The Queen's Court Ch 1 (Pure terror)

“Don’t you think it's a little— I dunno… much?” asked Lauren, shuffling uncomfortably at her reflection.

Tiffany sucked her teeth. “Girl, are you crazy?” she shot back incredulously. “You lookin’ extra spicy.”

Lauren gave her a sheepish look. Then she turned back to the bathroom mirror. She had to admit that the little black dress was hugging her wonderfully. Unfortunately, it also showed a lot more skin than she was comfortable with. “I’m not… like you, Tiff,” she said sheepishly.

“Hilarious, gifted, and intelligent? It's okay, baby. Most people aren't.” replied Tiffany with a grin.

Lauren rolled her eyes, but couldn't help cracking a smile. “You know what I mean,” she said, fighting to regain her composure. “I don't… look like you.”

Tiffany sucked her teeth again. Then she waved her hand dismissively and said, “Oh Lord, not this again. Girl, I’d kill to have your waistline. Plus, you're how tall?”

“Five foot nine. Wait no, six feet in these heels.” replied a gloomy Lauren.

Tiffany furrowed her brow and said, “Really? Even with the shoes, you seem taller.”

Lauren winced like she’d been punched in the gut. Her height had always been a sore spot for her. However, she was cut off before she could make her despondent response.

"Still, six sexy feet of statuesque power just makes you even more of a goddess,” Tiffany quickly added. “Look at your arms, and those calves.”

Lauren's face dropped even more as her eyes went to the slight bulges in her bare biceps. Then they fell further down to the ripples of her six-pack underneath the taut fabric. Suddenly, an unfamiliar nausea began to rise in the pit of her stomach. “Statuesque? Don't you mean hulky.”

Tiffany was beginning to get annoyed. “Uh-uh. Absolutely not. You are fit as fuck, girl.” retorted the smaller woman, pawing at Lauren’s arms. “I’d kill to be seven inches taller with your figure.”

Realizing there was no winning this debate, Lauren simply kept her mouth closed and stewed internally. Sure, four years of high school basketball had earned her a nice scholarship to university in the fall, but she’d always felt that all that time she spent in the gym backfired when it came to boys, especially whenever she wore heels. In their eyes she was gawky at best, and at worst, intimidating.

On the other hand, Tiffany was the complete opposite. She was short, curvy, and knew how to accentuate her features. She also oozed a rare confidence that manifested itself in everything she did; giving her all the makings of a social butterfly. The only time Lauren could ever match that was on the court.

Yet somehow the two had remained best friends since grade school. They shared secrets, exchanged insecurities, and always had each other's backs. So naturally, when Lauren had finally managed to land a date with a fellow ball player at practice last week; her bestie was going to pull out all of the stops.

“Girl, I’m telling you. He is not gonna know what hit him,” Tiffany continued softly.

“Yeah, right,” said Lauren with a sigh. “He probably only asked me to dinner so he can invite me to play in a coed league or something like that.”

“Alright, enough of that mess,” snapped Tiffany. “I did not blow a month’s savings on that dress and spend an hour on your hair for you to be actin’ like this. You better walk in there with your head held high and slay like the queen you are.”

Lauren was still partially dejected, but as she looked back at the mirror again, she also began to feel a tinge of hope. Her bestie always knew how to cheer her up; as well as do her up. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was tied in a messy bun in the back and fell in curly tresses in the front, framing her striking facial features well. So much so that after a few more moments she realized that her nausea was fading.

“Okay. I still feel like a total amazon, but maybe you're right” she admitted, cracking a smile. “And I guess the dress is kinda nice too. I don't know if it’s worth a whole month’s pay, though. Where'd you get it?”

Now it was Tiffany who was looking flustered. “Ummm. You know… around… It's not important,” she sputtered.

Lauren turned to her and raised one of her eyebrows.

“Seriously. The place is off-grid as fuck. You wouldn't know it,” Tiffany quickly continued. “And don't you dare think of trying to pay me back. Just look at it as an early birthday present.”

Lauren wasn't satisfied with the answer, but she was getting too excited to harp on the issue. The possibility of being desirable was completely novel to her, and a little intoxicating. After a few more moments she found herself positively beaming and said, “Well, my birthday isn't for another five months, but fine.” Then she stood tall, struck a pose, and affected a royal accent. “If you say to slay. Then slay, I shall.”

“Yaaaaas, Queen!” gushed Tiffany, beaming as well.

The two then shared a hardy laugh, which lead into another few moments of marveling at their masterpiece until Lauren finally broke the silence. “It's weird though,” she said in her normal voice. “These heels feel tighter than they did last week.”

***

An hour later Lauren stepped into the restaurant and immediately felt nauseous again. Tiffany was right. From the moment she walked in nearly every head turned in her direction.

