one hungy girl

By early morning the group reached the Collective of Plenty, nestled near the foot of the great volcano.

The air was warmer here, thick with the scent of ripe fruit and volcanic soil. Between neat rows of heavy-laden trees they found her exactly where Xilonen’s information had pointed — sprawled on her back in the soft grass of her orchard yard, one arm thrown over her eyes against the rising sun.

Varesa looked erotic in the most accidental way possible.

The tiniest microskirt imaginable rode high on her hips, so short it might as well not have existed; nothing underneath, her soft pussy fully visible whenever one thick thigh shifted. Her heavy breasts lay completely uncovered, full and soft, nipples relaxed in the morning warmth. Yet nothing about her posture or expression suggested seduction. It simply looked like she had been too lazy to put on anything more and had decided the orchard grass was a perfectly acceptable place to continue sleeping.

Mualani called her name twice before the girl finally stirred.

Varesa blinked up at the sudden crowd of strangers (and one familiar Name Bearer) with slow, sleepy confusion. She pushed herself up on her elbows, breasts swaying heavily, and offered a friendly if slightly awkward smile.

“Oh… morning. Uh, welcome? You’re here for the fruit, right? I’ve got plenty. Just picked yesterday. Or the day before. I think.”

She sat up fully, microskirt riding even higher, and immediately reached for a half-eaten melon resting beside her. While the group introduced themselves she kept snacking almost constantly — a bite of melon, then a handful of berries from a nearby basket, then another piece of something soft and sweet she pulled from a pouch. Every few sentences she paused to chew, cheeks faintly puffed, as if the conversation itself was secondary to the need to keep putting food in her mouth.

Xilonen watched with mild recognition.

“Varesa. The Starving Hole.”

The girl froze mid-bite, then gave an embarrassed little laugh, wiping juice from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Ah… yeah. That’s me. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company this early. Or… any company, really.”

She glanced over the group again — the well-traveled women, the Traveler at their center, the open way several of them looked at her barely-covered body — and her awkward nervousness deepened. Still, she kept eating.

After only a few more minutes of polite back-and-forth she suddenly stood, brushing grass from her bare thighs and adjusting the useless microskirt that immediately rode back up.

“Sorry, I need to— I haven’t had my second breakfast yet. Give me a minute? There’s more fruit in the shade if you want any. I’ll be right back.”

She padded off toward a small open-sided kitchen structure at the edge of the orchard, heavy breasts bouncing with every lazy step, already reaching for another snack before she even reached the doorway.

It was clear Varesa’s pace of life — and appetite — would not be rushed. Rosaria wasted no time leaning over to Ganyu with a low, teasing murmur.

“Look at that. Another cow. At least this one actually eats instead of just getting milked.”

Ganyu’s ears flicked in mild protest, cowbell giving a soft jingle, but she only huffed and went back to helping unpack. The jab stayed light; even Rosaria’s bullying had a fond edge these days.

Mualani’s departure came mid-morning. She made an extensive, cheerful production of saying goodbye to Aether’s cock — dropping to her knees right there between the fruit trees, taking him deep and wet until she was satisfied, then bouncing back up with a bright grin and a lingering taste on her lips. Blue flames flickered once around her as she recovered her breath.

“I’ll head back to the Stadium and dig around for anything on Chasca,” she said, already stretching. “Xilonen knows these routes better than I do anyway. You lot handle The Starving Hole. Try not to get eaten.”

She waved, hopped onto her shark, and vanished down the path in a splash of impossible water.

Varesa herself proved odd but genuinely friendly.

She wandered in and out of conversation while constantly snacking — fresh fruit, leftover bread, strips of dried meat, whatever was nearest. Her strength, however, was no joke. When a heavy crate of late-season produce needed moving, she lifted it one-handed with the same casual ease Shenhe used on far deadlier loads. The silent comparison passed through the group like a shared thought. No one suggested an arm-wrestling match. The potential structural damage to the orchard (and possibly the nearby hillside) felt like an unnecessary risk.

Over the course of the day aether and his girls made themselves useful.

They helped pick, sort, and carry. Ganyu’s efficiency turned chaotic piles into neat rows. Dehya handled the heavier hauling alongside Varesa. Yelan and Lisa organized the storage shed. Even Shenhe ended up quietly pruning with surprising delicacy.

By late afternoon the orchard looked noticeably better, and Varesa’s grateful, still-slightly-awkward smile had grown warmer. She kept feeding them as thanks — more fruit, more snacks, more insistent offers of “just one more bite” — while her microskirt continued to ride up and her heavy bare breasts swayed with every movement.