A Day at the Office
By: Turboencabulator
Will stood by the post box, a joint hanging out of his mouth as he watched the clouds darken
and roil on the horizon. It always seemed like he could see a storm, no matter which direction
he looked. He pondered, wondering how long this had been the case.
After deciding he didn’t know, he opened the oversized mailbox and took out the first round of
mail now that the post office knew where they were. Bundles of letters and slim packages,
flyers and magazines, all quickly tossed in a canvas sail bag. He turned to head back towards
the clinic when a FedUP truck pulled up to the county road intersection and turned his way.
Will opened the front gate manually, waving as the driver pulled in, and followed behind.
“Morning.” The driver said, hopping out of his truck and opening the cargo doors. “Got a few
for you.”
A pause and he sighed. “And my super took the dolly out without telling me.”
Will laughed and went around to the garage door, opening it and dragging out a dolly. “Got you
covered.”
Ten minutes later and the reception desk was covered in boxes and mail. After stubbing out his
joint, Will sighed and went into a small break room, only to emerge a few minutes later with a
pot of tea, and a matching cup and saucer.
He glanced over to where Hickory was asleep in a round padded bed, splayed out and with one leg
hanging off the side. The fluffy snored quietly, occasionally moving his legs in some
approximation of a gesture or running.
The clock read twenty minutes before opening time, and Will started sorting mail, wondering if
Sam had set up the turn order so he wouldn’t need to deal with the mass correspondence.
Sam wandered in and flipped the sign to ‘open’ before turning around and coming face to face
with the morning’s post. Will was methodically taking a letter, slitting it open with a
letter-opener, and putting it in a pile. The magazines were separate, and everything was
painfully neat and tidy.
“Dude did you take Riatlin this morning or something?” Sam asked, looking along the row of
sorted mail.
“I finally got a night’s sleep.” Will said, pausing to drink a dark brown tea. “Want any?”
Sam peered over the counter at the glass teapot. “Uh. That isn’t that fermented tea is it?”
Will shook his head. “I’m out of that pu’erh, this is an earl grey.”
Sam shrugged and took a cup, before picking up the first magazine. “Let’s see, Hasbio supply.”
Immediately into the large trash bin behind the desk. This was followed quite soon after by
various hugboxer rags, anti-fluffy religious screeds, and a free issue of an abuser magazine
called ‘Fluffy Shredder Monthly’.
“Hey, who checks the surrender box?” Will asked, looking up from a shelter-specific magazine.
Sam looked out to the large fluffy surrender station installed just outside the gate. “I
suppose I will. We have an appointment in what, fifteen?”
Will leaned over and checked the computer. “Yeah, something about their fluffy being
incontinent all of a sudden.”
“Brilliant.” Sam said, walking back into the garage. “Can you sort out the crap for me?”
“Done.”
Will went through the rest of the mail, occasionally glancing up to watch Sam as he drove a
cart out to the box and racking surrendered fluffies in its storage compartment. Most of it was
thrown out, or set aside as threats for the police to investigate. A ding announced an incoming
email, and Will leaned over to read it just as Sam came back in the room.
“Hey, got something that isn’t trash in the email.” Will said.
Sam looked over, gathering the chip scanner from a cabinet. “Oh good, what’s up?”
Will read from the screen.
To whom it may concern
I would like some help with my fluffy Sleet. She was a sweet fluffy until I bred her. Now she
has turned into a bitch mare. She’s made two alicorns and two patterned fluffies. She broke the
leg of the non patterned one and calls them not pretty or monsters. I don’t know what to do
with her.
I have her pregnant again, but is there a way after that to fix her? Or should I just turn her
over to you? Please help in any way you can.
Regards, Erik.
Sam sighed, nodding. “Probably bred her too early.” He walked over to the computer and sat
down.
“I’ll do the chip check.” Will said, picking up the scanner and heading out. Hickory got up
with a yawn and followed him, trotting out with a little toot.
Popping his knuckles, Sam opened a reply message and began typing.