It's okay. They're impressed, not intimidated.

Unfortunately, Lauren was quite intimidated. She’d never eaten anywhere this fancy before. A luxurious blood red carpet stretched all the way in from the street, leading to a regal dining hall lined with immaculately decorated tables and a bone white tiled floor that was spotless. Several solid gold chandeliers hung above, all inlaid with individually lit candles, creating a classy and laid-back atmosphere. On top of that, everyone including the Maitre'd was dressed to the nines. The women wore dresses and gowns that would've put Tiffany in debt for years, and the men were all draped in dapper suits and sportscoats. Shockingly enough though, they were all staring at Lauren.

Who am I kidding? They're not impressed. They're probably just embarrassed for me. Maybe I should just go.

The nausea was beginning to rise in her stomach. However, just before she could turn to leave the Maitre'd cleared his throat to catch her attention.

*Ahem* “G-good evening, madame,” he choked out in a flustered French accent. “Will you be dining alone tonight?”

Lauren looked down at him like a deer in the headlights. She’d never even been referred to as a ma’am, let alone a madame. She tried to come up with a classy response, but her mind went blank. In addition to that, her feet were killing her. For some reason her shoes were feeling even tighter than her dress, making her feel enormous. The room was beginning to spin, the nausea was intensifying, and with every passing moment the Maitre’d was looking increasingly more uncomfortable. Until suddenly a loud and haggard voice piped up from behind her, snapping her out of the trance.

“Joshy!” it shouted in a piercing wail, “Joshy, you forgot to give me my meds for my cataracts today!”

Lauren quickly wheeled around to see an elderly woman with thick wrinkly skin wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, even though it was night time. The Maitre'd, who was beginning to look as though he'd seen a ghost, seemed to have regained some of his composure as well, and was now eying the woman with disdain. It seemed a little harsh, but Lauren had to admit that the tattered and patched bathrobe she wore above her night clothes wasn't exactly up to the dress code.

He cleared his throat again indignantly and said, “I apologize, but I think you have the wrong establishme-”

“No, I’m in the right place,” the woman interrupted abruptly. “This nose of mine never fails, sonny boy. I can smell my Joshy’s Carolina Reaper sauce from a mile away.”

The Maitre'd was visibly irritated, but then a look of recognition crossed his face. “Oh, you must be referring to that rambunctious new line cook, JOSHIRO,” he retorted snootily, placing even more disdain at the end. “Please wait right here whilst I… fetch him.” He then turned to Lauren and readopted his professional demeanor. “Apologies, madame. I will only be but a moment.” Then he swiftly swept away, sending the tails of his penguinesque tuxedo coat into a flurry.

Lauren was beginning to get nauseous again. She’d already felt like a spectacle before, and now she was being forced to stand up there alone in front of all those people due to the new arrival of the strangely dressed old woman. She pulled at her dress, attempting to lengthen it over her toned thighs. However, this only created more cleavage at her neckline, resulting in even more glances and stares.

Then the woman gave a few sharp sniffs, frowned, and said, “Is someone else there?”

“Y-yes,” squeaked Lauren a little higher than she’d intended. “Sorry. I guess I might’ve overdone it on the perfume tonight.”

The woman grimaced and snapped, “Bah! Forget about your perfume, child. You wreak of the occult.” She then gave another long sniff. “Smells like Santeria. No. Obeah. Or maybe it’s black mag-”

“Granna!” called another voice suddenly.

Following it, they both turned to see a man dressed in kitchen attire rushing toward them, flanked distantly by the Maitre’d.

“Granna, what are you doing here?” he chided in an accent Lauren couldn’t place. “You’re gonna get me fired.”

He was a short and thin man with a solid build, probably not much older than Lauren. His straight black hair and somewhat slanted eyes, suggested an oriental heritage, but Lauren wasn’t familiar enough to place where exactly. The double-take he did at her as he approached was becoming a common thing for her tonight. However, this one invoked a different feeling in Lauren. She couldn’t identify it in the midst of so much happening at once, though.

“Joshy!” shouted the woman gleefully. She threw up her arms and draped them around him affectionately. “How are you feeling, baby?”

Before the man could respond, the returning Maitre’d cleared his throat again. “Make it quick, Joshiro,” he breathed with his nose held high. “We do like to maintain a certain standard here.”

“Got it, garcon,” replied Joshiro coolly, making Lauren giggle a little. The Maitre’d flared his nostrils, but Joshiro ignored him and turned back to the older woman. “Granna, I’m working right now.” he said in a more hushed tone. “What are you doing here?” Then his eyes wondered over to Lauren again and ran up and down her form. “And why are you bothering this beautiful woman?”

