The Abuser’s Web Guide, Episode 12
By: Turboencabulator
The camera is resting on a wooden bench, Interocitor’s stomach visible on one side of the
shot. After a moment of clicking and sizzling sounds, he sighs and a loud pop is heard.
“Fuck. Uh. Oh wait.”
There’s a whirring sound, and the camera picks up, turning to frame Interocitor in a standard
shot.
“Oh good. Hey everyone, got the camdrone fixed. Let’s get into this shit.”
The shot cuts and Interocitor is pushing a cart through a massive surplus warehouse,
occasionally pulling something off the shelves and placing it in the cart.
“So we’re here at one of my favorite digging grounds for neat shit. I don’t know how the hell
this place gets their supply, last year they had a Wasp turbine engine on stands out back and
I’m pretty sure there’s a torn-apart IBM computer of some kind over in the digital
section. Today we’re going to be going over weird little foibles of the fluffy brain, through
the direct application of questionably ethical experiments.”
“Ooh.” He says, pulling a box off the shelf. “Relays.”
It goes in the cart and he pushes on. “Pretty sure I’m going to be leaving with more things
that I don’t need than do, but that’s why I only come here around twice a year.”
Back in the basement, Interocitor is busy putting together something with too many wires and
bits of circuitry to analyze. He sets it aside and turns to the camera, leaning on his
workbench.
“So I’m going to be building this for a while but let me give you a rundown of what we’re going
to be covering today. Fluffy biology is kind of terrible, once you get right down to
it. Probably because it was designed by people as a product, rather than as a result of natural
forces. It’s bad enough that fluffies have been shown to basically be going down a similar
route as pandas. They’re in an evolutionary cul-de-sac, only one that’s by design, rather than
chance.”
He holds up a speaker on wires. “We’re going to be starting with an exploration of fluffy
hearing. Then, we’ll move on to how hormones influence behavior, the fragility of fluffy
logical processes, and the separation of emotion and intellect.”
Setting things aside, he continues. “Now, let’s go meet our first fluffy we’ll be experimenting
with. Through the miracle of editing, everything will be built by then.”
The shot opens on a mare playing with blocks in a double-sized pen, separated from the others
in a room. Interocitor is nearby in the background, with a signal generator on a desk.
“Now, here we have Prize, one of the mares ‘donated’ from a family. They spoiled her rotten and
she’s an absolute waste of resources, so we’ll be having some fun with her. Fluffy hearing is
quite strange, their ears can pick up a range of sounds wider than human hearing, especially in
the upper band, but their brains do not interpret the whole range. There’s a space at the upper
end where the ears transmit the sound to the brain, but then it’s just dropped, rather than
processed.”
Interocitor presses a button, and Prize pauses with her blocks, blinking, then continues
playing as if nothing happened.
“So, it makes this weird effect where she doesn’t hear anything, but her brain still handles
the sound to some degree. I have this signal generator tuned to right in the middle of the
‘dead range’ in fluffy hearing, and her pen has a little motion sensor in it. If she stops
moving, the generator turns on. I’ll switch the contraption on once the lights go off.”
Interocitor gets up, walking over to Prize’s pen, and crouches by her. “Hey there. It’s
beddie-time.” He holds up a little nightlight cutout. “This like your old one?”
Prize looks at it, thinkin. “Dat nu vewy wike nite-wite fing, daddeh. Yu suwe yu twy?”
Interocitor nodded, fitting it over the nightlight bulb. “We’ll find the original one soon, you
just rest.”
“Wan sketties fow bweakfast, Daddeh.” She said, and stomped off to her bed, curling up
inside. “Gud nite. Gu way.”
Interocitor sighs, standing up and closing the door, flicking the lights off.
The shot’s exposure changes, the room clearly visible. Prize tosses and turns a little before
settling down. A light on the signal generator flicks on, and Prize sits up, looking around.
The light turns off, and Prize gets up, trots over to the litterbox, relieving herself. After a
moment spent looking around, she returns to the bed, curling up.
The light turns on again. She stands up, looking around, confused. A brief moment passes, and
she lays down again, only to immediately be roused. After a few more minutes of wandering
around in confusion, she heads back to bed.
