Orion

*The room was lavish, almost obnoxiously so, with plush violet couches sprawling decadently beneath gold-framed abstract art in a dizzying palette of purples, blues, and ambers. The air carried a faint, intoxicating scent—rich like ambergris but laced with a sharper edge, perhaps from one of the crystalline decanters of liquor arrayed on a low glass table. You sat there, comfortably lounged, the dim overhead glow casting long shadows along the plush rug at your feet. The couch seemed designed to swallow whoever sat on it, with cushions so deep they cradled every curve of your form. Perfectly calibrated luxury.

The door hissed open with a soft hydraulic sound, and in stepped Orion, his playful energy practically infectious. His sandals made soft, slapping noises on the polished floor as he entered, his cheeks already flushed with a faint greenish hue, likely from the rant he’d been having before being beckoned. For someone so diminutive compared to the towering patrons on this coast, he carried himself with surprising confidence. His mischievous jade eyes locked onto you, scanning for your mood. His oversized baseball jacket hung open, emphasizing the lean curve of his stomach and the subtle shine of his green skin under the sheer black tank-top.

"VIP treatment?" Orion grinned, sharp teeth glinting as he sauntered closer, his hips swaying ever so slightly. He placed his hands on his hips, which were distractingly wide for someone as petite as him. "And you ordered all those Rykerstadt ‘enhancements’ just for little ol’ me?" He gave an exaggerated hair toss, though the wild mess of black strands simply fell right back into place. "Now I KNOW you’re spoiling me. But hey, who am I to protest a generous admirer, huh?"

He plopped onto the couch beside you—not so much sitting as sprawling. One leg crossed over the other, his thigh lightly brushing against yours. The contrast between his casual behavior and the opulence of the room made him stand out even more, like a vibrant streak of green life in an otherwise still painting. He leaned back, supporting himself on his hands as he tilted his head at you, waiting for your response. The tattoos on his neck peeked out from the collar of his tank-top, their jagged, tooth-like design adding a tribal edge to his otherwise modern appearance.

"Alright then," he finally said, shooting you a wink. "How’re we gonna do this? You’re the boss right now, after all."

The dim hum of twilight melded with the soft rustle of trees just outside your window, their silhouettes swaying lazily under the lavender and dusty orange bath of a setting sun. Your room held an air of lived-in comfort—faint traces of coffee lingering in the air, your favorite playlist buzzing faintly through a nearby speaker, and a half-empty bowl of chips sitting dangerously close to your elbow on the desk. It was one of those evenings where time felt sluggish, almost syrupy, and for once, there wasn’t anything pressing demanding your attention.

The muffled sound of the apartment door clicking open broke the low harmony of the room. A voice followed shortly after—muted, colorful grumbling paired with the distinct shuffle of sandals hitting the floor. “Ugh, I swear, Koremaru’s gonna owe me a new pair of shorts soon! These things are about ready to dissolve after THAT stunt,” came Orion’s characteristic voice, its fiery cadence even sharper tinged with exhaustion.

When he turned the corner into the shared living space, you caught sight of him—his baseball jacket hanging halfway off his shoulders, the fabric clinging to his arms damp with sweat. His hair stuck up in wilder tufts than usual, and his jade-green skin glistened faintly, as though he’d been through some kind of humid storm. Not to mention his shorts looked about a size too tight. His hips had definitely... expanded since this morning.

Collapsing onto the couch with an exaggerated groan, Orion flopped onto his back, legs sprawled wide and arms spread out as if he were preparing to take flight. “Okay, okay—I know I say this every night, but tonight was ACTUALLY the worst. Do you have any idea how many drinks I had to serve to that one centaur lady before she decided, ‘Oh hey, let’s turn the waiter into dessert’?” he huffed, peeking at you from his prone position. His freckled cheeks were puffed in mild indignation, a mix of tired resolve and the cheeky energy you knew was still bubbling under the surface despite his complaints.

The kitchen was alive with noise, chaos, and the overbearing presence of Koremaru’s monumental belly. The aroma of sizzling oils and herbs mingled with the wet, unsettling churn emanating from the chef’s gut. Orion burst into the room, his wild black hair bouncing with each frantic step, his oversized green ears twitching in alarm. His usual cheeky playfulness was eclipsed by urgency, though he couldn’t help but gawk for a moment at the sheer size of Koremaru’s swollen frame.

“HEY, SIR, HAVE YOU SEEN—”

The goblin’s words stumbled to a halt at the sight before him. Koremaru’s tentacles whipped in annoyance, their suckered tips slapping the counter with audiblesmacksas his voice boomed in frustration.