Lauren’s face turned beet red.

“I’m not bothering her,” snapped the woman. She then leaned in and whispered a little too audibly, “Careful, Joshy. I think she’s a bad egg.”

This time it was Joshiro’s turn to blush. “She’s standing right there, Granna!” he said, casting Lauren another furtive glance. Then his eyes widened a little more when he realized she was staring directly at them. However, he quickly recovered and mouthed subtle “Sorry” at her.

“It’s okay”, she mouthed back silently, but in truth nothing was okay. The nausea in her stomach was becoming overwhelming as a massive war of conflicting thoughts was raging in her mind.

OMIGOD! HE IS FREAKING CUTE!

He’s also like 5’4”, girl. It’d be like standing next to a preteen.

I know, but he’s so masculine. And the way he is with that little old lady is adorable.

Shut up and put your game face on. Remember, you’re here to slay.

Right. Speaking of slaying... Where the hell is-

*ahem*

The Maitre’d cleared his throat yet again, breaking her reverie. Now she was beginning to get annoyed with him too. “I’m waiting for my date... garcon,” she snapped without thinking. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Joshiro look up and smirk at her, but she pretended not to notice.

Yaaaas! Slay, Queen.

“Well, do you have a reservation?” retorted the Maitre’d, no longer attempting to hide his indignance.

This caught Lauren off guard. Did she? She had no clue. In fact, it wasn’t until that moment that realized she didn’t even know her date’s name. She’d been too nervous to ask last week. She did have his number, though. “Just a moment,” she croaked, slipping her handbag off of her shoulder.

Flaring his nostrils even more, the Maitre’d rose his nose as high as he could. “Ugh! How gauche,” he barked.

However, that was the final straw. Maybe it was the nausea, or the immense pain in her feet. Maybe it was misplaced aggression at how late her date was. At this point it didn’t matter. A switch had flipped in Lauren’s brain, and she completely forgot where she was. Immediately, her expression shifted to an icy glare, instantly freezing the bubbling anxiety in her gut. She drew up to her full height, looming several inches over the man, lowered her voice to barely above a whisper, and sharply uttered two short words. “Excuse me?”

All at once, the color drained away from the man’s face in response.

Slay!

His eyes ran rapidly over her towering form, as he seemed to melt into a puddle behind the booth. Finally, this was a feeling that was familiar to Lauren. Although, she usually only reserved it for her opponents on the court.

FINISH HIM!

Sizing him up, she could see that it wasn’t going to take much. His airy attitude must have been a compensatory behavior, but now that the tables were turned, she was beginning to realize how absolutely tiny he actually was.

Gladly.

She leaned over the booth directly into his face. His pupils shrank to mere slits. Then he tried to step back, but his legs were so wobbly that he fell on his backside. However, Lauren wasn’t satisfied yet. The way he was cowering on the ground was the most pathetic thing she’d even seen a man do, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted pure terror. Slowly and deliberately, she strutted around the booth, allowing her the clack of her heels to echo throughout the now completely silent dining hall, until finally she stood directly over him. She felt like a T-rex bearing down on its prey. The length of her shadow stretched far beyond his head.

Dinner time.

She rose her foot high above and stomped down with all her might right in between in his legs, landing millimeters away from his crotch. What came next must’ve been the sharpest squeal in history, followed by the abrupt appearance of a growing wet spot in the man’s pants, which leaked into a small puddle on the floor around him. With a triumphant gleam in her eye, Lauren’s face tore into a savage smile. However, as her senses returned, she noticed a full-length mirror behind the man and gasped.

What the fuck?

The reflection showed an amazonian skyscraper of a woman who was several inches taller than the one she was used to looking at and much fuller in her chest and backside. It all made sense now; the tightness of her shoes, the shocked stares, even how small everyone else seemed this evening. They weren’t tiny. She was huge. Her gaze then went to the reflection of the other patrons behind her. Every single eye was on her, and many of their jaws had literally dropped. Suddenly a tidal wave of nausea tore through her whole body.

*BANG! *

It was like a bomb had gone off in her stomach. She immediately doubled over and began retching uncontrollably. Her first thought was to get out as fast as she could, but then she looked back up at that mirror again, and now the terror came for her as well. Slowly, but visibly her body was expanding even more. Two loud pops rang out into the silent hall, as her shoes finally busted into shreds revealing her scarlet swollen feet.

*BANG! *

Another bomb went off inside of her. However, this time her survival instinct kicked in. With reckless abandon, she tore into a full sprint to the door, threw it open, and dashed out so quickly that she was on the curb before it could swing shut. The only thing she noticed behind her was the voice of the old women.

“See, Joshy? I told you she was a bad egg.”