"Give milk? Not at the moment, though once it was the most convenient way to rig up a bioreactor for some designer drugs I wanted. The kitchen makes whale ice cream, though."

"You sure? Maybe you just haven't had them sucked hard enough yet. Wanna test it experimentally, science girl?" How is she this confident. She isn't even drunk. Maybe it's the fact that this feels like it should be a dream so her fear of consequences centers have shut down. "Also, whale ice cream sounds delicious. What flavors you got it in?"

"If you don't mind maybe getting a dose of the designer drugs. I find it works best in salted caramel but peanut butter chocolate fudge is a close second."

"Depends what the drugs do. Either of those flavors sound lovely, by the way."

"Goon! We're having whale ice cream for dessert!" She slurps down the last of her soup right as the fourth course appears; it's kitfo with injera and ayibe.

"Mmmm! Love me some raw meat." Starting to get a tad full, though. Her shirt is adorned with broth squirted out of the soup dumplings she doesn't know how to eat properly as well. Hopefully her captor finds that cute.

Her captor doesn't comment on the stains. "Convenient. Watch out for the spicy, of course."

She watches out. Conveniently, her eating is already slowing down from fullness so the spice isn't as big of a deal.

Then she might not be done yet when the fifth course arrives. Mercifully enough, it's a relatively light veggie dish, asparagus with lemon parmesan breadcrumbs.

She nibbles at it. After a few bites, she abruptly stops eating and looks visibly uncomfortable.

"Goon! WHERE is my pink stuff from vat eight-B! My little lemon poppyseed muffin here is in danger of not enjoying her supper!"

"On it, boss!"

The ampoule arrives before the next course. Monoceros loads it into a steampunky contraption she pulls from a hidden pocket, gets up, and goes around to hike up Katie's shirt and stab her right in the abdomen with it.

"That should help. You know how little kids will sometimes claim they're all full of dinner and only have room for dessert? That's only mostly bullshit, sugar relaxes the stomach a little bit, gives you some more space. I figured out how that worked and ran it through a few iterations of mad science. You'll finish all twelve courses, sweetpea."

After a moment, her expression relaxes and she resumes eating. "I actually have something like that naturally. Often when I eat a lot I'll get this tight nauseous feeling for a bit and sometimes I'll vomit but usually if I'm able to sit still and concentrate my stomach will just, make more room somehow? That probably helped though. I feel like I have more room than I usually do when this happens."

"Ooh, you have a psychological replica of the thing sugar does? Fascinating, I wonder if it's related to how you're a good place to grow pearls."

The sixth course is macaroni with gooey white cheddar and green garlic.

"Oh my GOD that looks good. It really shouldn't considering i've already eaten a metric fuckton of food but that's the miracle of science I guess." She chows down greedily with renewed vigor.

"Miracles of chemistry forcing cheddar to melt nicely without breaking!" chirps Monoceros.

"Miracle of biology and also presumably chemistry and also presumably other things making your body that bangin'." When in doubt, compliment her. Always good romance advice.

"Aren't you a funny coincidence. I think I might like you, tater tot."

"What a coincidence. I was thinking the exact same thing." Appropriate that she's wolfing down mac and cheese right now, because god that was cheesy. 

Next they have crab rangoons full of scallions and cream cheese and crab meat, deep fried to puffy crispy perfection.

She's audibly moaning at this point. God, she could get used to this. Well, she's gonna have to get used to this, but she could get used to it and like it. She's starting to get full again but hopefully another shot of that pink stuff will fix that. She looks down. Her belly is starting to visibly swell outward. This has never happened before. She likes it. She really likes it.

"Should be a bathrobe in the bathroom, if your waistband's not cooperating."

"It's fine." She unties the string on her sweatpants and leans back, relaxing her tense muscles. "I doubt I could even walk there in this state. Bet you'd love to see me in it, though." Is it possible to be, like, food-drunk? Like so full that it's like you're drunk? She thinks she's that.

"It'd be more flattering. I think I will have your current outfit burned. It's not going to do you any good as early as next week and it's not remotely glamorous."

For the eighth course it's oysters on the half-shell with a little lemon zest and fleur de sel on top.

"Next week? You expect it to happen that fast? You must have some gizmo cooking up for me. I hope it's not the gavage option. I'm really enjoying this." She slurps down the oysters like, well, certain other vaguely oyster-shaped things which her craving to slurp rises the fuller her belly gets. (Well, not actually, slurping isn't her favorite way to do it, tongues feel all weird and cold down there and she doesn't like the sensation of hair on her tongue and the requisite bodily positions make groping difficult, but she's not gonna let that keep her from a good internal monologue innuendo when she has the chance.)

"Enough pink stuff and you'll get there faster than you think."

Ninth is fruit salad. Mutant seedless pomegranate arils, candied cranberries, peeled peach chunks, perfect strawberries, quartered cherries, all tossed in a light syrup.