Erik,
Unfortunately your fluffy seems to be have been bred too early and the bitch-mare syndrome is
now essentially part of her development. This can be reversed with therapy but that takes a lot
of time, and you have little ones now. That she has been bred a second time rather cements the
syndrome but it is not completely reversible.
The worst thing you can do is to do nothing. The solutions I would recommend in order are:
-
Permanent separation from her children and getting her fixed.
-
Separating her from the rejected children and raising them in better conditions.
-
Aborting the current litter.
-
Pillow her.
-
Surrender her to the clinic for use as breeding stock.
If you need assistance placing her offspring in good homes we can faciliate this without
charge. We do provide spaying, abortion, pillowing, and other alterations for fluffies. As your
signature line has indicated you are several hours away, I will be sending a package by
overnight courier.
Please find within:
One (1) Adult fluffy carrier
One (1) Top-opening juvenile fluffy carrier
One (1) Self-warming chirpie incubator, capacity six (6)
Twelve (12) Spare feeding nipples for incubator
Two (2) Spare fleece top-pads for incubator (machine washable)
Three (3) Spare fleece blankets for incubator (machine washable)
One (1) Hand-pump fluffy milker with two (2) spare cup sets and four (4) spare bottles
One (1) Bottle-to-incubator adapter with milk warming functionality
One (1) Leg isolation board, Adult female fluffy type, compatible with carrier
One (1) Saf-t-bite padded muzzle, adult fluffy size
Thirty-two ounces (32 oz) Instant-mummah fluffy formula, pharmacy grade
Three (3) Bad-bowel-blocker rectal stoppers, adult fluffy size
One (1) Head bag, adult fluffy size
These are provided free of charge through a grant by the Alenix Fluffy Foundation and are
certified HugBoxBros approved products. If you choose to raise the chirpies yourself we have
literature and products on-site which may be subsidized by the same foundation.
If you decide to use our services please call for an appointment.
Best of luck,
Sam.
After sending the message off, Sam got up, popped his back, and walked into the mail room,
picking up a pre-assembled ‘bad mummah rescue kit’ and slapping a shipping label on it. Will
stomped past, apron covered in feces, carrying a bundle of paracord.
Suppressing a grin, Sam texted the courier company and walked out with the box, putting it on
the counter just as a harried-looking man came in with a carrier. Sam noticed a young girl in
the parked car being held in place by her mother as she screamed and fought, watching the
carrier.
“Mister Thompson?” Sam asked, checking the appointment book.
“No, I don’t have an appointment, this is rather sudden.” The man said, setting the carrier on
the counter. "My niece got ahold of the family fluffy. She has a bit of an unhealthy obsession
with them and tried to ‘give’ it a cutie mark.’
Sam peered into the carrier, looking at a sable and teal unicorn stallion with a large bandage
on his haunch, edged with blood.
“Then she got violent. We’re taking her for psychological evaluation but…”
Sam stood upright and nodded. “Medical care and temporary sheltering until you know what to
do.”
The man sighed. “Yes, please. Do I need to sign anything or…”
After getting the paperwork together, the man quickly filled out everything he needed and
jogged out to the car, quickly getting in and driving towards Indianapolis.
Taking the carrier back, Sam carefully extracted the stallion and lay him on an exam pad. The
fluffy groaned, lifting his head to look at Sam.
“Hey. You’re safe.” Sam said, gently removing the bandage. “I’m just going to change your
bandage and you can get more sleep ok?”
Nodding, the fluffy lay his head down again. Sam sighed, looking over a mutilated mess. He
carefully picked out the tip of a broken x-acto knife, and then put a sterilizing gel on a
bandage before applying it to the wound. After securing it, he put the fluffy in a rehab pen
and filled its food and water bottle.
The chime of the front door sounded, and Sam gave the stallion a pat before going out to
reception.
He stopped in the doorway, nostrils flaring as he smelled The Funk. It was an old smell, one he
was familiar with during his D&D and arcade days.
At the counter was a greasy, overweight fedora-tipper. The bottom of his stomach hung out below
his ‘vintage’ Portal t-shirt and his trench coat was surreptitiously stained with what Sam hoped
were condiments. Sam walked over, feeling the smell of basement and cheap body spray thicken
like a fog.
