Food to Die For- Part 2 (Patreon)

Pedro has one last gambit to keep Death from claiming his soul, and it will have some weighty consequences. Enjoy!

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"A-alright, everyone, ah," Pedro cleared his throat, patting his forehead. "Everything must be perfect, here— oh, Alejandro, please, I want to make sure the Pao de Quiejo is front and center, in big piles, big piles!" The rabbit gestured grandly with his hands.

The baker gave the merchant a strange look, then sighed heavily, turning back to his stall. The town square had been decked out in all the finery Pedro could afford, a festival as if royalty were visiting. In a sense, royalty was— everyone would end up as a subject of Death eventually, but Pedro was in no hurry to swear his allegiance. He had sunk a significant part of his fortune into this festival, paying all the finest cooks and bakers in town to create a feast unlike any his hometown had ever seen. 

His wife Adelina gently wrapped her hands around his arm. "Pedro, mi amor, I wish you would tell me what this is all about. I just want to understand— you've been acting so strangely since your last trip, and you're spending all of our money… can't you tell me something?"

Pedro turned with a bracing smile, patting his wife's hand. "Don't worry, mi cielo, this is all for… a client. Perhaps the most important client I've ever had…"

Pedro's stately home was cast under a dark, wide shadow. The wide double doors flung open of their own accord, but then were suddenly filled with a large, billowing white presence, thick rolls spilling through. "Pedro Coelho," the large, blubbery wolf announced in a low growl. "Your soul is mine, and— Gah!" 

The wolf grunted, his belly shuddering tremendously as he wedged himself in the wide entrance of the estate. He growled, his trunk-thick legs kicking as he tried to force himself in— with an audible pop, Death himself forced his way in, and sighed deeply, his hands taking big fistfuls of his own flabby flesh and snarling softly— Pedro had made a fool of him for too long. 

"Pedro Coelho! Don't think you can hide from me!" The rotund wolf roared, but as he sniffed the air, there was no smell of fear, no scent of the rabbit's soul. Death growled low, stomping and waddling through the merchant's home. He did pick up one thing— in the rabbit's large and well-appointed kitchen, a pie had been left cooling on the windowsill. Death huffed, grabbing it without a second thought, thick fingers pushing it into his hungry maw, and then cursing Pedro for leaving him in such a state— he would drag that rabbit's soul down to the underworld if it was the last thing he would do, but first, this cream pie smelled delicious… his nose then twitched. There it was— Pedro's scent. Death smirked, dimpling his round cheeks. "Corre, corre, Coelho."

It was past midday by the time Death finally managed to lumber his way to the town square. He could smell Pedro, he was around here somewhere— but his senses were being diluted by the sheer army of stalls, festooned with colorful bunting and awnings, their tables groaning under the weight of a hundred different kinds of food; sweet, savory and spicy, succulent platters of sizzling meats, decadent desserts smothered in frosting and sugary glazes, and wine flowing like water.

"Sir! Here, over here!" One vendor shouted to the wolf. "The best cakes in town, you must try!"

"Oi, big boy, over here!" Another vender called out, waving Death down. "You look like you need some meat on your bones, eh? All free!"

Death snarled in frustration, eyes swiveling as more and more vendors called his attention. He was being overwhelmed with scents, and couldn't identify Pedro in the mess of it all. "Argh! Fine!" Death's belly reached the first vendor's stall before the rest of him, the white mass making the table clatter as it spilled over the top. "You want me to eat, picinho? I'll eat!" He growled, grabbing a fistful of cake and shoving it in his mouth, his red eyes locked on the vendor, staring him down until he shrank away from the wolf. There was only one way to catch Pedro's scent again— and that was to eliminate all the other powerful scents around him, by devouring them.

Sweet pastries or sizzling steak dripping with garlic butter, rolls doused in cheese or gallons of drink, the wolf's insatiable appetite took hold of him as if he were possessed. He devoured whatever food was plied in front of him, greedy claws grasping as he stuffed more into his mouth. The wolf's poncho had been utterly outgrown by every part of his body and reduced to little more than a bib for his never-ending gorging; his round, enormous belly spilled over his lap, even as chunky thunder thighs thick around as wagon wheels and a rear  like a pair of overstuffed pillows took up more and more space on the couch. Folds of back fat piled up atop one another, matched with a chest like a pair of flour bags rested lazily on the crest of his belly, As the food and its tantalizing scents began to fade away, the wolf let out a soft growled as thick arms swaddled in layers of fat shifted, sausage fingers probing the swells of fat all over his body. Pedro would die for this. 

"Ah-ha!" Death declared, his red eyes brightening as he spotted Pedro at last, the rabbit yelping softly as he ducked around the corner. "Don't think you can run away from me! I am inevitable, Coelho!" The wolf's swollen, flabby legs churned as he lurched forward, grunting heavily as the thick folds of his belly dragged along the ground. "I am— hrgh— inescapable!"

His ponderous plodding left the white wolf panting, but he still had his wits about him, able to corner Pedro in a back alley. "End of the line, Coelho," Death rumbled, stepping forward. "You've made a fool of me for the last time," He gestured with one of his scythes. "Say your prayers, because your life ends— hrgh— gah!"

He felt the brick walls pressing his flabby sides, his own body squeezed until he couldn't move forward no matter how hard he tried pushing and kicking his legs, his belly billowing and jostling from the effort. "Are you kidding me with this?!" Death snarled.

Pedro had watched everything gripped in fear, but when he saw Death was stuck, the gelatinous wolf rocking back and forth, the rabbit slowly began to think— he might be able to work with this.

"So… Uh… Senor, we seem to be at an impasse," he began cautiously, clasping his hands together.

Death snapped his jaws, snarling in anger. "Don't you dare! You have already talked your way out of your end for months, now!"

"Yes, but, now you need something from me," Pedro grinned. "I can help you, now that you're stuck."

"I am not stuck!" Death snarled, his flabby arms wobbling as he flailed to try and squeeze free, his belly pooling on the ground. 

"Hear me out, hear me out— if you let me go, for now, I will get you free. You may get me when I die of old age, upon the birth of my first great grandchild, shall we say?"

Death narrowed his eyes, still growling low.

"...To sweeten the deal, there is still a lot of festival food." Pedro dared to step forward, patting the outermost layer of fat of his enormous hill of a gut. 

Death grumbled low, but he couldn't deny he was still hungry. And he was going to need a good, long while before he was in fighting shape again to chase down this troublesome rabbit. "...Fine. Bring on the rest— the cheese bread, first! All of it!"