"Like, do you just mean "no longer medically underweight", or..." Slow down, Katie. You're letting the horny brain take over again. She probably just wants you to like, not have visible ribs. That's fine. That's manageable. Most people want that. Doctors want that. Hell, you want that, if for no other reason than that them poking into the bed when you lay facing down is annoying.

"I mean say bye to your toes, the bigger you are the more pearls I can fit, they don't like to be too close together."

"Fuck. This... This is a lot."

She's trembling. Fuck, she's dripping. She's not wearing panties. Monoceros can probably see it. She shouldn't be feeling these things. She's going to get on the news. She's going to be a national laughingstock. Her few friends will probably be too weirded out and stop talking to her. She'll be harassed on the street wherever she goes for the rest of her life. She shouldn't be feeling what she's feeling, but by God, she is.

The aircraft has gone supersonic surprisingly quietly. They're over the ocean now, and decelerating. "You can do it the fun way if you'll be a good little pudding cup about it! I can just tell the next restaurant I borrow to make two-three times as much."

"Can... Can you hold me?"

It's an objectively stupid thing to ask, but at this point it can't hurt and evidently might even help, plus she really REALLY wants it.

"Seatbelt isn't cloth-motherly enough for ya? Sure, why not." She unbuckles Katie's seatbelt and hauls her onto her lap and wraps her arms around her. She's squishy and warm and more restraining than the seatbelt was.

She gets lost in the moment. She knows she should be searching for a way out but she doesn't care because her stressed brain can't fucking take it anymore. It needs to rest. In this moment, nothing else matters. Nothing else is real. A gorgeous fat woman is tenderly embracing her, and so she is happy.

"Goodness, you're bony. I could probably fit at least two pearls in you this size..." She squeezes a thigh. "Maybe four but probably not! You're going to need more blubber."

The aircraft comes in for a landing on a little island airstrip.

She's reluctant to pull herself away from the warm, comforting softness of the woman kidnapping her in order to perform unethical human experimentation on her, but can tell that cooperation is clearly the best course of action here. She clings tightly to her hand as she gets up. "Lead the way, I guess."

"Thisaway, my turducken." There are three trees on the island. Monoceros opens up a secret door in one of them to reveal an elevator.

"Y'know, of all the places to be trapped, this doesn't look like the worst." Her heart should not be fluttering at being called a turducken, but it is.

"It's not! There are so many perks to being trapped here instead of somewhere else! I need you alive, I will feed you, the view is amazing, and I have really good Internet access! Do you have a real cat?" she asks as they descend.

"Yes. His name is Albrecht von Wallenstein and he is magnificently fluffy." She notes the wording. I have really good internet access. She probably won't be extended it. That'd be a really stupid way to let her escape. Then again, mad scientists tend to make obvious oversights like that, so best not to draw attention to it.

"Albrecht von Wallenstein will love it here." The elevator lets out into an underwater glass bubble. It's like being in a giant aquarium that happens to have somebody's ridiculous Gamer Chair six-monitor setup in it, though probably the screens are more often used for supervillain shit. There are doors to breezeways - currentways? - that lead to other bubbles, most of which are less comprehensively glass so it's hard to see what she gets up to in those.

"Will he? I suspect he'll be pissed about the magic forcefield in between him and the tasty fish."

"Some people get aquariums to entertain their cats, don't they? Anyway, I'm putting you in the Red Room, and if you make a nuisance of yourself I will just put you in Lab Four full time. You, goon," she snaps her fingers at a goon who is lurking in a shadow playing Candy Crush on his phone, "go and get her cat - give him your address, pepperoncini."

"Promise he won't steal any of my shit?" She knows she has no means of enforcing a promise, but worst case scenario getting her shit stolen is better than the cat starving. "Also, Red Room sounds murdery. You did say you weren't gonna kill me, right?"

"The bedrooms are all named for colors, my silly chili sans carne," says Monoceros, pinching a meatless arm. "I need you alive. If you don't want anything from your wardrobe or bookshelf I don't see why he'd lay claim to them. Presumably you have a cat carrier and he will take that."

"Oh, yeah, he should bring me some of my clothes and books, if he can. Though I guess with what you've been saying my clothes probably won't be useful for long." She's tempted to ask for her laptop, but her self-preservation insticts are finally able to score a victory there. "Which color do you sleep in?"

"Goon, bring her personal effects, too. Once she gives you her address. I'm usually in Purple."

"Fuck, sorry I forgot." She gives her address.

The goon bows (to Monoceros) and heads for the elevator. Monoceros beckons Katie along. "So I know your address, and your cat's name, but I don't have yours, and while I'll probably go on calling you things like 'my floral-frosted petit-four' forever, it doesn't seem right to tell the goons to call you that."

"Oh, shit, I still haven't told you? I'm Katie. Sorry, I can be kinda forgetful, especially in, y'know, stressful situations like this."

"It's all good, dumpling. I don't get stressed like that but I had to get way up in my adrenals about it."

"I really like it when you call me cute pet names like  that, by the way." The fact the woman has apparently modified her own adrenal glands so that she no longer feels fear makes her feel a renewed sense of idiocy for getting all flustered over her, but she does anyway.