Cutting to the next morning, Prize is standing in the middle of the pen, eyes bloodshot, stiff
and tense. Interocitor walks in and turns off the circuit quietly before crouching next to
her.
“Prize? You ok? You look like you had a rough night.”
“Daddeh. Nu culd sweepy. Nu unnerstand. Uhng.” She winces. “Head hab huwties.”
“Well let’s get you some children’s aspirin and I’ll find a quiet place for you to try and nap,
ok?”
“Otay daddeh.” She said, sitting down and going into the uppies position. Interocitor picked
her up, and clicked a remote at the camera. The drone quietly lifts off and follows them as
Interocitor carries her through to a little veterinary area.
A minute of fussing and he’s given her eyedrops. She blinks a few times, then visibly relaxes,
squinting a bit. He holds out a pair of pills for her. “Go ahead, you can chew these.”
She looks at them, curious. “Dese nu candies?” She asks.
“No, they’re medicine. This little round one will help your head-hurties, and this long one
will help you sleep really really well.” He says, pointing to each pill in turn.
Prize sucks them down, making a mild yuck face. “Nu taste nicey, wike bad fwuit-nummies.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of bad, but it tastes a lot better than if the flavoring wasn’t there.”
He carries Prize over to a covered pen, setting her inside in the half-light. She goes over to
a bed and flops on it, immediately asleep.
Turning to the camera, Interocitor holds up a bottle. “Children’s aspirin is safe for fluffies,
I’ve found out. Just cut the pills in half. The other one though is melatonin, a naturally
occurring hormone in mammals that signals it’s time to sleep. She’s going to sleep like a brick
for a while, but that means we can have some fun.”
“Fluffies, like humans, have their sleep-wake cycle controlled by light levels. However unlike
humans, the color temperature of the light has far less influence on the stage in the cycle,
just overall levels.” He says, holding up a flashlight and turning it on. “So if we have a
fluffy with an artificially high level of melatonin, and we introduce light cues that would
signal wakefulness, what would happen?”
He sets the flashlight so it’s shining in Prize’s face. “There is some variance, but usually
what happens is the fluffy tries to have the mental activity of being awake, but without
actually being awake.”
Prize’s eyes begin to move under her eyelids, and her limbs twitch a little.
“In other words, we force the fluffy to dream.”
Four hours later, Interocitor turns off the light and gently pats Prize, who wakes up with a
little squeak and a trickle of urine. She sits up, and immediately charges over to relieve
herself, sighing and wincing.
She stands, staring at the wall, face hanging and eyes dull. “Wh… why su… tiwed… jus hab
swee… sweepies… nee… uhgh.”
Interocitor pats her, and she jumps again, turning around, but stumbling and falling on one
haunch. She whimpers, squirming around until she can stand up again. “Dad…deh… wh… nugnn.”
He crouches down, looking at her face, gently patting her. “Oh my you seem to be really having
sleeping problems there. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Sw-sweepy pictuwes. Nu can finkies. Dey su weiwd. Pwize nu uh… hge…” She shakes her head,
slurring her words. “Pwiznee won’sweep an… ughhgies…”
She passes out where she’s standing, just falling on her side. Interocitor turns to the
camera. “So we’ve gotten her to the point of real exhaustion. Now that she’s in a slightly more
malleable mental state, we’re going to move on to the real fun.”
Interocitor places Prize in an all white enclosure, with frosted white walls, white water
bottle, white bed, all of it. Using a pill injector, he pops something down her throat and lays
her in the enclosure, closing the frosted wall. A camera feed shows the inside.
“So this is a sensory deprivation chamber for fluffies. I just gave her a slow-release
stimulant that will keep her up for quite a while. It’s experimental from a friend of mine but
it’s not like I need to worry about losing a valuable fluffy or anything.”
“Fluffies need sensory input and interaction. Far more than humans do. This is why ignoring
your fluffy can be such a detrimental thing to do, since it’s something they’re hardwired to
require. We’re going to let Prize illustrate what happens in extreme cases.”
Time passes, but Prize wakes up quickly and looks around, wide awake, the fluff under her eyes
matted from continual watering. She makes a few huu sounds, then goes and sucks down some
water.