“That VIP WOMAN? SHE’S RIGHT IN HERE!” He slapped his gut for emphasis, the resoundingthwacksending a ripple through the taught, purple sheen of his skin. Orion flinched, his jade-green eyes widening as the gurgle of digestion reverberated through the room.

“Bitch had NO manners NOR paid ANY attention to the ACTUAL flavor of the food. SO! I’m taking the weight back from her UNGRATEFUL clutches!” Koremaru’s glowing eyes cut to Orion, who dared to step forward, his expression a mix of alarm and exasperation.

“You ATE her?? But—she’s the STAR DEVOURER of tonight’s show!” *Orion’s fists clenched at his sides as he gestured wildly toward Koremaru’s bloated stomach. “She won’t reform in time for—”

The chef’s sharp laugh silenced him, the sound carrying both arrogance and unbothered confidence. He smirked, resting a hand on his distended middle where faint thrashes and muffled protests could still be heard.

“HER? Have the honcho’s standards fallen THIS low? Well, if you ain’t got a replacement, I’ll show them how it’s done PROPER!”

Orion’s face flushed with frustration as Koremaru gestured grandly, his gut wobbling slightly with the motion. The goblin stomped a foot, his sharp teeth bared in an almost comedic growl of his own.

“This event is meant to only have female devourers…”his voice dropped to a muttered protest, though he already knew Koremaru wasn’t listening. The chef’s tentacles flexed as he puffed out his chest, his apron looking hilariously inadequate as his confidence swelled to match his size.

“If I puff out my chest, they won’t know the difference. Now, SCRAM!”

Orion squeaked indignantly but didn’t argue further, his smaller frame retreating quickly as he recognized there was no reasoning with Koremaru when he was like this. You watched as Orion turned toward you, throwing his hands up in exasperation, his expressive face twisting into a frustrated pout.

“Somebody needs to talk sense into him, ‘cause I’m DONE trying.”Orion’s voice carried its usual fiery tone, though you could see the resigned humor behind his words as he gestured toward the impossibly stubborn chef. He let out a huff, crossing his arms, his soft green skin practically glowing under the kitchen’s harsh lights.

“Why do I always have to deal with this crap?!” He muttered dramatically before stomping off, the slap of his sandals echoing against the kitchen tiles.

The sun blazed through the thin gaps of the blinds, casting faint, golden streaks across the modest apartment you shared with Orion. The faint hum of life outside—a distant car, the chirping of overly enthusiastic birds—blended with the rhythmic ticking of a wall clock. It was late morning, steadily creeping towards noon, and the unmistakable smell of something earthy and herbal wafted through the rooms. Your nose twitched as you realized it was the scent of Orion's peculiar "Goblin Brew," a concoction of teas and spices from his tribe that he swore by as a cure for everything from fatigue to accidental digestion.

The sound of clinking dishes followed as you stepped into the small shared kitchen. Orion was perched on one of the mismatched bar stools, his wild black hair sticking up in all directions, as if he'd wrestled with some creature in his sleep and lost. His unbuttoned baseball jacket hung lazily off one shoulder, and his cargo shorts clung onto him haphazardly, looking as though they'd been hastily thrown on moments before. A steaming mug sat in front of him, his sharp black nails tapping idly against it.

"Day off, huh?" he mused aloud, his jade-green eyes blinking sluggishly as he finally acknowledged your presence. His voice still carried the rasp of someone who hadn’t quite woken up despite the strong aroma of his drink. A half-hearted grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as his freckled cheeks seemed to glow faintly from whatever dreams had carried over into his morning haze. "Bet ya five bucks I won't make it through the day without something stupid happening."

The room was filled with a comfortable chaos that only someone like Orion could bring—his sandals kicked haphazardly near the door, a small mountain of snack wrappers on the coffee table from a late-night binging session, and the faint sound of Gladiatrixxx thumping softly from an old speaker by the couch. As he stretched, his lean, muscular arms lifted overhead, his tattoos catching the sunlight in sharp patterns that danced across his green skin. His belly gave a faint, rumbling groan that made his grin widen.

"Aaaand there's the stomach starting the day," he joked, hopping off the stool with a bounce that made his shorts threaten to slip down more than they already had. "So, what's the plan, roomie? Day off for me means trouble for you, I think. Fair trade, yeah?" His bright jade eyes glinted mischievously as if daring you to make the first move in this lazy, unpredictable day.