Failing to deflate her belly faster than it could fill resulted in her feeling queasy. Her slow drift across the sea toward another isle probably added to her seasickness.
Sea? Was she adrift? She looked back, and saw the tops of lush trees descending and bobbing away from her, but she couldn’t look down, for her belly now stretched in her vision like a grand purple plains, no matter which way she looked. However, it wasn’t the same opaque purple it was supposed to be. Because her scales had been distended so much, their thinness allowed sunlight to pass through her belly, so it looked only 80% opaque with an increasing translucency. Peering through her gut, she could see the purple haze of poison/grape-flavored air curdling in her core and fogging to the edges of the innards; and she could also see faint outlines of the sea below the gut’s bottom curve, and she estimated that she was as high up as the first deck of the S. S. Anne of Vermillion City. Or were those the outlines of her digestive juices churning? She could feel a maelstrom of bubbles and sloshing acids roiling deep inside her, after all …
Whichever it was, her guess of her altitude wasn’t far off. She rose over a hundred feet, three hundred feet, five hundred … From her deafeningly gassy perch, she could look beyond the closest islands and see all the ones that crept close to the horizon. Would she outgrow the islands, she wondered? Had she already outgrown some of the islands? She could not see what had happened to the one she and her trainer were on, though she could feel a pesky grinding sensation, rocky and leafy and mossy, against the back of her paunch, as though it were bulldozing through an island it had encountered. A geographic squeeze soon tightened on either side of her belly, inciting a “BGHHWWEEEAAAAAAAAWWRRRHHHP” that would have surely emptied her original buoy-sized belly several times over, though it didn’t appear to even dent her current monstrosity of stomach.
Throwing his hands up in faux surrender, Haunter backed away from the swelling wall of scales, which were fading more translucently, then smoked his way up to where Salazzle was batting at her tummy in an effort to wrestle up one belch which would single-handedly relieve her of her caustic air issue. He frowned, rubbing his chin, then seemed to question her with gesticulations of his floating hands and bestial gibberish. She answered with her own squalls and head-nods, and then he pondered, and then reached around the center of her ribs and pushed into that sensitive space toward her tummy.
His touches roused sleeping giants from within. Up over the chest cavity emerged a large, dome-shaped bulge, which bloated her gullet into a spherical shape as it travelled, until, “UUWWHHUUUUURRHP,” a belch as heavy as an anchor and as loud as a lawn mower trekked over the neighboring isles, whose surface area she was on her way to surpassing with her mere belly. “HUUUUOOOAAARP RRRUUHHHAARRBBGH,” she belched, chuffing. She appeared grateful for the rubs given her by ghostly hands, yet they were too little of an assistance for her plight of inflation.
What she needed was to sound like the horn of a great oil tanker over the ocean. Aye, but how could such a mighty noise ever leave her tiny mouth? It occurred to her, then: If she hoped to thwart the curse of the grape soda, she’d need a bigger mouth! Yes, that much was rational, she thought, and so while Haunter winged his orthopedic feelings, she hooked the sides of her lips with her talons then squinched her face, groaning from the forced attempt to upchuck a belch.
“UuuUUuRRRRMMMooORRRPH … HHRRuuuoooBRWEAAAAAAAAHHHWWHH?”
Each belch removed some pressure from her gut, but in the bigger picture (and the picture WAS very big, if we’re talking about the one that framed all of Salazzle), that pressure was insignificant. For a brief moment she could feel some relief, then the second next that relief had been effaced by a greater burden caused by her swelling. To worsen matters, her second belch had blown Haunter a half mile away from her.
No, he didn’t faint. He had his innate poison immunity, but it took him a few seconds to recover from disorientation. Now that he was at a distance to have a panoramic view of her, he saw that her belly was ramming through two isles. He made a Yikes expression, suddenly feeling responsible for finding the trainers and their Pokémon and bringing them safely aboard the S. S. Salazzle.
You’re gonna have to do a LOT of squeezing between those ribs, if you ever hope to shrink her out of the “island category” size, Haunter thought, with a snort of humor. Even more squeezing if you want to see her mobile again. He grimaced at his hands, and wondered whether seeing her back in her normal shape would be worth the effort. If only he had a Salazzle-deflating device—he’d haunt his own grandmother for one of those!
yain55
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Salazzle Used Belch!“Go, Salazzle, Haunter!”
“Alright, Charizard! Tyranitar, I choose you!”
Both trainers launched their Poké Balls, deploying two of their team members on the pristine, crescent-shaped beach of a lush, Lapras-shaped island of the Seadart Archipelago. The cries of the Pokémon echoed over the waves and drifted faintly to other islands. The trainers shouted the names of moves.
