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Description
Cold air hit Winslow like a brick. The Zoroark wasn’t sure what else he’d been expecting outside beyond the sanctity of night, but he still instinctively cringed at the sudden temperature change all the same. The lot outside the buffet certainly hadn’t been this frigid when he’d entered the building, at least he thought. Then again, his entrance was well before the sun had set, the start of a period of time that the dark-type wasn’t particularly keen to remember. Trying his best to ignore the foreboding late-night sky illuminating his sluggish movements, Winslow leaned backwards and tried to take a few steps further.

It wasn’t easy, to say the least. The slim fox’s control over his own body seemed to be at an all time low, his movements confined to the slowest of waddles across the city sidewalk. It was almost as if the Zoroark was trapped in a pantomime of a mon carrying a large box, his hips swaying erratically if he so much as thought about moving hastily. As much as the kitsune wanted to disregard the situation, his dwindling mobility on a otherwise empty street seemed to suggest that he’d be having great difficulty getting home tonight.

“Honestly, the food there wasn’t that great.” Said Winslow to himself, half-heartedly. “Heck, I didn’t even eat *that* much!”

The flimsy self-reassurance was just that: flimsy. The Zoroark had managed to put away no less than enough food to pop a Snorlax that night, the visual effects of his meal cleverly constrained with a full-body illusion. However, all the visual trickery in the world couldn’t hide the weight of his binge, among other things. His mechanic’s suit in particular had been screaming at him throughout the night, otherwise pristine-looking fabric secretly creaking as if it was rigged to blow. You could say that about the kitsune in his entirety, really: that frail figure was blatantly hiding something, and denial was never going to stop those internal secrets from revealing themselves to the world.

Did he dare reveal himself now? It was an inopportune time sure, but it wasn’t like he was actually in public, at least not at this time of night. No one walked the streets past midnight, and no one drove either. If anyone did come his way he’d just cover himself once more and hide. Then it was simple; just a quick check and no one would have to know what had transpired at the buffet.

With a nauseous sigh, Winslow’s poor imitation of a waltz slowed to a halt. He knew he’d have to survey the damages at some point, but he didn’t expect that time to come so soon. Still, he concentrated deeply, targeting the illusion covering himself. Unhooking a few mental threads was the easy part of illusions; just a few flicks of the mind and the energy surrounding his midsection would be free to dissipate.

Dissipate it did. In a flash, a buildup of cyan light had appeared around Winslow’s belly, converging into a bulge around his midsection before slowly expanding outwards. That mound only continued to balloon from there, growing out further… And further… and further still…

Another wave of brewing nausea flashed through the vulpine’s mind as he watched the true form of his stomach begin to flood his view. Denial or not, he’d be having one hell of a time dragging this gut home.

Here's a month-old art trade pic I made for StockExchange from Furaffinity regarding their own
Zoroark OC, Winslow leaving a buffet without having much to eat. Unfortunately for him (but fortunately for us), some illusions can't ever be kept forever~

Description
Cold air hit Winslow like a brick. The Zoroark wasn’t sure what else he’d been expecting outside beyond the sanctity of night, but he still instinctively cringed at the sudden temperature change all the same. The lot outside the buffet certainly hadn’t been this frigid when he’d entered the building, at least he thought. Then again, his entrance was well before the sun had set, the start of a period of time that the dark-type wasn’t particularly keen to remember. Trying his best to ignore the foreboding late-night sky illuminating his sluggish movements, Winslow leaned backwards and tried to take a few steps further.

It wasn’t easy, to say the least. The slim fox’s control over his own body seemed to be at an all time low, his movements confined to the slowest of waddles across the city sidewalk. It was almost as if the Zoroark was trapped in a pantomime of a mon carrying a large box, his hips swaying erratically if he so much as thought about moving hastily. As much as the kitsune wanted to disregard the situation, his dwindling mobility on a otherwise empty street seemed to suggest that he’d be having great difficulty getting home tonight.

“Honestly, the food there wasn’t that great.” Said Winslow to himself, half-heartedly. “Heck, I didn’t even eat *that* much!”

The flimsy self-reassurance was just that: flimsy. The Zoroark had managed to put away no less than enough food to pop a Snorlax that night, the visual effects of his meal cleverly constrained with a full-body illusion. However, all the visual trickery in the world couldn’t hide the weight of his binge, among other things. His mechanic’s suit in particular had been screaming at him throughout the night, otherwise pristine-looking fabric secretly creaking as if it was rigged to blow. You could say that about the kitsune in his entirety, really: that frail figure was blatantly hiding something, and denial was never going to stop those internal secrets from revealing themselves to the world.

Did he dare reveal himself now? It was an inopportune time sure, but it wasn’t like he was actually in public, at least not at this time of night. No one walked the streets past midnight, and no one drove either. If anyone did come his way he’d just cover himself once more and hide. Then it was simple; just a quick check and no one would have to know what had transpired at the buffet.

With a nauseous sigh, Winslow’s poor imitation of a waltz slowed to a halt. He knew he’d have to survey the damages at some point, but he didn’t expect that time to come so soon. Still, he concentrated deeply, targeting the illusion covering himself. Unhooking a few mental threads was the easy part of illusions; just a few flicks of the mind and the energy surrounding his midsection would be free to dissipate.

Dissipate it did. In a flash, a buildup of cyan light had appeared around Winslow’s belly, converging into a bulge around his midsection before slowly expanding outwards. That mound only continued to balloon from there, growing out further… And further… and further still…

Another wave of brewing nausea flashed through the vulpine’s mind as he watched the true form of his stomach begin to flood his view. Denial or not, he’d be having one hell of a time dragging this gut home.

Here's a month-old art trade pic I made for StockExchange from Furaffinity regarding their own
Zoroark OC, Winslow leaving a buffet without having much to eat. Unfortunately for him (but fortunately for us), some illusions can't ever be kept forever~