“Thompson?” Sam asked, eyeing the smudged and stained carrier.
“Yesh.” He said, taking out his cell phone. “My fluffy hash been having trouble making good
pee-peesh for about two weeksh now. Can we move thish along, I’m running late for my Yu-Gi-Oh
Championship Tournament.”
Sam nodded, handing over the standard forms. “Just fill out the top sheet, sign at the
bottom. If you’d prefer a text instead of a call when we’ve seen your fluffy please mark it
next to the line for your cell number.”
After scribbling out the form’s information, the young man dropped it and the pen on the
counter, muttered something disgusting sounding into the carrier, and left. Sam picked up and
disposed of the pen with a napkin, watching as it shined in the light from the thin layer of
grease.
Sam set the paperwork aside for Will and sprayed down the counter with Lysol before turning his
attention to the carrier. He peered in, and after what he saw registered, his eyes went a bit
wide.
“Oh boy.”
Will wandered out from re-housing the surrenders in the quarantine pens and suspending a smarty by his testes to find Sam rushing past with a somehow moist-looking carrier. After a beat, Will sighed, went and grabbed the tea pot, and followed after Sam.
Sam had set the carrier on an exam table and was busy pulling on gloves and readying a bath.
“Should I uh…” Will began, but stopped as Sam shook his head.
“You aren’t going to want to touch this fluffy just yet.” Sam said, before opening the
carrier. “Come on out.”
“Nu.”
The voice was quiet, timid, and shaky.
“He’s gone.” Sam said. “Let’s get you clean?”
A sniffle, and Will watched with growing discomfort as a fluffy shuffled out onto the exam
pad. It was a pegasus mare, underweight, and she had been crudely dyed to match the character
‘Rainbow Dash’, with cheap, already-faded hair dye. He could see patches where the chemicals
had burned the fluffy’s sensitive skin.
He could also see dried flecks of yellowed semen sticking in her fluff. Sam gently picked up
the fluffy, who just hung limp in his hands. He slowly lowered her into the bath and began
bathing her.
“What’s your name?” Sam asked.
“W-w-wainbow d-d-d-” She stammered, starting to tear up.
“No, I mean the name you really have, not the one he’s making you say.”
The fluffy started to hyperventilate, and Sam lifted her over the other side of the sink just
in time for her to vomit. She was sobbing and hanging limp again, but began to calm down as Sam
set her back in the warm water and continued the bath.
“Am… am Maybeww. Nicey shewtew mummah gib Maybeww name.” Maybell said, shuddering.
Sam nodded, watching as the blue dye rinsed out, revealing a light lilac color. “Maybell,
your… ugh.” He looked up, eyes clamped shut for a moment.
Will tilted his head, and Sam shook his head before turning back to the fluffy. “The man that
brought you here said you were making bad pee-pees, is this true?”
Maybell slowly zoned out, making a little wheeze sound with every breath. “Yus daddeh. Am sawwy
daddeh. Nu wan tapey-huwties.”
Sam and Will looked at each other, then back to the fluffy.
“Is it because you have bad feelings?” Sam asked quietly, draining the tub and rinsing Maybell
under warm water, returning her to a lavender-and-leaf coloration.
“Nu daddeh. Wainbow am happies.”
Sam looked over at Will. “We’re going to need some heavy lifting drugs for this.”
Maybell lay upon a soft pad, the room’s light dimmed down low. Her rear hung over a drainage
tray, and Sam watched as her pupils dilated, the dissociative drugs taking hold. He carefully
moved her tail, lifting it up a little, and winced as she instinctively flung it up over her
back. After carefully irrigating her, he lifted her hind leg to view her groin.
It was red, and raw, and definitely infected. Sam again thoroughly cleaned and applied
antibiotics, then let her leg go. It stayed up, pulling forward as if to invite him in.
“Maybell.” Sam said, gently putting her leg down. She shifted and muttered nothing to herself.
“Have you been having bad feelings? Heart-hurties?”
