The Fatter, the Better

Nierelle paced in her bedroom on her flock’s private airship - the Winged Breast. It was fairly small, despite her status as a baroness, having space for only a four-poster bed, a desk, and a mini-fridge. She ignored all of that, however, in favor of clicking her talons on the polished wooden floorboards and wringing her hands together in worry. The farther they flew from the Porting Isles, the more her nerves got to her. Was this really the right decision? Leaving her flock to work for a company in an entirely different realm? She’d wanted to make a name for herself, sure, but had it been okay to reject her mother’s offer to put her in a high position?

“Lady Nierelle,” a voice called from the open door of her bedroom. Nierelle turned and saw Viscountess Arya - the only sister who deigned to accompany her to this realm - leaning against the door frame, holding a glass of seed wine loosely in her hands. “I can hear your talons clacking from the lounge.”

“Apologies, Viscountess,” she muttered, halting her pacing.

Arya cocked her head to the side, her hair feathers swishing with the movement. “Are you scared?”

“No,” Nierelle lied, folding her arm-wings. “Just some, ah, nerves that have yet to be settled. I will be fine.”

The older harpy grunted, seeing through the falsehood. But she didn’t comment, merely taking a sip of her wine with a grace unnatural to harpies her size. Her time with the Peacock-kin Tribe served her well, Nierelle observed. She wished she could afford to take year-long trips to birdfolk countries but her lowly position within the flock didn’t leave her much in the way of an allowance.

But that would hopefully change once she completed her internship at the Isekai Protagonist Management Center. If she could complete it. Her stomach clenched and she returned to pacing.

“Fine,” she snapped. “I am...worried.”

Arya snorted. “About what?”

Nierelle huffed, ruffling the rainbow feathers that lined her arm-wings. “The other interns! I-I don’t know if I’m...well, ready to compete with them and become a member of the company….”

“Need I remind you, Lady Nierelle, that the most you’ll have to contend with are elves?” The viscountess sneered. “And low-borns at that. Their only purpose is to serve; you’ll crush them.”

“The whole point of this department is servitude,” Nierelle argued. “They were practically made for this!”

Arya frowned, looking down her beaked nose at the younger harpy. “You told the Queen-Matriarch that you were...interning for this company to provide them with your enchantments.”

“Same difference,” Nierelle said. “I will still be at a disadvantage to an entire species where each individual is bred to be the backbone of an entire economy! I can’t compete with that with simple Protection enchantments.”

“Well,” Arya mused, tapping her lumpy chin, “you could always return home. There’s no real reason to embarrass yourself with your incompetence so far away from the nest.”

The younger harpy moaned and fell back against her bed. “The court would peck me alive if I did that!”

“Is that any worse than being disowned after you fail the internship?” Arya replied cheekily, eyes glittering with well-meaning malice. “Surely you can imagine how displeased the Queen-Matriarch will be after she learns the time and resources she wasted on you amounted up to nothing.”

Yes...yes, disappointing the Queen-Matriarch would be a fate worse than the mockery she’d face from the court. She’d lose everything if she couldn’t pull this off. Nierelle drew herself into a ball, her short limbs curling around her small but burgeoning gut. “Tell the captain to turn around,” she whispered.

“Attention passengers,” came the gruff voice of the airship’s captain over the loudspeaker. “We’ve arrived at the docking station of the IPMC. Please make your way to the gangplank to disembark. My women will see to your luggage.”

“Too late!” Arya crowed, downing the rest of her seed wine. “I’ll have the servants see you off the ship.” The heavyset viscountess went skipping down the hall, squawking for her male-bonds to attend to her.

Nierelle groaned and slid off of the bed. “I’ll be seeing you soon again,” she muttered, squeezing the bedpost. “Perhaps in a few months. If the Queen-Matriarch deigns to send a passenger ship for me…”

Footsteps thudded in the hallway as a pair of male-bonds rushed toward her room. The shorter one bowed to her, waggling his arm-wings. “Baroness,” he squawked. “We’ve come to escort you.”

The female harpy took one last look at the room and sighed. “I’ll be along.”

“Forgive me,” the male-bond said, “but the captain wishes to depart very quickly.”

Another sigh and Nierelle followed them out of her room and up onto the main deck. Two of the crew of the Winged Breast waited impatiently by the gangplank, holding her bags. Nierelle toddled over to them, her legs aching as she traveled the short distance in a hurry.

I hate running.

She didn’t even get a chance to thank them before they shoved the bags in her arms and took off to go carry out their respective duties. Huffing, she slid the bag possessing her clothes - she didn’t have many, just enough outfits to squeeze into the 10 cubic meters of space the bag could hold - over her back. The suitcase she handled more delicately - it held important enchanting supplies and she couldn’t afford to break anything.

