Gobble till you wobble

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Left text Farisha Hotshot Marketing Director with a lot of big, risky ideas that have so far paid off. Too caught up in her own ideas to pay attention to anybody else.

Right text Meredith Farisha’s assistant and general voice of reason as her own ideas are much more reserved. Can be too dismissive of others.

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Left text Took the fall for a company scandal and is now serving time in prison. A little sad that none of her colleagues seem to care.

Right text Suddenly promoted to Farisha’s old position. Feels bad about Farisha but is too busy to visit right now. Instead, she makes sure Farisha is comfortable by topping up her spends account.

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Left text A little depressed right now and trying to solve this with whatever food she can buy at the canteen. Meredith visiting greatly improves her mood and eventually makes her more social with others.

Right text More adjusted to her new role and finally has time to visit Farisha. Shocked to see her looking and acting so casual. Goes home and can’t stop thinking about the belly + no bra look.

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Left text Fresh out of prison and for once slightly unsure of herself. Grateful that Meredith has opened up her home to her. Impressed by (and attracted to) Meredith’s new boldness. Really missed good food.

Right text Immediately offered Farisha a bed in her house when she was released. Very insistent that Farisha take it easy. She is planning things.

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Left text Now Meredith’s assistant (and eye candy). Generally a lot more chill these days, but still fairly obnoxious. Loooves the attention she gets for her size, especially from Meredith.

Edith’s called them all in for a team dinner; an admirable attempt to try and raise work morale that only serves to collect the growing tension in the office and distill it around one dining table. 15 minutes in and Emile is all but choking on the feedback loop of Meredith and Farisha’s combined stress levels. Meanwhile Edith is keeping afloat a thinning conversation with Farisha, who’s finished her serving of carbonara and hasn’t gone back for seconds -though she’s at least waiting for everyone else to call it quits before she goes back to her pacing.

Yes, it was a valiant effort on Edith’s part, and Emile almost feels bad that he can’t contribute anything to the mood herself. 

…Unless…

“I’m full.” Emile declares abruptly, dropping his utensils on the table with a clatter before pointedly picking up his plate and holding it out toward Farisha. “Sir, would you like the rest?”

Farisha just blinks down at the remaining pasta, completely thrown off guard (an achievement in itself). She looks back up to meet Emile’s eyes for a long moment.

Come on, take the bait, get the message.

Then, she glances toward Meredith, whose expression has hardened in confusion, and keeps her gaze in that direction as she accepts the offered plate and places it atop her own emptied one. “You know Emile, I think I just might.”

Yes-

Meredith just scowls over at Farisha, who slowly gathers her fork to begin eating again. At the same time Edith is rapidly cycling between the faces of her dining companions, and after a few laps rises suddenly from her chair to retrieve the bottle of wine that has sat opened but mostly untouched for the majority of the meal.

“Some wine to go with that, sir.” She says as she circles the table to Farisha’s side and fills the woman’s glass practically to the brim.

Farisha hums in acknowledgement, swallowing a mouthful of food before draining half the glass in one go. 

Emile watches Meredith’s eyes twitch at the display.

Now that she's actually putting in some effort, it only takes Farisha about five minutes to clear that half serving, which is barely anything for her really.

“Still hungry, sir?” Emile asks, a pleasant smile on his lips that Farisha reciprocates, fully engaged in this new game.

“I am, actually. Edith, is there much left in the pot?”

Edith is on her feet immediately. “Of course sir, I always make sure there’s extra for yourself.”

“You know how to keep a woman well fed.”

“Maybe a little too well fed, as of late.” Emile adds, his eyes quickly darting over to Meredith, who remains stoic, her posture stiff as she watches silently.

“I know I know, I keep telling myself I should cut back, try to shed some of this extra weight…”

“Nothing wrong with a bit extra, sir.”

Edith remarks as she spoons an extremely generous portion of already rich food onto Farisha’s plate.

“Mm, and who am I to turn down cooking as good as this?”

Farisha replies with a smirk in Edith’s direction.

Emile tries not to roll his eyes. His personal interest lies not with Farisha’s foray into intentional weight gain, but rather the effect it has on Meredith. Meredith, whose shoulders are beginning to relax as she settles into the show the three of them are putting on for her. A private play for an audience of one.