Charizard used Flamethrower, which Haunter phased away from with an ectoplasmic morph of his body, but the tongue of flames bashed Salazzle, and she went windmilling over her head and landed against a one-storey cliff of the shore, with fresh bruises marking her belly. Her trainer grit his teeth. “Haunter, use Fling!” A berry arced across the beach. Salazzle’s neck erected and eyes widened, and then a greedy snap of its jaws made the fruit disappear.
GLOWRP!
The berry’s bulge shot down her svelte neck. A slimy ruckus rose from her belly, which sagged an inch down and bulged an inch forward from its meal. Charizard and Tyranitar narrowed their eyes at the curve of her belly, which fluttered with borborygmi of diverse tones. “Salazzle, use Belch!” Both Char and Ty winced. Was that really a move? both of them seemed to wonder.
“BRRUUAAAGGHHHHHWWUUURRRRRP!” Suddenly, a mushroom cloud of hot pink belch streaked five yards forward, fumigating the air round Charizard. A decorative skull and crossbones was drawn by the clearer air amidst the swirling billows of gas.
Charizard ballooned his cheeks with an expression of seasickness, and squinched his face. He stifled gags and teetered back toward the lapping waves, until he could stand no longer. THOOMPH! He collapsed and beached in the shallows of the water, with his eyes converted into black spirals and his tongue lolling out. Straightening, Tyranitar blubbered a noise of incredulity when he saw his seeming cadaver of a teammate.
His female trainer feistily yelled, “You disgust me, trainer! Since you won’t teach your Salazzle any manners, why don’t we, Tyranitar? Hit her with an Earthquake!”
Salazzle, who had been patting her pacified tummy with relief, jolted her head up with a look that suggested she was regretful for having neglected her prayers to Arceus. Facially steeling his resolve, Tyranitar arched his legs apart to prepare for the seismic stomp. Salazzle rose to her feet with the rushed gesticulations of someone late out of bed. Haunter phased beside her, winked and stuck his blob-ended tongue out at her. On it sat a berry which resembled a cross between an acorn and a plume from the coat of a Farfetch’d. It smelled moist and spicy, and her nose recognized it. A Petaya berry! With a snigger, she snapped the berry right off his tongue, then swallowed, and immediately felt excess toxins surge from her pores as her Special Attack rose. Bubbles began burbling and punching avidly against her gut, the borborygmi loud and incessant, as though she’d downed a liter of grape soda. But much more than mere carbonated air was about to be eructed …
Salazzle thought Haunter had approached her only to give her another berry for a Belch, but her trainer yelled, “Haunter, use Levitate on Salazzle!” And the moment next, her foot-paws floating into the air, as though she had reached some transcendent state. Curtains of sand jetted up from the beach, from arising fissures that surged towards her: Tyranitar had attacked. The Levitate move lifted her when forks of sundered beach raced under her, before they crumbled the one-storey cliff and uprooted shrubs like weeds. When the shore debris cleared, she was treading a foot above the ground toward Tyranitar, unharmed, a cloudy bounce to her gait. She smirked deviously and rubbed her belly. It had swelled to be as big and round as a mooring buoy. Its wrathful grumbles pierced the serenity of the tropics. Tyranitar’s snide grin dropped. His whole face changed, as though he had for the first time met his natural predator of the wild. He spun, and galumphed with speed for the water, then splashed into it ankle-deep. He looked like one of the kaiju Tyranitars in those monster movies, retreating to its oceanic home.
Suddenly, leaves of palm trees jerked and flapped from a rush of gas. A deep, freakishly huge belch reverberated across the sea and disturbed the wildlife of neighboring islands. The greenery of the shell-like incline on this one blitzed away. Branches whipped about. Leaves shredded. Tyranitar lay, face halfway in the water, with the look of a dumbstruck paralyzed person. One needn’t check his temperature to know he was unwell. Even Haunter, who was poisonous and immune to Poison-type attacks, hacked from the sheer pungency of the Belch. He managed to squeeze in a couple of comical cackles between his coughs of suffering.
