Bob wasn’t exactly mad, if anything he was impressed. However, he wasn’t about to let her get away with no consequences. The question was how. The first thing he needed to figure out was which one ratted her out. “Chirp. Wan miwkies. Cheep.” The blue one just saved him time by outing itself. It also helped that the pink one was asleep on her back next it.
“What a good baby letting daddy know where your bad mummah was,” Bob said after picking it up.
"Chirp. Daddeh? Wub daddeh! Peep!” It was giggling as he held the little colt. He noticed the start of a silver mane like his mother. This one would be useful as a stud in the future for the big project he was working on.
“I think I’m gonna name you Narc.”
"Namsies?! Cheep! Nawc wub!”
After a quick web search for female serial killers who targeted children he found the perfect name for the alicorn, “and your mother’s name is Dyer.”
Dyer didn’t know how to take this. On one hand it was a name, the only thing a fluffy covets more than sketti. On the other hand, it was suspicious he was giving her a name at all. “Tank you fow namsies nice mistah,” she said in a quiet voice knowing not responding might make things worse.
“Oh no problem, I really have to thank you. Killing two of your children for me was a big help.” The guilt of what she had done hit her. The two no-see babbehs were just so loud and she didn’t see any other option. She hated herself for it. She was starting to cry and Bob was relishing this. A fluffy that tortured itself was such a wonderful thing. “Now, I might be willing to forgive you for trying to run away if you do one of two things for me.”
"What dat nice mistah.”
“Either you can eat the two foals you killed,” Bob gives a malevolent grin, “or you can give your pink baby forever-sleepies.” The choice didn’t matter, she was going to hate herself even more either way.
Dyer was stunned. If she ate the babies, she would be a fluffy nummer, but she couldn’t kill her pink baby as it was innocent. Innocent just like the no-see babies. “Huuhuuhuu nu wan du eithew, poow widdwe babbehs mummah sowwy huuhuuhuu.” She could hear their scared chirps in her head. She was so apprehensive to kill them that it took longer and was more painful. “Nu wan… nu wan… huuhuu”
Bob just grabs Dyer and the pink unicorn and drops Dyer in the pen. He then empties the food bowl and drops the dead chirpies in the bowl. “Eat up because that is all you’re not getting anything else until they’re gone.” The pink foal wakes up, “well I guess you need a name too.”
"Chirp na… cheep nams… namsie?”
“Aww, baby’s first word.” Bob thinks for a second. “Your name is Onahole.”
“Onahowe… chirp… wub!” Bob wanted to laugh his ass off. He knew that trying to name fluffies things like dildo never worked, and they would reject the name, even at infancy. And once she was older, she would be her namesake for Stud. Couldn’t do that now as pedofluffies were rare as they only came from extreme cases of incest. Like your father being your grandfather and great grandfather levels, but when she was older he would breed her once to check for interesting mutations or patterns. Then if there weren’t any, Bob would turn her into an enfie pal.
“C-can mummah hab babbehs back pwease?”
“Hmm, no. Also, if you get out of that pen again, I will make you watch as I cut off their legs.”
She shudders, “otay mistah.”
Bob leaves the room long enough to deposit the two talkie-foals in a cage before grabbing a med kit to clean up Dyer and prevent infection. He also grabbed some syringes and vials. She needed vaccinated and chipped before her real torment could begin.
Walking back into the room, he noticed a bunch of blood on her muzzle and the foals were gone. She was also crying so much that she would probably dehydrate. “ Dyer num babbehs fow nice mistah. Can Dyer hab babbehs back, pwease?” Seems her desperation go the better of her.
“Hmm, I don’t know. You do eat babies after all. How do I know you won’t eat them?”
Her crying intensifies, “b-b-bu’ mistah say tu num babbehs. Dy ah nevah huwt babbehs again.”
“Hmm, why should I believe you? Fluffies are known for lying to humans to get what they want. You say crap like ‘you only want huggies and wub’ but then you turn around and shit in your owner’s grandmother’s ashes when you don’t get sketti for dinner.”
"Dyah nevah du bad tings wike that.”
Bob just looks at her square in the face. “You got out of your pen. You killed those foals. You decided that their lives were worth less than your other two. YOU. ATE. THEM.”
Tears form in her eyes and she starts to ugly cry. “ Nuuhuuhuu, Dyah sowwy. Dyah sowwy. Huuhuuhuu. Dyah be gud huuhuuhuu.” She was broken. Not in the wan die loop, fortunately, but there was no longer any rebellion or hope in her eyes. They were the same eyes that a wild animal would have after being placed in a zoo.
“Now come here so I can clean you up.” She walks up to the side of the pen and gets in the upsie pose. Bob picks her up and sets her on a small table to start working on her. It only takes a few minutes to patch her up with no complaining or struggling from her. The vaccinations and chipping were just as easy to do, while she had her initial shots according to her files, she still needed the final round. All in all it was five shots plus the chip. “Good girl.”
“Wha’ am mistah goin’ tu du tu mummah an babbehs?”
“I’m not going to lie. You already know in a way. You ran away from a place that made fluffies have lots and lots of babies. That is what is going to happen to you and your foals.”
“Oh, Dyah undahstan’. Nu wike bu’ nu cawe anymowe. Dyah am wowstest fwuffy. Nu desewb heawt happies.” Bob would normally think she was sucking all the fun out of torturing her, but a broken fluffy is just like this. They are the same as the average office worker, dead inside.
“Now I wouldn’t say the worst fluffy,” his mind flashes back to Pumpkin’s mother, “but you are pretty bad.” Hearing she isn’t the worst fluffy ever does perk her up a bit. “Now let’s get you a bath and move you into your new cage.”
She doesn’t fight back and follows all of Bob’s directions as he bathes her. He then takes her into his workroom and places her in a cage separate from her foals. She unsurprisingly doesn’t recognize Napalm. Bob made sure to fill her water bottle and food dish and made sure she has a litter box. He also sets up an auto feeder and a pad in the foal’s cell. Napalm appears to have gone blind from not being able to lubricate his eyes. Bob just leans down and whispers in his ear hole, “You’ve lost everything now. Your special friend will never be the same again.” Napalm struggled and tried to get free. Bob just grabbed a knife and slit his throat.
After plopping the corpse into a garbage can, Bob can’t really say he was ecstatic about the situation. He planned to take a few days to break Dyer. He had this whole plan to reveal Napalm was alive and show his skinless body to her, but she just basically defeated herself. It was boring, like a puzzle that solves itself. He could skin Onahole in front of Dyer and make a stuffed toy out of the skin, but that could cause a wan die loop.
Bob just left the room and made his way to his bedroom. It was getting late and he was tired. He did manage to make sure he checked on Pumpkin one last time. She was curled up in her nest with her foals napping next to her. One of them started peeping so she got up and took it to the litter box so it could relieve itself. Then she got the other one and did the same thing. Bob smiled and shut the door. Well at least one thing went completely to plan in this hell of a day he had.