“See you soon, sister!” came the voice of Viscountess Arya. Nierelle turned slightly to see her relaxing on the quarter-deck, her fat folds pressing up against the railing. “I’ll see you soon!”

Pursing her lips, Nierelle faced forward and walked down to the docks. As soon as the captain was ready, her crew raised the gangplank and the Winged Breast took off. No one waited for her on the docks; no male-bonds to take her bags, no drivers to take her to the campus. She was well and truly on her own from here on out.

*****

Her trip and arrival at the dorms were appalling. She failed to realize that the standard currency from the Rainbow Harpy Flock was not so standard elsewhere; the conversion rate was decent but when she hailed a magicab, the driver laughed in her face.

“We don’t take bird poop as payment,” the two-headed drake sneered, speeding off down the road.

“It’s not made of feces!” she shouted after it, waving her money purse in the air. “It’s a speckled silver-hey!”

A hoverbike zoomed past, the driver snatching the purse out of her hands. “You mangy feathers!” Nierelle screeched, stomping her foot. She tried to chase after it, but she wouldn’t have been able to reach it even if she wasn’t weighed down by her bags.

She eventually gave up on chasing them. It was getting late and she still had not found a ride to the dorms. Luckily, she had received a guided map from the orientation all those days ago. If there was one thing going right for her today, she was blessed with some decent navigation. She followed the blinking yellow lights all the way to the campus

It’d been late morning when she arrived on the mainland and by the time she reached the dormitory, sweaty and exhausted, the sun inched down to the horizon. She entered, arms sagging as she loosely clutched her supply case.

The cool breeze that swept past her when the double doors swung open felt amazing. It ruffled her arm and head feathers, sliding across what smooth ivory skin she had.

Air conditioning, she mused as she made her way toward the reception desk. Truly a gift made by the most brilliant of women.

The receptionist, a young human female, greeted her with a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. Those took in the sight of her flabby, bedraggled form and judged her quickly and harshly. Nierelle disliked her immediately; she reminded her too much of Countess Beleris. That witch had lumpy breasts the size of her head; everyone knew she got enlargements but no one dared to call her out whenever she bragged about her size.

“Hello!” the receptionist said, all perky like. “Are you one of the new interns?”

Nierelle pursed her lips. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise, now, would I?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the human said, “There were a few openings for live-mops the janitors could use…”

Nierelle snarled, drawing herself up as she puffed out her crest. The black, barbed feathers rose into the air, spreading out behind her head in an intimidating fashion. True, her crest feathers were smaller than most other harpies’, but everyone knew the blacker the crest feather, the more potent the mana. She might not be the greatest mage but she brought out the strongest effects in what few enchantments she knew.

But the receptionist only stifled a laugh. She turned away, covering up her chuckles with an obviously fake cough, but the damage was done. Blushing, Nierelle lowered her crest and muttered, “My name is Nierelle. I was told I was to be receiving a double?”

Getting herself back under control, the receptionist slipped back into her fake, perky persona. “I’m going to need to see your ID,” she said politely, blinking innocently up at the harpy.

Scowling, Nierelle reached into the singular pocket of her dress and pulled out the ID card she’d been given at the orientation. She held it out to the receptionist, who took it and, after staring at the tiny picture, handed it back with a smirk.

“Your room is B23. You’ll take the B tube and turn right; you should find your room quickly. Your ID will scan you in. Have fun sweating-I mean, settling in!”

With a huff, Nierelle left without another word. She stomped over toward the far wall, where a line of travel tubes awaited her. She took the one labeled ‘B’ and allowed herself to be sucked up onto another floor.

When it spat her out a second later, she stumbled over to a waiting trash bin and heaved out the paltry contents of her stomach. After she finished puking her breakfast, she stood up and saw an elf holding out a handkerchief. She couldn’t tell their gender; both males and females liked to wear their hair long to compliment their angelic facial features.

“Thank you,” she muttered, taking it and wiping her mouth.

“I live to serve,” they said, bowing their head slightly before walking away.

Oh, a low-born.

Taking a second glance, she recognized the simple clothing they wore and the red silk sash over their shirt. The few times she’d ever seen a low-born, each wore a similar get-up of a leather vest and cotton pants - and always the sash, though in different colors to represent the house they served. Arya once told her that, when she’d spirited away a male to bed him for the night, he’d kept the sash on - even during the morning after shower.

Shaking her head, she made her way toward B23. The few low-borns out and about at this time respectfully nodded toward her, never once making a side-comment about her grimy appearance. Back home, she’d even hear the servants whispering about the way her once delightful hair-do sagged in the middle.

The lack of audible judgment was refreshing; she’d miss it once she’d be sent back home. And it’d only be a matter of time…

No. Enough of that. I may be destined to fail but I will not prove Arya right.

Squaring her shoulders, she scanned her ID - first try! - and the door slid open. Stepping inside, she was greeted to the site of a silent but very intense elf orgy.