The Fable of Care Priority


Written by Septia.


It was early in the town of Volone, when one was greeted in all brevity by a man on the seventh floor. His yawn barely had the chance to venture past his lips before a wedge of toasted wheat was crammed in its place, crumbs hoisted along as a brush was brought to temper the tall man's chestnut hair. Though who could blame them? One had to hurry if you anticipated a spot on the tramline. He flipped open his phone, where a notification blocked the time table schedule. 
	'Public service announcement: The spate of r-oni assaults reaching record height. Rogue Oni persist in their target of those tall with black hair. Susceptible individuals are urged to remain home.' 
	The man drew his fingers through his hair, peering up to get a glance of the chestnut locks. Then dismissed the notice. 


~ 1 ~


He flicked down his phone after reaffirming himself of the time, only for the folded screen to reveal a woman barrelling down the street. She had both hands clutching a cap over her head, with black locks wound out and whipping in her tailwind. 
	“Get away from me, form, how could you even know?” 
	The man stepped aside as one would for a frightened gazelle. A towering beast of muscle and horns hounded soon after. 
	“Get your ass back here, you sloppy bitch.” It called in glee, the stripes on its body leaving a blurred after-image in its wake. 
	The man peered back, watching enough to see the woman round a corner, before adjusting his collar and heading towards the station. 


The density of guards increased as the station neared, as did the density of people as well – those of black hair or otherwise. All taking a chance on the railroad. That meant, of course, more r-oni. Several guards at a time aimed their collar tridents and apprehended r-oni, who showed resistance at every opportunity. A few slipped through, and picked up a black haired person from the queue to the cart which in turn allowed the man to board with somewhat less of a hassle. 


A calm imposed itself within the cart as the rhythmic clacking of the rails below peeled across the row of seats, where the man sat back and afforded himself to plot the route he'd wander through the forest. When a new notice overlaid itself on his phone screen. 
	'Public service announcement: reports point to r-oni targets broadening to black haired subjects of any height. Any susceptible individuals are urged to remain at home.' 
	The man raised an eyebrow, then peered back out through the windows. The streets laced their usual activity, scant groups darting along the roads and sidewalks to avoid roaming r-oni. Then and again one would be running, with a beast nipping at their heels. Their bodies and physique equating their look to those of athletes.  The man brought up the map again, his eyes sauntering off from the view outside. 


The lack of guards instilled the forest station with a vastness of being lost in the city. Passengers fanned out from the platform around the brown haired gentleman who took in a deep breaths of the crisp air. The sun was still hanging in a low morning on the horizon. The man flipped up his phone to capture the visage. But was greeted, by a notice. 
	'Public service announcement: Instances of brown haired victims officially confirmed. Warnings have been extended.' 
	The man squints at the screen, going over, then repeating the message in his head. 
	A shadow fell over the screen. 
	“Gotcha.” A burling voice boomed as the r-oni's hands clasped around his ankles and swept him off his feet, hoisting him lopsided. The r-oni licked their lips before threading the man's feet past their gaping maw. Flailings suppressed by muscles flexing broad to smother his resistance in an avalanche of humid brawn. 
	The phone toppled out of his grasp, clacking on the mason of the platform, the screen catching a reflection of the r-oni gorging herself on the man clambering for any support to cling onto and beating against their captor's chest as their gullet swelled in rolling dunes of their likeness. Through the dim puppetry of reflected light on the screen, the two silhouettes merged into one, bearing an engorged abdomen with its stripes jittering and distending  taut to the broadened, and rippling gut. 


