"Aw, man…" he muttered, shaking his head. "Most people only break one scale when they put on a ton of weight." Jake wrapped his padded arms around as much of his belly as he could reach, giving the thick, blubbery mass a shake. The large, yellow scales lining his now massive underbelly had been stretched to their limits, increasingly thick bands of soft, doughy flesh poking in between them. Jake thought about what losing all this weight meant— an intense diet that would be nothing short of Spartan, a workout routine that would be brutal and punishing, and judging by the vast, sheer amount of useless, fatty pounds he had acquired, it would take years— not to mention he would probably have to walk away from his mascot job entirely. Jake's mouth twisted as he shuffled out of the bathroom and looked around the apartment, paid for by the money that he earned. What would he be going back to by walking away from this job? That dingy little apartment in Brooklyn? Getting beat up by ogres while getting just enough to scrape by? Already, he could smell the breakfast sandwiches that Flitwit left for him— at this point, he had upped his usual breakfast order, with three large sandwiches with sausage and bacon, two apple pie desserts, and a large breakfast shake. He shuffled towards the spread, and already helped himself to a sandwich, looking towards the balcony, the sky, and the increasingly difficult flight over to Burger Drake. He quickly stuffed himself with the sandwiches— to build up energy, naturally— and guzzled down the shake. He took a bracing breath that made his plush, pillowy chest flutter before he took a running— well, trotting— start and hopped into the air. He dropped about ten feet before his wings caught an updraft, and sharp, aching pain from holding all of his massive weight shot through his wing muscles. Jake was already wheezing as he landed on the building just across the street, squatting so he could rest atop his own belly.