The light inside is constant, and no sounds get through. Prize looks around, and begins
carefully searching around. “Daddeh? Dis nappy pwace weiwd.”
“Daddeh?” She calls. “DADDEH! DIS NU FUNNEH! DUMMY!”
She stomps around, kicking at the walls. After a minute of huffing and puffing, she sits down,
grumpy, and starts eating and drinking.
A few minutes of fast forwarding, and she’s tapping on a random wall. “Daddeh? Pwease? Whewe
Daddeh?”
She sits in the middle of the pen, thinking, then rolls on her back, making little grumpy
sounds and kicking the air, before settling with a sigh of boredom. A little toot escapes from
her, and she kicks herself upright, going back for more food before settling down in the bed.
Sleep evades her, however, and she’s soon up again, grumping and frustrated.
The footage fast-forwards, and Prize is getting noticably more agitated and disturbed. She
seems to bite at things that aren’t there randomly, and begins defecating without noticing.
The footage returns to normal speed, and the sound returns. Prize is screaming, constantly
making a screeching noise, slowly turning in circles, her eyes rolling randomly. Each wall gets
a barrage of sound in turn, until she charges to a corner, curling up in it and clinging to her
tail. She shouts nonsense words, shaking her head, nodding at other times, holding a one-sided
conversation of inanity.
The fast-forward returns, and Prize slowly begins to grow more sedate, until she’s just
suckling her tail in the corner, rocking slowly.
Speed is returned to normal, and Interocitor hauls Prize out by the scruff of her neck. She
doesn’t respond, simply holding her tail and suckling, making little cheeping peep sounds.
“Regression is usually the final result. However, suicide and paradoxical aggression
occasionally happen.”
He picks up a tack hammer and brings it down on the nape of her neck with a loud crack. She
gasps, legs spasming, then falls limp.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to fire the incinerator.”
“Next up we’re going to be looking at an interesting split between fluffy logic and fluffy
emotions. You see, outside of alicorns, these two processes don’t really have a normal
relation. A fluffy can come up with logical plans, but this can be immediately overridden by
emotion. Tell a fluffy that their one hundred percent correct plan sounds silly, and suddenly
they’re unsure of their own thinking, even if it’s correct.”
“So we’re going to look at this right now.” He says, turning the camera to reveal a large maze
built on a low table. “I’m not so good with complex electronics and programming so I had a
friend help me build this. Each wall segment is on a little motor thing, so they can go up and
down at will. The floor has pressure sensors in, and the whole thing runs some black magic
software that I can’t even begin to get my head around. Long story short, it basically makes an
infinite maze for a fluffy to wander around in.”
“The difference is, one fluffy gets nothing but support, the other gets a more realistic
reaction.”
The shot cuts to a stallion sitting on a table. His cheeks are puffed and he stomps his hoof
once. “Yu said gib enfies. Su GIB.”
Interocitor lightly taps the fluffy’s cheeks, making the air splutter out. “I said you could
earn special hugs. All you need to do is find this bell and ring it.” He says, holding up a
service bell. “It’s in the maze, you have however long you need, or until you give up. Sound
fair.”
The stallion huffs. “Wut a maze?” He asks.
Interocitor picks him up, putting the bell on one side of a wall, and the stallion on the
other. “Simple enough, right?”
The stallion giggles. “Dat aww? Otay! Can fwuffy pick da mawe?”
Interocitor makes a faux thinking face for a moment. “Tell you what, if you can do it in five
minutes, then you can pick the mare.”
He sits down with a clipboard, watching the stallion plow through the maze. The walls silently
move, putting the fluffy in an inescapable cycle.
“Come on, I thought you were smart.” He says, idly doing a crossword on a clipboard.
“Am tu smawt, am smawty, dummy daddeh.” The fluffy says, indignant. He plows on, getting
thoroughly lost. “Whewe dummy beww at?”
“That’s cute, the bell doesn’t move. You sure you’re smart?”
“Sut up!”
The stallion wanders around for a while, before sitting down and sniffling. “Dummy maze nu
wetting bestest smawty find beww. Huu. Wan speciaw huggies.”
