March Sketches- Dragaux & Finnick

For this month, Dragaux's making some new gains he's not entirely fond of, while Finnick is moving up the food chain, if not the height chart. Enjoy!

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Dragaux knew he had a bad feeling when Bowser of all people showed up to his arenas. He had heard about the blowhard king of the koopas before, and initially, he wanted nothing to do with him when Bowser approached him for training— but then, he reconsidered. First of all, being a king, Bowser could pay Dragaux a fortune, enough to build a dozen new arenas. Second of all, Dragaux liked a challenge, and he thought that he could just about get Bowser to work off his spare tire of a gut; get him shredded into a lean, mean, fighting machine. He talked about wanting to settle some score with a plumber, or something— he tried not to get involved in his clients' personal drama. 

What he couldn't stand was Bowser's insistence that his way of getting buff was by dirty bulking— if he ate enough and just worked out enough to burn it all off, he could get the same sort of bodybuilder's physique that Dragaux boasted. No matter what advice Dragaux gave Bowser, he was stubborn and kept sneaking snacks whenever Dragaux set new dietary rules— Kings didn't often hear the word "no."

So, Dragaux thought that he would simply get rid of Bowser's stash— but he drastically underestimated how much food the koopa king had hidden away. It all had to go somewhere, and Dragaux was reasonably certain he could burn off whatever he ate, only to learn he could not, in fact. Gorging himself on Bowser's private stock had completely buried his muscles in thick layers of flab, stretching out his singlet to its breaking point.

Sprawled out on a wrestling mat, Dragaux sighed grumpily, thick fingers drumming against hefty, blubbery sides. His pecs, once a thick stone wall, were now like a pair of overly ripe melons, while his enormous black globe of a belly spilled out over the edge of the mat in a heavy curtain of blubber. His once toned, sculpted arms were wrapped in hefty layers of pudge, while his legs finally had caught up with the rest of him, his lack of leg day be damned. His thighs had billowed out thick as medicine balls, meaty hamhocks and juicy ass cheeks filling out the rest of his singlet.

He huffed heavily as he heard Bowser stomped into the gym. "Alright, Drag… let's get start—" Bowser's eyes boggled as he saw Dragaux. "Baha— Bahahaha! Hah. What… what happened to you?"

"Not a word." Dragaux grumbled as Bowser stomped closer, patting his belly and making it jiggle and bounce.

"Hah— do you want to talk about it over lunch?" Bowser gave Dragaux's belly one more thump. "My treat."

Dragaux narrowed his eyes at Bowser. "...Yes."

— — —

"Gangway! Either move or be moved!" Finnick called out as he barrelled through the gym. "Anyone above five feet but less than four hundred pounds, you have now just been knocked down a notch on the food chain!"

The fennec fox was here to claim a throne; Finnick had been stepped on for ages, hence why he had spent the better part of his life in a van, sleeping with a bat by his side. Then, he ran across an old stash hidden away in an old subway tunnel— some of the howler flowers that had caused so much trouble across the city. He had thought he might hand it over to Nick or Judy, but then, he saw what effect it had on him. He thought it was supposed to drive predators— which, technically, he was— absolutely wild. Instead, it made his body wild. With a little bit of it each day, he grew stronger and bigger— not taller, however. At first, that really started to drive him crazy, but then, he kinda liked the idea of a huge, stupid bear glowering down at him, and then he could just pick them up and juggle them, if he really wanted to.

Now, as he stomped past so many so-called apex predators like lions, tigers, and wolves, and huge, beefy animals like bulls and elephants, he was reveling in their shocked looks. His body was dense and wide as a concrete wall, his mammoth, meaty flanks flaring out wide as jet wings, his chest harder than the bumper of his van. Engorged lats propped up bloated arms roped with dense, heaving muscles, melon-sized biceps eclipsing his face— which was also nearly drowning in his pumped up pecs, neck as wide as a bull nearly smothered by shoulder muscles that could brush his cheeks. Holding up this titanic edifice, his legs had bloated into tire-thick thighs and sculpted, meaty calves, rolling off one another and forcing him into a lumbering gait that could crack concrete if he stamped down hard enough.

He smirked as one of Gazelle's skimpily dressed dancers gawked openly at him, and Finnick winked at him. "Hey, kitty cat, play your cards right and you can sink your claws into some real meat." He chuckled, making his chest heave as he flexed his arm, dense, slab-like tricep muscle fueling a hill of a bicep. "Go on and touch it if you want— or come watch me become king of the gym." Finnick then glanced at the weight bench.

"First, uh," he cleared his throat. "Think you're uh, strong enough to give me a boost up on the bench? The pachyderm one is the only one sturdy enough for me."