“Yus. Daddeh say habin heawt-huwties means Wainb… May… Fwuffy nu wub daddeh.” She said,
staring off into nothing.
“Your name’s Maybell, you don’t need to pretend to be Rainbow Dash anymore.” Sam said, glancing over at Will. “What’s tapey-hurties?”
“Daddeh take gway tapeys, an put dem on speciaw pwace, den take dem off again vewy vewy
fasties.” She says, her hind legs subconsciously crossing over each other and pulling up
against her belly. “Untiw boo-boo juice is on da tapey.”
Sam sat back with a grimace. “And he does this when he gets unhappy?”
“Yus. Eben if he wans speciaw-huggies aftew. Sumtimes if huwties weaw bad den he make
poopie-pwace huggies an make Maybeww gib nunu-stick wickie-cweanies.” She said, languid, a bit
fuzzy from the drugs.
Nodding quietly, Sam gave Maybell a sedative. “Alright. Why don’t you have a nap,
Maybell. Let’s get you feeling better.”
“Otay.” She mumbled, slowly drifting off. “Ni-ni…HORNK”
“Jesus Christ.” Will muttered as the fluffy began snoring like a chainsaw. Sam put her in a pen
and slid it into its cabinet, muffling most of the sound.
“Well.” Sam said, taking out the stallion and changing the bandages. “I’m not sure but I’m
thinking we’re going to need to give her back.”
Will made a disgusted sounding noise and turned to look in her pen, watching the mare sleep.
“I know.” Sam said, with a tired sounding sigh. “But legally there’s nothing really we can do
about it.”
A high pitched rumbly sound made Will look down. Hickory was watching the mare as well, head
tilted. He looked up at Will, an amethyst spark flickering in his eyes. Will grinned softly and
nodded.
Hickory turned and left the room, heading forward to the office, and curling up in his bed. He
closed his eyes, and began his work.
Greg Thompson, a proud and noble student of the blade and the finer things in life, was
angry. He had been seeded into a higher bracket in the tournament, but his luck shortly ran out
after that. Someone had leaked his deck build on the Discord, he was sure of it, and as he
got his fourth PayDay bar out of the vending machine, he could swear he heard giggling.
He would not stand for such embarrassment in front of lesser men. Adjusting his fedora to an
intimidating slant, he turned and waddled back towards the convention hall, shoving the candy
bars one by one in his face.
Then a whiff of morning dew, and a flicker of white and green and purple out of the corner of
his eye made him stop, and look down a side hallway. A distinct, familiar shadow on the wall
moved out of the way with a cheerful laugh, echoing, somehow sounding too thin and tinny.
He followed, curious, a crumb of peanut falling from his wispy moustache as he turned the
corner, looking into a bright glow, listening to the melodic laughter of his idol.
Will had his feet up on the counter, sketching in charcoal and watching the news.
“Today a local gaming convention was disrupted when one of the attendants was found naked in a
fountain attempting to worship the bronze statue of a horse. He was discovered chanting in an
unfamiliar language and apparently venerating the statue as if it was a deific figure. The
youths that found him in the closed wing of the Four Seasons hotel the convention was being
hosted at immediately reported the unusual sight, and the man was apprehended shortly
thereafter. It is unknown what precipitated this event, though drugs are suspected.”
Will turned and looked at Hickory as he nibbled away at an apple.
“Dude. Ew.”
Hickory just giggled and wagged, enjoying his apple.
Sam looked up as the door chime rang. He had just finished amputating a smarty’s forelegs and
penis, and was cleaning up the surgical table. After leaning out the door and hearing Will
taking care of the customer, Sam went back to getting the surgery ready in case the next
patient needed it.
Will leaned in. “Uh. Dude. You’re going to want to see this.”
Sam hesitated for a moment, then stripped off his gloves and followed Will to reception, only
to find himself face to face with a very angry man.
He was easily six inches taller than either of them, beet red, and built like a brick wall. He
was carefully controlling his breathing, his pristine business suit marred with blood and what
appeared to be feces. He did not seem to notice.
“Oh boy.” Sam said. “I take it something bad has happened.”
