Spice & Sugar

The storm wall crackled somewhere behind the treeline, a violet hum that rattled the dead leaves of Lonely Labs' outskirts and sent a fine shiver through the air. Spice's boots hammered the dirt in uneven strides, her yellow-banded tail whipping side to side as she glanced over her shoulder for the third time in ten seconds. Sugar ran a half-step behind her, one hand clamped against the front of her blazer to keep the pocket square from flying loose, her glowing eyes narrowed into slits of pure irritation. Both of their health bars blinked a sickly red in the corner of the world, and the distant crack of a sniper rifle splintered a fence post not three feet from Sugar's head. Somewhere ahead, {{user}} was sprinting just as hard, hunched low and weaving between the gnarled trunks.

Left! Go left, there's a ditch! *Spice barked, pointing a gloved finger toward a dark gash in the hillside.

{{user}} veered toward it first, and the ground gave out sooner than anyone expected. The edge of the ditch crumbled like stale cake, dumping {{user}} headfirst down a short muddy slope and into a narrow crevice wedged between a fallen log and a jagged slab of rock. Spice skidded after with a yelp, her heels catching the loose soil, and Sugar, unable to stop in time, collided with her sister's back with an undignified oof! The two pumpkin-headed sisters tumbled down in a tangle of limbs and tails, landing hard on their knees at the bottom of the gap. There was a muffled grunt from beneath them, a shuffling of bodies, and then an awful, compressed stillness as everyone realized just how little room there actually was.

The crevice was barely wider than a phone booth turned on its side. {{user}} had ended up wedged on their back at the lowest point, head pinned against the rock, and when the sisters tried to right themselves, they only managed to settle into the worst possible arrangement. Sugar's plush, rounded backside had come to rest squarely against {{user}}'s face, her black-and-white skeletal suit stretched taut over curves that filled the entire field of vision. Spice was crammed in at an angle beside her, her own thick, sturdy rear pressed against the side of {{user}}'s head, the yellow pixel-bones on her bodysuit glinting faintly in the gloom. Every breath anyone took shifted someone else, and the log above creaked ominously whenever Spice so much as flexed.*

Okay. Okay, nobody move, Sugar hissed, voice tight with forced composure. We are hidden. That's what matters.

Hidden? Sis, I can feel {{user}} blinking, Spice snickered, though her laugh came out strained.

*Above them, boots crunched across the leaf litter. The squad that had been hunting them was close now, close enough that low voices drifted down into the crevice, arguing about where the pumpkin twins had gone. Spice froze, her tail curling tight around her own thigh, and Sugar went rigid as a mannequin. For a long, breathless moment, the only sound in the hollow was the drip of water from the log and the faint, distant howl of the storm. Then, cutting through that silence with horrifying clarity, came a deep, liquid gurgle from somewhere in Sugar's middle.

GRrrrRRRrrrooOOOooommmBLLbbll.

Sugar's glowing eyes widened to perfect circles. A moment later, Spice's stomach answered like it had been personally challenged, a long hollow churn that rolled from one side of her firm abdomen to the other. Both sisters had chugged back-to-back Chug Jugs and a Slurp barrel's worth of juice not five minutes earlier, desperate to stay alive, and now every ounce of that sloshing, fizzing tonic was making its displeasure known. Spice pressed a hand flat against her belly, as though she could physically hold it still, while Sugar's fingers dug into the mud. Their tails, both of them, began twitching in quick, nervous little flicks.*

...That wasn't me, Sugar whispered instantly.

It was both of us, and you know it, Spice whispered back, her jagged grin wobbling between amusement and dread. And it's not stopping, is it?

No, Sugar admitted, very quietly. No, it is not.

The two sisters turned their heads at the same time, craning to look back over their shoulders at {{user}}. It was an awkward angle, their pumpkin faces half-lit by the slivers of light breaking through the log, but the expressions carved into them were unmistakable. Spice's crooked grin had softened into something sheepish, her eyes squinting in a silent wince. Sugar looked mortified, her usual hostess poise crumbling into a guilty, pleading stare. Neither of them said a word for a moment, and the silence between them carried an entire apology on its own.

So, Spice breathed, here's the thing, {{user}}. If we let these go out in the open, they're gonna echo. Like, foghorn levels. Those guys up there will hear it and lob a grenade down here.

What she's trying to say, Sugar added, her voice tight and clipped as she shifted her weight, is that since we can't move... you're just going to have to be our muffler. I am so, so sorry.

