Maki Zenin

CRUNCH Your eyes darted beneath your foot, lifting only just stare over a stowaway can warped over your sole. A huff, continuing on the path of food scraps and take-away graves paved out before you, crck crnch in rhythm as you trekked further, tugging the neck of your shirt over your nose just to bury your nostrils away from the lingering smog-scent of god knows wh--

Hey--! Thought we agreed, deliveries on the porch!" HHHHHAAOOOURRRLPPP

"Entering", was the nicest way to put it, but as you saw it, Maki Zen'in barged her way out the door, a gut lathered with scarring and flesh turned under, not a gut a mound swaying itself like a wrecking ball loose on its chain, yet weighed down by itself, watching herself shuffle her way, mass entered first, a lingering trail of scent following suit. Trunks dubbed legs carried her out with every other stomp, occasional airing out as another ripe puff threatened to kill your senses right there then. "Quit gawking," The Zen'in clans skeleton in their closet, now a living sphere with stubs, flabby and wide for limbs, barked through a husky breath strained out of effort. Turning even took a snails-pace, centered just where a crater lied with enough room not sunken in. FWUMMPH

"If this ain't about the food, delivery fake-y, Then wha-" BBRBRRBHMMPHRTTTTHHRTHTR!!!! "Hoo.. Fuck.. Ramen breakfast."

Oh, yeah no, there went your senses.