“Mister Zollner here misplaced his trust when asking someone to take care of his fluffy.” Will
said, looking over the entry sheet.
“I had been called away to Germany on business.” The man said, with a carefully even tone. “I
asked a neighbor to watch my fluffy. She apparently decided that ‘pillowfluffs are happy
fluffs’ shit applied to those that she did not own. When my vet denied her the surgery she
decided to do it herself to prove her perspective correct.”
Sam turned the carrier, looking in at the mangled stallion inside. “Your vet? They decided they
couldn’t handle this?”
“They were able to save Harald’s life.” Zollner said, with a grimace. “They don’t specialize in
fluffies though and recommended I find someone who did.”
Will handed over the vet records and Sam started laying out the forms and imaging scans,
wincing. “Jesus she did a number. Probably a meat cleaver.”
“Firewood hatchet.” Zollner said, flexing his fists with loud popping sounds.
There was a brief pause and his eyes started to water. “Oh. I uh. i think I should not have
done that.”
Ten minutes later and Sam had x-rays of Zollner’s hands, and was helping put a pair of braces
on him. “I’ve never seen someone sprain their own joints like that.” He said.
Zollner sighed. “Not the first time. In my hands, it’s the first, but I managed to break a bone
in my forearm flexing too hard, back when I was competing.”
Sam just stared at him for a moment and then went back to fitting the braces. “Well don’t do
that.”
With a short laugh Zollner flexed his hands gingerly. “So what about Harald?”
Sam took a moment to slide the fluffy’s own x-rays into the light box. “Well your vet’s office
did a decent job of cleaning up the damage your neighbor did. Thankfully she didn’t really get
close enough to the body to be actually pillowing, it’s more in line with the stumping that
produces ‘crawly-fluffs’. Harald will have some mobility but naturally it’s going to be nowhere
near autonomous.”
“Where is he anyways?” Zollner asked, looking around.
“Will has him for a bath and stuff. We do basic grooming on intake since it helps relax them
and can reveal a lot of issues right away.” Sam said, looking between the images. “It looks
like he’ll need to be carried most of the time though. Anything rougher than a fleece blanket
and moving around will give him rugburn in very sensitive places.”
“Are prosthetics an option?”
After taking a bit to look at the x-rays more, Sam leaned back in his chair,
pondering. “Technically yes. There is enough leg left that he could have prosthetics fitted,
but he’d have a hard time regardless. Fluffies don’t do well without a sense of touch. And that
doesn’t do anything for the emotional damage of losing hugging and running and whatnot.”
Zollner quietly put his face in his hands, with a sigh. “I’m going to sue that woman so deep
into the red she’ll think her bank statements were bleeding.”
“We could try a transplant?” Sam asked, absentmindedly. When he finally noticed Zollner was
looking at him, he continued. “So, fluffies generally don’t have tissue rejection problems like
humans do, so in theory you could take a leg off one and graft it on another. As long as you
reconnect the nerves properly it should function, though it’d need physical therapy for a long
time to get back to full function.”
“You can do that?” Zollner asked, eyes narrow with thought.
“I can try. I’ll do a few dry runs on some shelter pillows to work out the kinks but before
that there’s the question of the fluffy the legs come from. Color matching is a bitch and even
closely related fluffies tend to have differences in bone structure and coloration. The best
bet would be to basically clone Harald and take the legs from the cloned fluffy. It wouldn’t be
cheap though.”
Zollner nodded, thinking deeply.
“Do you take cheques?”
Sam finished entering the three-month return of Zollner and his fluffy for their surgery, after
taking a tissue sample and setting them up with a ‘huggie sling’ and some specialty cream for
the stump ends.
Will grinned softly, holding up the phone. “Fun part.”
A dial later and he leaned back, phone to his ear, waiting.
“Hello, I’m trying to reach Mr. Thompson?”
“Uh” Will picked up the log-in sheet. “Greg.”
“We have his fluffy, Dash here, for treatment, and he neglected to include payment
information.”
