Tempo's servos let out muffled whirs and cries far beneath the flabby layers that now obscured them and strained them. Every footfall on the beach pushed her almost an inch into the sand, her large frame compressing the delicate grains below until they could go no further. Far ahead, Lalinde was setting up their beach towels (if you could even call Tempo's a towel, given its tarp-like size), but the twintailed Robot Master had fallen behind.

Having fat storage emulation added to her functions seemed fascinating at first; it would be quite a way to see how a Robot Master would handle having to acclimate to caloric burn and moderating intake... except, Tempo had an extreme sweet tooth, and when it came time to exercise moderation and practice proper dieting habits she fell very short of the mark. A dozen pounds become two, become a hundred, became half a ton of flab packed onto a chassis only BARELY built for such weight tolerances.

It wasn't like she was having any true problems from her weight, at least as far as she cared. Her chassis was struggling, but Tempo was sure Lalinde had a solution for that, even if it was manually turning off her appetite at some point. The real problem?

The jabs.

Friends and family alike quite enjoyed poking fun at her half-ton figure; rarely for mean-spirited purposes of course, but how many times could 'Are you Quake Woman because the ground quakes every time you walk' and 'Is this your way of protecting against another cave-in' be heard before they lost any sort of humor?

"Tempo, are you coming? I have a six-pack of cola for you if you can make the rest of the walk!" Lalinde called out sweetly, and Tempo groaned; very lethargically she whirred back into action, hearing her joints creak and whine under the sustained load with every footfall.

Maybe her chassis could handle the load, but it sure didn't LIKE it, and frankly she didn't much enjoy the process of walking, either.