~ 2 ~


The sun cast a tangerine glow over the walk through the cusp of twilight, streams of luminance dancing through the rustling leaves and branches.. 
	-Ppfbbrrlfpfthts- A cloud of tempered vapours burst with a muted rattle through firm buttocks, and grazed the forest entrance with a tang of pickled prunes and musk-salt. 
	“Mfrs gyeah ya old, mfrs, fart, you wouldn't dare keep me waiting, to see what a mess my ass's made out of you.” The r-oni chimed with the glee of a bonefire crackling through a dry twig. 
	-Fbbrlfpftsh- another bellow of smog discharged form the gaping bottom, the hind squatting further to flush the ground clean of refuse and rubble in the path of the ass. 
	-Cfllfp-clpgthrt- a clog interrupted the following bout with a compression of moitre. -Chrllrpfhfhtts- crinklings of driving a stake through a pudding chimed from the pucker, undulating wider as the taut pit filled with  the emergence of a creamy behemoth. 
	“Mmffnshooo, yeah that's the spirit, what right do you think you have, hogging up this snack cake of an ass? You steam pile of fnsmmmf,” -Fbbrfflwlpth-, “Trash.” The r-oni heaved as her yawning ass clogged to its brim with a bale of clotted, dense, butt fudge. The deep auburn exuding a shear of laced in pungency. 
	“Mgms, think just because you are a big hunk a waste I'd have any pity? Eat dirt, you filthy pervert.” She hoisted her rear up and dunked it into the ground -shsddmdmwptthddt- the ground reverberating as a cloud of dust formed around the beast's hind, grinding her rear into the earth with a soft cackle masking her panting. 
	“Mgms, serves you right, you stinking pig, Wouldn't have given you the time of day if I didn't gmmssps, loove pork, fmsms.” She huffed and strained as she rose from the ground, drawing her posterior out of the ground as a chorous of slimey papers crumpling bolstered from her rear, the bulwark of brown sludge trawling out of her rising booty. 
	The end of the muck laid jammed into the dirt, stretching up between the ground and her ass in a pillar of thick, fat nougat, her pucker crawling over trenches and crevices littered over the trunk -fhdlsplhfhchshts- as bowel balm slathered down the fractures in the semi-solid pillar, her undulating brim buffering the glistening balm into the surface, to polish the tower into a leathery  umber tower, glistening opalescent of bowel grease in the evening sun. The breadth of the mulch teetered through the precipice of her rectum.
	The r-oni's tongue lolled out down her cheek as she nursed the tall brown tower out her ass, halfway standing as she peered back to the distending mound. 
	“Think I'm impressed, you kiss assfmm?,” she huffed out and slumped back, shifting her weight back over to her ass to slam it down. -Chrlrpffhsthptshts- a cacophony of squeezed gel tubes rustled from the heap as the weight -Cllspfhthts- mushed the ass clay into the ground. Instead of relenting the length held sturdy and with the bottom compressing against the ground, the base of the bowel fudge batch billowing out in sprawling dunes of steaming sludge; the sprawling bottom plumping out into the brim to the r-oni's ass crafted witch's hat. Its shape constantly shifting downwards with her weight and -cflrpthsts- bubbles of congealed bowel slime bubbling out the sap roaming through cracks in the sleek sludge. 
	“Ogmpghss. Mfhsps. Aaah heck yeahs, yeah owen it, be mdms, filthiest hunk of dung you see out there.” She huffed out and slowly raised up, the length reeling past her brim, slimming under the constant pressure of her bowels, compressing to the width of her wrist once she neared standing upright. -Clflpfhthtcslthtsp- The bales of manure crackled and curled over the collection below, caving in a circle around the brim of the muck hat and working its way up through haphazard swirls of soft-serve mud pie. -Flrphthfs- A gumming ointment of filth heard building in between the mounds and smearing together as they sloughed over one another, melding together in the glue of fine ass-grease. A labyrinthine pattern of fractures melded together and were weighed down by the onslaught of r-oni waste, leaving the column of muck to gradually sink as the exposure to the elements drained its moisture, radiating with the sweating heat of browned pork pickled in vinaigrette and olive-wine, -Spfbbrfflpsths- a puttering waft of it potent effusion staining the grove in a meaty shade of putrid. 


“Peww fmss, damn, that's was sick.” 
	“Heack yeah it was sick, what,” another r-oni said, shuffling out of the brushwork, “the heck did you eat for that display, or you just keeping your top spot as the queen of drama?” 
	“Shut your face,” she responded with a snicker, “This baster was some a hot ass dump.” She defended herself and scampered off with her companion. The two leaving the heap of bulbous hat-like heap of sludge to deform as the sun set, sprawling out to fill in the groove of her ass, and stinking up its surroundings: one tall brown hunk, was all that remained.


~ ~ Epilogue ~ ~


The storyteller shut the purple tome of filthy fables, musing to themselves as they peered off to the horizons. 
	“Confidence, is rather potent, is it not? Though perhaps, this tale showed best expressed as stubbornness. It mattered little who the danger came to, until it arrived to meet with him.” The storyteller shakes their head, and stands up on the tree's crown. “Black, blond, ginger, in the end, they all look brown tucked inside a hind. With that, I bid thee all, farewell, till next we deem it time to share a fable.” The storyteller proclaims, leaps off the tree, and disappears into a carpet of leaves and pine, as mornings first beams of light graze the landscape.