"Hey, little dude! Over here!"
Your eye catches a huge stag, but a very different kind of huge. He was a towering mass of muscle, with arms nearly as big as Tank's, but far more defined and sculpted, made up of vast rolling shoulders, swollen biceps, and a huge chest you could bounce a quarter off of, all packed into a tank top straddling his massive bust and solid torso. He wasn't entirely ripped; not competition ready, certainly. He was like an off-season bodybuilder, with a bit of healthy fat marring his sculpted form; apparently no one got out of living in Zaftig City unscathed. He was also a handsome devil, with a strong chin and sculpted face, and a giant pair of antlers speaking to his virility, but the dullness in his grey eyes marked him as remarkably dumb.
Taken by the sight of him, you move closer, and he smiles. "Awesome! You're our first customer of the day, bro. And you look like you could use a piece of cake or three." You can spot some similarly well built and musclebound guys, busy unpacking all kinds of snacks behind the stag, but he was the biggest by a good margin.
"Who're you guys, and what're you selling?" You ask, clearing your throat and trying not to stare at him.
"We're the Beta Upsilon Phi frat, man!" He flexes his arm, his bicep swelling up to a monstrous size. "B, U, F! Spells buff, hah."
"Buff has two F's, Zach, you meathead," one of the Frat brothers shouted from the back.
"Pft, whatever, man." Zach smirked, then gestured to the counter, laden with all kinds of delectable baked goods; cookies, brownies, pies, and cakes. A huge chocolate cake caught your eye in particular. "We're doing a bake drive, bro. See anything you like?"
Your stomach grumbles intensely enough you have to grip it, your mouth watering. "T-tank, Tank Densin sent me, said he was good for it?"
"Big Tank?" Zach brightens up. "Oh yeah dude, he's cool. Take whatever you want!"
You are starving, and the tantalizing smell is driving you crazy as you snatch up the entire cake, the desert larger than your head. You shove some of the moist, gooey, sinfully rich cake into your mouth, relieved to have some real food at last. "How'sh a frat sho good at baking?" You ask, your mouth full of cake.
"Oh, training, man." Zach responds. "We all gotta do our part."
"Part?"
"Yeah, you know, man, for the city. Zaftig's gotta keep growing, or-"
"Zach, dude!" One of the frat bros, a buff bear that was carrying considerable more paunch in his middle than Zach, punches the stag in his arm. "Shut up! Can't you see he's out of town?"
"Huh?" You're about a third way through the cake, your muzzle covered in frosting. Your pants feel a little tight as your gut is packed with cake, but you're still starving.
"Uh... don't worry about it, bro," Zach said quickly. "Boring... politics stuff. How's, uh... how's the cake?"
"It'sh great!" You nod emphatically. It takes a few minutes of intense gorging as you sate your hunger, and the various frat bros begin peaking over Zach's huge shoulders to watch. When you're finally finished, you're sinking down to the ground, licking your fingers and rubbing your distended gut. "Ugh..." Best. Cake. Ever.
"Woah, dude!" Zach chuckles, leaning over the counter, shading you with his pecs. "That was awesome!" Some of the other frat bros cheer, two pairs of muscular arms hoisting you to your feet. "You gotta come to the frat house and do that again, cakebro!"
Slightly light-headed from the gorging, you stagger away from the BUF bros as they slap you on your back. Well, at least you're getting popular...
The way Zach was hushed up, though, has you suspicious. Where do you go next?
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