A graveyard fog of gaseous toxins hung over the beach, diffusing over the once sparkly ocean, which frankly ought never to have any pollutants, but here we are. Smells of gastric spice and decayed fruit pervaded the air, until the sea’s breeze scattered these to make the atmosphere tolerable and the Pokémon left standing visible, so that only a faint violet haze remained. Here, Salazzle, Haunter and her trainer might have celebrated their victory against their long-time rival, if only Salazzle hadn’t fainted her trainer. In fact, both the trainer and the rival lay unconscious. The lizard stood, rigid and embarrassed, sputtering noises that seemed to say, There must be some sort of mistake! while Haunter banged his fists on the ground, face puffy and red with laughter. That last Belch had been too deadly. Well … on the other side of the island lay a Pokémon Center. Maybe she somehow seal her trainer in a Poké Ball, carry him over to the PC and have a Nurse Joy take a look?
No. She slapped herself on the snout. What an especially silly idea.
Speaking of health, she could use some quick HP, because that Flamethrower from the ’Zard had not only depleted her; it had parched her. Nurse herself first, then figure out a way to doctor her trainer, she decided. Maybe, if she was feeling altruistic later, she would aid the other trainer, too.
Usually, he a Super Potion or two in his bag, didn’t he? She pranced to him, while Haunter drifted around her, looking sardonically amused. She rummaged through the bag. Her claws found nothing but balls. Then: What’s this? She snagged a cold, metal cylinder with condensation on it, and her face lit up innocently. These are her favorite! What’s the phrase her trainer used for them? Ah, that’s right, grape soda.
She cracked open the cold one then glugged, reverent for hydration. She sighed, crunched the empty can, littered, then loosed a rattly burp. Haunter clapped at that. Although much smaller than her previous burps, she had a better opportunity to enjoy this one because she needn’t worry about battling anymore. To relax: That’s all she needed to do now. And she would. “BUWWHARP!” The brusque, motoring belch drilled her body and dazed her for a second. Impressive, but she could do better. Next up came an “UuuuuwwwghooARP?” Although much longer, it came out rather reedy. Try again, Salazzle.
Nodding grimly, she rubbed her tummy, her gaze trailing down to it. Suddenly, her eyes brightened horribly, like the sky when lightning breaks a thunderhead. Despite all her previous eructions, her belly hadn’t deflated. It had swelled from the size of a mooring buoy to the size of the Charizard’s fat, round paunch! Carbonation disturbed the purple spheroid, bulging its curves, forcing the overall circumference to enlarge. More and more soda gas impregnated her tummy. Burbling monstrously, the gassy dome burgeoned over two arm spans ahead of her, and the helium-like pressure of her bloat caused her to yearn to purge every ounce of gas in a single, cathartic belch.
Except … when she tried, a few consecutive belches leaked out of her, misting hot-pink, but her digestive tract felt clogged. She brought down her scaly brows, resigning not to play around anymore, then clamped the peak of her belly and pushed, but a larger belch never came: only one that started deep, but turned into a whimper and ended on a humorous wet note.
There came a direct response to her failure: an effervescent rumble of her tummy. The belly burgeoned forward so fast, it threw her on top of it. Blushing with a wail, she bounced atop the marshmallowy flab of the purple balloon, and although Haunter had been laughing up an ache at her pitiful burps, the sudden unprecedented ballooning of her belly widened his eyes. He uttered fretful sounds, then started zooming around her, searching for the source of the issue.
Ten feet from the ground, twenty feet, thirty …
Her belly rapidly puffed up into a small blimp, albeit slightly less ovular than a manmade one. The hot pink ribbon markings on her lower tummy stretched with her creaking scales and flesh, until they dwarfed the girth of Haunter’s entire body. Foam and fizz, she could feel deluging her stomach enzymes and punching against her innards. She started hiccuping and looking about with a pleading urgency. Just what kind of grape soda was that? Why couldn’t she upchuck the gas fast enough?
Mounds of sand traced her enlarging stomach, the tracery dispersing exponentially across the beach as the bassy borborygmi evolved into a bigger, ghastlier concert, and then Mega-Evolved, and then evolved into something beyond that … The wet, vulgar sounds engulfed half of the island, echoing out like 808s coming from the speakers of an outdoors stadium. Within just a minute, Salazzle’s belly dwarfed a Wailord in size, and a “HUP!” hiccup escaped her, which vaulted her body about ten feet off the beach before it splashed tumidly into the ocean waters. Buoyant, it rose and bounced on the breaking seagreen waves. The glisten of the waves was snuffed out by the shadow of the paunch in expansion. Although her belly surfed the sea like an inflatable raft, it would overshadow such a raft like a great sea monster at this point.
“BHWWUUUOOOOORRRHHP … HHGHUUAARK! HHHRRRUUURRRHHGHHHGP, H-GBHURGHHWHLWLGHGLPPP, BUOARP!”