Emile is determined to make an impression.

When Farisha sets her cutlery down after yet another serving, shifting in her seat and placing a hand to her rounded belly, Emile turns to Edith with authority in his voice.

“Get her another. She’s not done yet.”

Though she arches an eyebrow at the demand, Farisha makes no objection, and sets dutifully in on fourths when it’s handed to her.

Meredith chews at the inside of her lip, focused in on her partner’s progress as it starts to slow, watching her back curve slightly, as though the weight of cream and pasta in her stomach were pulling her down.

“Everything alright, sir?” Edith asks when Farisha eventually takes a break to nurse her swollen gut for a moment. “Looking a little full over there.”

“Never… bettURRP-” She sighs in relief when the belch works its way out, whatever discomfort had been troubling her eased somewhat, though her cheeks do tint with self-consciousness. “-Excuse me.”

At least she has some modesty.

A thought apparently echoed by Meredith, who graces the table with a soft huff of laughter.

She likes when she's out of sorts in a social situation- Emile realises.

He can work with that.

“Drink some more, it’ll make things easier.” Emile says, refilling Farisha’s glass and sliding it towards her.

Again she obliges, if only to delay the return to her food, sipping slowly but steadily from the wine while her free hand cups the bulge of her stomach. A stray drop of deep red slips down her chin. Meredith wets her lips.

–

Another portion cleared, Farisha leans back in her seat, panting lightly as she rests her hands on her gut, drawing attention to the buttons of a waistcoat that now strain against a thoroughly packed belly.

“She can take more.”

Emile decides, and is met with a brief groan of resignation.

“That was the last of it I’m afraid.” Edith says, tilting the empty pot to get a look at the stains of sauce that remain.

Emile shifts his gaze toward Meredith, or rather, the barely-touched meal that remains on her plate. 

There’s a long moment of quiet, marked only by Farisha’s heavy breaths as she battles digestion.

“You’re making a pig out of my partner, Mister Forno.”

The first time Meredith has spoken this whole meal.

Emile gulps, strengthening his resolve.

“I think you’ll find she's been doing a good job of that all on her own.”

Cool eyes slide over to Edith, who nods in agreement.

“She's let herself go, Miss Dumont. Gotten fat.”

She nods slowly.

“Did you hear that, Farisha? Your employees say you've gotten fat.”

Farisha looks up at Meredith through heavy eyes, sprawled back in her chair with one hand to the exaggerated arc of her belly. A work of art on display for her, contributions from Emile Forno and Edith Bower.

“I could still go for more…”

The dynamic shifts as Meredith takes control of the situation, and now it's Emile and Edith’s turn to watch as she stands from her seat, towering over Farisha as she hands her a new plate. Farisha tries to lean forward to rest it on the table, but is pushed back with a hand to the chest.

“No no, don't exert yourself Farisha. We wouldn't want you to lose any calories.”

And so Farisha stays reclined for this final round, dish in one hand, fork in the other. Her progress is sluggish for this final course, lazily twirling up a few strands of noodle and groaning as she swallows them down. At one point she stops to pull at her waistcoat, which has started rising up the curve of her stomach, as soon as she gets it somewhat lower though, Meredith reaches out and hooks a finger below one of the buttons, then tugs the entire thing up and over the crest of Farisha’s belly, leaving it rucked up around her breasts. 

Emile finds himself grinning, and Farisha just stares down at herself for a long moment, touching fingertips to her side as though adjusting to her current circumference, before shifting in her seat and decidedly carrying on with the mission.

Once metal finally scrapes clear ceramic, there’s a long breath of relief from Farisha, then a strained grunt as she leans over the ball of her gut to stack the finished plate on the table with the others. There’s a few beats of silence before Edith opens her mouth to speak.

“Well-”

But Meredith raises a hand to stop her. “She hasn’t finished yet.” Then reaches out to grab the bottle of wine, which must only have half a glass left inside, and holds the whole thing in front of Farisha’s face by the neck. Farisha groans, slipping down in her seat by an inch, but eventually accepts the bottle, eyes closed tight as she swings her head back to drink.