“Sweet stars.” Sea Moor uttered as he laid sight on the cream-colored elephant suspended on industrial technologies. “How… how is she–“
 
“Teflon cables, three-quarters of an inch,” Doughy Rolls answered back. “The whole cradle system she’s become a part of is rated at 20 tones. Heh… 20 gross tones for you if that face is anything to go by.” She chucked at Moor’s look of sheer disgust at the… mass above. In his defense, it’s incredibly unnatural for a pony to have to look up at something that big… and still breathing.
 
“Wh—n-no! I—I’m just a bit surprised at… well, the physical… the size of your client!”
 
“Oh, don’t bother sugar-coating anything around her. She’s a fat blob! A huge waste of space! A gargantuan glutton! For bucks sake, she’d be eating the world if dirt tasted good—and trust me, we’ve tested it.” Doughy was getting ecstatic as she described the mega-mare’s condition. She noticed that her act wasn’t easing the look on the detective’s face. “You know, as far as we can tell, she loves being teased like that.”
 
Sea Moor turned his concern over to her. “What do you mean ‘as far as we can tell?’”
 
“Well, she hasn’t said a peep in, what? Two weeks? You should know it’s rude to talk with your mouth and stomach always stuffed. All while filled with the tastiest batter we can make with our own hooves too. She treats every drop like it’s gold…” Doughy’s smile changed from one of interest to… almost looking turned on if Moor knew any better. “So, Glug Tub here just blinks twice instead. Simple as that.
 
“And… this is, or was, Cherry Jubilee?” He asked to reconfirm her answer from much earlier.
 
“Yep. That’s what her signature is. Although you probably get a lot less blank looks from everypony if you refer to chunky Cherry as ‘The Project’.”
 
Sea Moor took a closer look at the form above. He wouldn’t need to take notes to remember this scene. Bet he did see a hose connected to where her mouth should be. “Is… Is she eating now?” he asked.
 
“Duh. Any moment she’s awake, she’s stuffing her belly to the brim… speaking of which: Hey! Punch Lister!” She shouted to her far right.
 
“Yeah, boss?” A unicorn with a clipboard popped up behind a console.
 
“What’s this here—her third tank today?”
 
“Hah, no! She must’ve been really famished; this is her fifth one!”
 
“What?” Doughy’s jaw dropped, only to be easily picked back up with her excitement. “Cows in a hole, this is incredible! She—_she must be trying to break her record _today! A—_at this rate, that seven tank record’s _as good as done for!”
 
“Seven? Of those?” This case was getting insane for Sea Moor. How the buck was he going to tell a mildly concerned Applejack that the mare she wanted to make sure was alright after was now sucking down hundreds of gallon tanks of fatty goop-syrup like Clopi Suns. “Has… have there been other ponies that have come to you for this kind of—treatment?” he further inquired.
 
“Of course—we’ve had a dozen or so ponies want to get their fill on here,” she freely admitted. “But most of them are able to waddle their way out once their done. Or, at best, roll out. But Ms. Jubilee here has some long term plans! And with pockets as deep as her belly button She’s gonna stay here for as long as we’re concerned!” Doughy was… she was looking happy as she spoke of those details—the kind of “happy” that tickles a certain spot in somepony that should only be touched in a bedroom.
 
She was absolutely all in on this.
 
Sea Moor didn’t want to linger on the thought of another mare enjoying the shapes and curves jiggling overhead. He tried to think of another detail to discuss. “Have… have you–“
 
“No, we haven’t measured her navel.”
 
“You… you’re a sick little filly, you know that?” Moor finally snapped at her.
 
“And I plead guilty,” she chuckled, “But not by any breaking of the law. She signed that contract with pure, genuine enthusiasm six months ago. Although we—might have had to help her lift her hoof to sign.” She paused to take a long look at the corpulent chandler. “Wanna know why she was desperate for such a belly?”
 
“Yeah, I am. That might help to explain a big part of this case.”
 
“Ha, pudge puns… anyway she came here and said she wanted to live out her life as large and as lazy as possible. But she was also… how to put it… looking for a challenge?”
 
“So she came to you to take a break by breaking all the scales from here to Manehattan?”
 
“Yeah, ha-ha! That’s a way to put it. And now, thanks to our bulging and blorpy benefactor, Cherry Hills Ranch is now under the management of Butter Bread Incorporated… so don’t be surprised when we start making fruitcakes next holiday season.”
 
“Uh, ‘blorpy?’” Moor asked before hearing Cherry’s guttural answer.
 
-groooor… glunk… BLOooOoOOORRPgh–
 
The sound was the muffled groaning of her happy, yet overworked, taut tummy. With it being loud enough to hear over all the machinery, the stomach was either screaming in joy or in pain… with what Cherry put it through on a daily basis, it better be enjoying it.
 
“Awwwh… yeah… t-that’s the stuff–“ Doughy’s legs almost buckled as all the blood seemed to be drained from them into her blistering red cheeks.  
“Oh, just listen to that music—the body of a pony singing at its extremes. Oooh, Mr. Moor… this is what I see as peak performance. I’m… just a coach to our super-sized athlete here.”
 
“Well, you’ve got a funny way of training, that’s for sure.”
 
The unicorn from earlier at the console stood up to announce another milestone in hedonism: “Fifth tank drained! Moving sixth down the rail!”
 
Cherry’s lips never so much as nudged to loosen her flabby-iron grip on the feeding hose’s nozzle as the tube disconnected from the old tank. Except when she burped with the audible force of a canon.
 
–bruUUUUURRRRPP!– she bellowed with the crack of a cannon as the nozzle flew onto the ground. But more amazing than her feat of unbridled gluttony… she started to speak through her expulsions.
 
“Ugh-URP-ah—ahm fhine… dehtechta-BrURP-detechtave…”  
Her fat lips and cheeks were crushing any form language that was trying to escape from them, but they weren’t nearly big enough yet to stop them from functioning to Moor’s keen ears
 
“Cherry?” Doughy responded in a light shock, “Woah there Ms, don’t strain yourself over this chump, I’ve got it all handled… but since your talkative, you mind telling him how you’re living now?”
 
“Ahm li-BrOOOrP-liffen… life… Shatsis-URP-fide!” Cherry responded as if she had rehearsed it with her. By then, a pegasus with a new hose in hoof was followed by a loaded tank down the track above. She worked with the speed of a pit crew in cart races to get the intake of fattening feed up and flowing into her again. It took seconds to start hearing the repetitive “ulp, ulp” sounds coming from her again. No wonder she was called “the project.”
 
“Well, considering the strain talking with all that weight on her is, I think you have your answer, detective.” Doughy reasoned with a smug grin of assurance.
 
“Ah, Buck it! I’ll just tell her she’s dead!” Moor stated as he tossed his hard hat on the ground in a flustered frustration. ”Goodbye, fathead.”
 
“Alright, see ya, Sea Moor. Heh, hopefully as a new customer!” she waved behind his back.
 
“At least he was only looking for one,” she monologued to herself.
 

 
 
Hope full y the first of many works to come…