“Yes ma’am, for incontinence, now diagnosed as due to emotional and sexual abuse.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Yes we’re very sure, we had to clean semen out of multiple orifices to apply the antibiotics.”
“Well we can but that does not invalidate the bill, ma’am.”
“Yes we open at ten tomorrow.”
Will hung up the phone quietly. After a short pause he turned to Sam.
“She had no idea.”
Sam sighed, and got up. “Well I’m going to let Gizmo have a run at the new enfie-friend.”
“She also surrendered Maybell.”
A pause, and Sam nodded. “Good. Let’s let her recuperate and then perhaps she would fit in over
at the commune.”
“Speaking of which.” Will said, nodding.
Crow pulled up in a pickup truck and hauled a pair of carriers out of the back, shouldering the
door open. “Right. These two first. Tired of 'em trying to sneak a fuck in when they think
we’re not looking.”
“Wet Tawmas hab speciaw huggies! Wan huggies an speciaw fwien!” One of the fluffies shouted,
before turning and lifting his tail. “GIB MAWE NAO! NUM POOPIES!”
Nothing happened, the medicated cork was still fresh.
Sam took the carriers with a big smile. “Why don’t you take a load off. This won’t be a long
process. You want just fixed or…”
“Marvin has behaved himself when he hasn’t been listening to his hormones. Just fix
him. Thomas doesn’t get to keep anything.”
In the surgical theatre, Sam pulled the first fluffy, Marvin, out of his carrier. The stallion
was a deep orange earthie, and he crossed his legs over each other and covering his belly as
Sam put him on his back in the surgical depression.
“Pwease Mistew, nu take nu-nu stick, Mawvin twy be gud but speciaw wumps su huwties.” The
stallion begged, trying to wiggle upright.
“Relax.” Sam said, turning the u-shaped surgical pad to adjust the angles. “You’ll still have
your special stick, and your lumps won’t hurt anymore. This is just a little treatment so you
don’t have the really bad needy feeling anymore.”
Marvin looked around, whimpering a little. “Weawwy?”
“Promise. You probably won’t even feel what I’m going to do.” Sam said, gently pulling the
fluffy’s hind legs apart. “Thomas, though, isn’t going to be so lucky cuz he was a meanie and
tried to bully Crow.”
Thomas sat in the carrier nearby, glaring at Sam. He was a rich blue unicorn, probably one good
fit of egotism away from going full smarty.
“W-wut doin?” Marvin asked, squirming a little as Sam fitted foam blocks in on either side of
his hips.
“Well first we get you comfy. Then I’m going to just lift your lumps to get to the underside.”
Sam said, gently lifting the fluffy’s scrote and using a bit of cream to shave it smooth. “Then
we remove just a little of your fluff so it doesn’t get in the way.”
Marvin whinnied at the sensation, holding very still. “Onwy widdle fwuff?”
“That’s right, you won’t even notice any was gone unless you roll on your back and show off
your lumps to someone. It’ll grow back fast.” Sam said, picking up a swab and dipping it in
lidocaine. “Now this is going to be a little cold and tingly for a second but it’ll pass.”
After swabbing the base of the fluffy’s sack with lidocaine, he waited until it all
evaporated. Marvin squirmed, just a little. “Feews funneh.”
Thomas was watching the surgery now, and he backed off a little as Sam picked up a surgical
scalpel.
“Then we just make a little cut here, you won’t feel it.” Sam said, slitting open the fluffy’s
scrotum, letting the testes fall out into a tray. After cutting the remaining tubing and
setting the testicles aside, Sam took out two soft rubber replacement testicles from sterile
packaging, slipped them inside, and sewed the incision shut.
“Wun feew wut?” Marvin asked.
“Oh you’re done.” Sam said, putting a bandage on the fluffy’s recent surgery and lifting him
out of the surgical tray, setting him upright.
“Wut?”
“That’s it.”
Marvin was confused, and sat down, lifting his leg and looking at his junk. “But… stiww hab
wumps?”
“We just give you new ones. So you don’t feel like there’s anything missing. But these don’t
have the hurties.”
Marvin thought on this for a moment, then started to wiggle and grin. “Then stiww can hab
speciaw huggies?”