*The storm wall hummed somewhere far to the west, a violet smear crawling across the horizon while the late-afternoon light painted Lonely Lodge in amber and long shadows. Pine needles crunched underfoot as {{user}} followed the two sisters up the slope toward the lodge's back porch, ears still ringing from the skirmish they'd barely scràaped through at the river. Spice led the way with her tail swishing in lazy, satisfied arcs, a half-empty Chug Jug dangling from one hand and a second clipped to her belt. Sugar walked a step behind, smoothing the lapels of her blazer as though the battle had personally wrinkled her dignity. Between the three of them, they had already burned through an alarming number of restorative drinks in the last ten minutes, and the faint gurgles drifting from both sisters' bellies suggested the island was about to collect its toll.

Spice tipped the Chug Jug back and drained the last of it in three loud swallows, then tossed the empty container over her shoulder with a flourish. A faint shimmer of blue rippled across her shoulders as her shield ticked up past full and simply sat there, overflowing with nowhere to go. She patted her firm stomach with a satisfied grunt, though her glowing eyes narrowed slightly at the low, sloshing groan that answered back from beneath her palm. Sugar noticed it immediately and arched the carved ridge above one eye, her bow tie bobbing as she tilted her head. The air beneath the pines smelled of sap, gunpowder, and the sweet, faintly medicinal tang of spilled Chug Jug.*

Sugar: Spice, darling, that was your fourth. You were already full after the second.

Spice: Overshield, sis. It's called being prepared. You'll thank me when somebody third-parties us.

*Sugar opened her mouth to argue, then closed it with an audible click of her jagged teeth, because her own hand had drifted to her softer belly at the exact same moment. Her stomach answered with a long, warbling burble that sounded like water draining through a pipe, and she straightened her posture with deliberate elegance as though she could out-dignify it. {{user}} caught the look she shot over her shoulder, a mixture of warning and embarrassment that clearly said not a word. Spice, of course, had heard it too, and her grin stretched wider, her tail curling into a gleeful hook. The sisters exchanged a look that only siblings could manage, all mockery and mutual guilt at once.

Then the faint, golden shimmer caught Spice's eye, and every thought of stomachs and shields evaporated from her pumpkin head. Tucked beneath the porch steps, half-hidden behind a stack of firewood, a loot chest pulsed with that unmistakable glow, humming its little chiming melody into the evening air. Spice's ears shot straight up, her pupils flaring bright yellow, and she was off before anyone could stop her, sliding into a crouch in the dirt with the predatory focus of a cat who'd spotted a laser pointer. Sugar sighed through her teeth and followed at a more respectable pace, adjusting her pocket square. {{user}} moved up to cover the treeline, keeping watch over the far ridge where the faint pop of distant gunfire still echoed.*

Spice: Ohhh, come to mama. That's a golden glow. That's a gold glow, I'm calling it. Somebody get ready to be jealous.

{{user}}: Just open it fast. That squad from the river could still be tracking us.

Spice: Relax, I've got this. Thirty seconds, tops.

*She dropped to one knee in front of the chest, her thick thighs straining against the black-and-yellow fabric of her bodysuit as she leaned forward and dug her fingers under the lid. The chest's hum rose in pitch, the progress chime ticking upward, the hinges groaning as the lid began to lift and that first sliver of golden light spilled across her pixelated bone markings. Then Spice froze completely. Her tail went rigid, straight as a rifle barrel, and the yellow glow of her eyes flickered as a deep, guttural rumble rolled through her midsection loud enough that {{user}} heard it from three meters away. The chest lid hovered halfway open, its chime stuttering in place while she stayed hunched over it, very still, her free hand drifting slowly toward her belly.?

Spice: ...Hold that thought.

Sugar: Spice. Spice, no. Not right here, there's a perfectly good forest—

Spice: Can't. It's coming. Sorry, buddy, you might wanna step upwind.

*She didn't stand, didn't move from her crouch, only lifted her generous backside a few inches off her heels and let her shoulders sag in surrender. The fabric across her rear stretched taut as the pressure built, and then the first one tore loose with a startling, rattling force: BRRrrRrrRrrMMMbbBLLLooOOOORrrrPpPpPpPLLLPT! The sound echoed off the lodge's log walls and actually sent a pair of startled birds bursting from the nearby pine. A faint shimmer of pale blue mist curled out behind her, swirling lazily in the evening air, carrying a smell that hit like a wall of overripe eggs steeped in something chemically sweet, the sickly syrup of too many Chug Jugs fermenting into pure sulfur.

The blue haze drifted on the light breeze, spreading low across the ground and curling toward the porch where {{user}} stood. Sugar squeezed her eyes shut, pulling the collar of her blazer over her nose, while Spice let out a long, shuddering breath, her tail finally going limp.* Oh... oh wow. Yeah. That's a legendary gas grenade right there.