What felt like hefty, respectably noisy belches blasted from her lizard maw. She panted from the exertion and from the torturous, surging pressure of her tum, yet her most honest effort at burping had done little. She may as well have tried deflating an air mattress in under a minute by jumping on it while the mattress was being pumped by the hose of an inflation machine. Failing to deflate her belly faster than it could fill resulted in her feeling queasy. Her slow drift across the sea toward another isle probably added to her seasickness.
Sea? Was she adrift? She looked back, and saw the tops of lush trees descending and bobbing away from her, but she couldn’t look down, for her belly now stretched in her vision like a grand purple plains, no matter which way she looked. However, it wasn’t the same opaque purple it was supposed to be. Because her scales had been distended so much, their thinness allowed sunlight to pass through her belly, so it looked only 80% opaque with an increasing translucency. Peering through her gut, she could see the purple haze of poison/grape-flavored air curdling in her core and fogging to the edges of the innards; and she could also see faint outlines of the sea below the gut’s bottom curve, and she estimated that she was as high up as the first deck of the S. S. Anne of Vermillion City. Or were those the outlines of her digestive juices churning? She could feel a maelstrom of bubbles and sloshing acids roiling deep inside her, after all …
Whichever it was, her guess of her altitude wasn’t far off. She rose over a hundred feet, three hundred feet, five hundred … From her deafeningly gassy perch, she could look beyond the closest islands and see all the ones that crept close to the horizon. Would she outgrow the islands, she wondered? Had she already outgrown some of the islands? She could not see what had happened to the one she and her trainer were on, though she could feel a pesky grinding sensation, rocky and leafy and mossy, against the back of her paunch, as though it were bulldozing through an island it had encountered. A geographic squeeze soon tightened on either side of her belly, inciting a “BGHHWWEEEAAAAAAAAWWRRRHHHP” that would have surely emptied her original buoy-sized belly several times over, though it didn’t appear to even dent her current monstrosity of stomach.
Throwing his hands up in faux surrender, Haunter backed away from the swelling wall of scales, which were fading more translucently, then smoked his way up to where Salazzle was batting at her tummy in an effort to wrestle up one belch which would single-handedly relieve her of her caustic air issue. He frowned, rubbing his chin, then seemed to question her with gesticulations of his floating hands and bestial gibberish. She answered with her own squalls and head-nods, and then he pondered, and then reached around the center of her ribs and pushed into that sensitive space toward her tummy.
His touches roused sleeping giants from within. Up over the chest cavity emerged a large, dome-shaped bulge, which bloated her gullet into a spherical shape as it travelled, until, “UUWWHHUUUUURRHP,” a belch as heavy as an anchor and as loud as a lawn mower trekked over the neighboring isles, whose surface area she was on her way to surpassing with her mere belly. “HUUUUOOOAAARP RRRUUHHHAARRBBGH,” she belched, chuffing. She appeared grateful for the rubs given her by ghostly hands, yet they were too little of an assistance for her plight of inflation.
What she needed was to sound like the horn of a great oil tanker over the ocean. Aye, but how could such a mighty noise ever leave her tiny mouth? It occurred to her, then: If she hoped to thwart the curse of the grape soda, she’d need a bigger mouth! Yes, that much was rational, she thought, and so while Haunter winged his orthopedic feelings, she hooked the sides of her lips with her talons then squinched her face, groaning from the forced attempt to upchuck a belch.
“UuuUUuRRRRMMMooORRRPH … HHRRuuuoooBRWEAAAAAAAAHHHWWHH?”
Each belch removed some pressure from her gut, but in the bigger picture (and the picture WAS very big, if we’re talking about the one that framed all of Salazzle), that pressure was insignificant. For a brief moment she could feel some relief, then the second next that relief had been effaced by a greater burden caused by her swelling. To worsen matters, her second belch had blown Haunter a half mile away from her.
No, he didn’t faint. He had his innate poison immunity, but it took him a few seconds to recover from disorientation. Now that he was at a distance to have a panoramic view of her, he saw that her belly was ramming through two isles. He made a Yikes expression, suddenly feeling responsible for finding the trainers and their Pokémon and bringing them safely aboard the S. S. Salazzle.
You’re gonna have to do a LOT of squeezing between those ribs, if you ever hope to shrink her out of the “island category” size, Haunter thought, with a snort of humor. Even more squeezing if you want to see her mobile again. He grimaced at his hands, and wondered whether seeing her back in her normal shape would be worth the effort. If only he had a Salazzle-deflating device—he’d haunt his own grandmother for one of those!
Category Story / Inflation
Species Pokemon
Size 120 x 120px
File Size 129.4 kB
Listed in Folders
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