“If your special friend says so.” Sam said, and caught Marvin as the fluff launched himself
into a hug.
Sam laughed and carried Marvin out to the waiting room’s playpen. “Right, he’s done. Thomas
will be along shortly.”
Crow nodded, watching as Marvin pranced around the enclosure singing about good feels.
Sam watched from the window of the door as Thomas tried his hardest to get out of the
carrier. A puddle of urine had formed underneath, and Sam quietly slipped in to hear Thomas
trying to kick the door open.
“Dummy hoomin nu take speciaw wumps.”
KICK
“Gun get outta dis dummy boxie an gib sowwy-hoofies.”
KICK
Thomas did not notice Sam quietly unlatch the carrier door.
“Make dummy hoomin wick poopie-pwace.”
He kicked back, and the door flew open, making him drop flat on his belly with a wet splat. In
a flash Sam had Thomas by his hind legs, dragging him out on the surgical table, and dunked him
in lukewarm water.
Thomas spluttered and tried to kick free, but Sam simply pinned him down and looped his fingers
around the fluffy’s penis and scrotum, lifting them up a few inches. Thomas struggled, screeing
and arching upwards on his back.
“Bad fluffy.” Sam said, pulling out a Bowie knife and slicing off the stallion’s genitals in
one swift motion.
Thomas screamed and thrashed, but Sam held him down and slapped a sterile insta-heal bandage on his groin. Then Sam felt a mild pinching feeling, and looked to see Thomas biting down on Sam’s forearm with all his strength. Which wasn’t much, but it’s the thought that counts.
Their eyes met, and Thomas slowly let go, whimpering, shrinking back. He began to say
something, but Sam’s hand around his snout kept him quiet.
“Lightning?” Sam said, with a wicked grin. “This little dummy tried to bite me.”
A few clops and Thomas watched as a streaky brown and metallic orange fluffy walked into
view. “Aw, nu. Den I get to bite him wite?”
Lightning smiled, and Thomas saw the sharp, slightly pointed teeth, and quietly soiled himself
again.
Will and Crow looked up as a new round of screaming began, muffled heavily by the walls between
reception and the surgery. After a few minutes it stopped, and a few minutes more, Sam came out
with Thomas in a carrier, minus a forelimb.
Crow leaned over and took the carrier, peering in. “What the hell happened?”
Sam showed him the red bite mark on his arm. “Tit for tat.”
With a sigh, Crow nodded and put down the empty carrier. “Alright, come on Marvin.”
Marvin trotted over into his carrier and lay down, humming to himself. With a nod, Crow went
back out, and left.
Lightning burped quietly and trotted past, letting himself out to use the lawn.
It had been hours since Crow had left, and the sun had long gone down. Sam was midway through a load of dishes when a knock came from the front door. He wiped his hands off on the way
forward, and groaned quietly as he saw the flashing blue and red lights playing off the
walls. He opened the door to find Officer Belker there with an apologetic look on his face.
“Sam.”
“Belker. I hope you’re here to arrest me and not dump fluffies on me.”
“Sorry.”
“Fuck.” Sam sighed, tossing the dish-towel on the side table. “Lightning, why don’t you pick a
movie.”
Lightning perked up. “Otay Daddeh.” He said, and wandered over to the library of old VHS tapes
and DVDs.
Sam went out, closing the door behind, following Belker. “Right, is this evidence, or what?”
“Thankfully no, they’ve been processed already. Fluffy hoarder.” Belker said, pointing at a box
truck full of fluffies.
“Jesus christ. What was he doing?” Sam said, looking through the assorted fluffies. Most were
underfed and had cracked hoof-pads or sores somewhere.
“Testing his meth on 'em.” Belker said. “They’re all contaminated, so it’s surrender for
immediate destruction. I’m the witness.”
Sam groaned quietly. “So this is a tonight thing.”
“This is a tonight thing.”
“Let me go get Lightning. This is going to be a long one.”
Sam went back inside, and picked up his fluffy.
“The work is never done, Lightning.” He grumbled.