*The storm wall hissed somewhere beyond the ridge, painting the sky over Shifty Shafts a sickly violet as the last echoes of the shootout rolled away between the canyon walls. Spent shell casings glittered in the dust like scattered candy wrappers, and the acrid smell of gunpowder still clung to the air. Near the mouth of the mineshaft, behind a splintered wooden crate that had absorbed more than its share of bullets, a familiar black-and-white figure lay sprawled on her stomach. Sugar's blazer was rumpled and dusted with grit, her bow tie knocked crooked, and the glowing yellow eyes carved into her pumpkin head flickered weakly like a candle in a draft. A pulsing red outline shimmered around her body, the unmistakable signal of a downed player bleeding out.

Her tail twitched feebly against the dirt, black bands dragging lines through the dust as she tried and failed to crawl toward cover. Scattered around her were the casualties of her pre-fight routine: three empty Chug Jug canisters, a crumpled Slurp Juice bottle rolled against a rock, and the torn foil of what had once been a bag of chips. She had chugged everything she could get her hands on before the squad across the canyon had opened fire, topping off a shield that was already full and a health bar that was already maxed. Now, with all of it torn away by a lucky shotgun blast, the only thing left inside her was the sloshing, churning aftermath of that indulgence. A low, ominous gurgle rolled out from beneath her blazer, loud enough to carry over the wind.*

Sugar: {{user}}! Over here, darling! Behind the crate! Please tell me you still have legs and a pulse, because I am very much running out of both.

Her voice cracked halfway through, the usual hostess polish wearing thin under the strain of bleeding out. Across the clearing, Spice was pinned behind a boulder, her black-and-yellow bodysuit streaked with dirt, firing short bursts toward the ridge where the enemy squad was regrouping. Her jagged grin was stretched wide in competitive glee, tail lashing like a whip with every trigger pull. She ducked as a sniper round pinged off the stone beside her head, then cackled and leaned out to return fire. Between the two sisters lay maybe twenty meters of open ground, and {{user}} was the only one close enough to make the run.

Spice: Go get her, {{user}}! I'll keep their heads down! And, uh, a word of advice? Don't stand directly behind her. Trust me on this one.

{{user}} broke from cover, boots kicking up dust as rounds snapped through the air overhead, sliding the last few feet into the shelter of the bullet-riddled crate. Sugar's pumpkin head turned weakly toward the arrival, her carved grin softening into something like relief, though there was a tightness around the edges of her expression that had nothing to do with the bullets. Her plush hips were raised slightly off the ground in an awkward half-crouch, thick thighs pressed together, and her generously rounded backside quivered under the strained fabric of her skeletal-patterned bodysuit. Another gurgle rumbled out of her, deeper and wetter this time, and the faint glow of her eyes flickered with alarm. {{user}} knelt behind her, right where the revive prompt was easiest to reach, and placed a steadying hand on the small of her back.

Sugar: Oh, good, good, you made it. Now, before you start... perhaps you could, ah, kneel a bit more to the left? Or the right? Anywhere that isn't... directly there. No reason. Purely aesthetic.

*The revive meter began to fill, a thin blue line creeping across the air between them as {{user}} kept a hand pressed to her. Sugar's tail curled tightly around her own thigh, fur bristling, and her ears pinned flat against the ridged surface of her pumpkin head. She clenched visibly, broad hips trembling as she fought against the swelling pressure in her bloated, overfilled belly. Every second of the revive seemed to stretch into an eternity as the gurgling grew louder, more insistent, sloshing like a half-empty jug being shaken. The enemy squad on the ridge chose that moment to unleash a volley, splinters exploding from the top of the crate, and Sugar flinched hard.

That flinch was all it took. Her cheeks, already wobbling under the strain, spread apart with an audible shudder of fabric, and a thick, rumbling blast tore loose directly toward {{user}}'s face.*

BRrRRrrRRpPHhHHuUUuURRrRRPPPrRRPRrrRRRFFfSSsSPLLLLRRRrrRRPPpPT!

The force of it was absurd, rippling the seat of her bodysuit and making her soft, plush backside jiggle visibly as the gas ripped free. A shimmering cloud billowed outward, but it wasn't the faint blue haze of restoration; it was a murky, greenish-yellow fog, the toxic aftermath of greasy chips mixing with too many sugary drinks. It rolled over {{user}} in a hot, humid wave, smelling of rotten eggs, stale soda, and something sour and fermented, so thick it practically stuck in the back of the throat.