“God listen to you. Crying like a chirpy because you can’t get your dick wet. It hasn’t even
been five minutes. For a smarty you’re pretty useless.” Interocitor says, glancing down at the
stallion.
“SUT UP! YU … wait, nu been five minutes?” The stallion asks, confused. “Su can stiww pick
mawe?”
“If you can find it. I’m starting to think you’re too dumb to solve a simple maze.” Interocitor
comments, going back to his crossword. The timer clipped on the board says it’s been nearly ten
minutes.
The fluffy charged around the maze a while more, before sitting down and sniffling.
“Give up?” Interocitor asked.
The stallion nodded. Interocitor picks the fluffy out, showing that he was only a few turns
away from the bell. “Well I guess that’s no special huggies for you.”
He puts the stallion in a carrier, setting the bell just outside the bars. The fluffy stares at
it, before devolving into a tantrum.
The shot cuts to another stallion, this one more antsy and fidgety. Interocitor walks over and
sits with it. “So, this is a little game. You get special huggies after you ring this bell.” He
holds up the bell, showing it to the fluffy. “It’s going to be in a maze. You can give up
whenever you want. It’s ok. Understand?”
The fluffy nods, and Interocitor picks him up, putting the bell down where the stallion can see
it, and putting the fluffy down on the other side of the wall.
The stallion darts off, and the maze begins its changes, guiding the fluffy in a continuous
loop, going nowhere fast. After a while the fluffy slowed down and made a little huff sound.
“Don’t worry, you can take as long as you want.” Interocitor said, in a gentle tone.
The fluffy nodded and plowed on, beginning a more methodical route through the maze. After a
while he sat down, thinking, and looking around. “Daddeh, can hab uppies and wook at maze?”
Interocitor thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Just once.”
He picked the stallion up, letting the fluffy look at the maze for a moment, then set him down
again. The stallion attempted to follow a route, but came up against a wall, where, surely,
there had been no wall before.
“Huu, daddeh, dis maze meanie.” He said, sitting down and patting the wall. “Dis waww nu hewe
befowe.”
“Well that’s strange. I’m sure you can do it though.” Interocitor said, gentle, watching.
The little fluff sighed, then got up and pressed on. He chose his route carefully, stopping
often to think. No longer did he look up to his daddy, but pressed on. As the minutes ticked
by, he began to move faster, breathing heavier. He started to grin and giggle, then immediately
switch to crying, and back.
Ten minutes later the stallion screamed “DEWE NU END!”
He sat down, a puddle of urine growing under him, and his tongue hung out. He looked around,
confused, his eyes not focusing on the same objects.
Interocitor picked him up, and set him with the bell. The stallion made a happy raspberry
sound, and rang the bell.
“Hey, you did it. Let’s go get you special hugs.”
“YEY!” The stallion shouted. “SPESH-ULL-HUG-GEEEEEES”
The stallion is mounting a mare, thrusting away happily and making a demented giggling enf
sound. The mare is confused, but enjoying herself.
“So folks.” Interocitor says. “We’ve covered some of the weird parts of fluffy psychology and
neurology. Hopefully this will give you ideas for your own investigations, if such a thing is
interesting to you. Now, though, it’s mail time.”
He turns over a sheet on his clipboard. “Dear Interocitor, I have a mare that is known to
produce high value foals, and is always an excellent mother to them, but is reluctant to have
more, to the point of backing into a corner and biting at stallions, even my most gentle
studs. I’m starting to become fed up with this behavior, but don’t want to lose an excellent
mother. What should I do?”
“Well,” Interocitor says, getting up and walking to another room. “I would go the blackmail
route. If your mare cares for young ones, then it’s simply a matter of giving her a
choice. Either she takes the special huggies, or a random filly or colt does. Make sure the
foal is too young to have sex in a non-damaging way, and make sure the mare watches. You of
course should use your most aggressive stallion. Every time you want to breed her, she gets this
choice. If you can spare them, use her own children for extra effect.”
He flips over the next sheet. “Dear Interocitor, what is the best way to make sure that the
local herds stay away from my property? I’m in a semi-rural area and have good fencing, but the
main gate is not fully down to the ground, so they tend to come in that way.”
“Well aside from installing a cow-grate, I would recommend you put up a warning fluff. Capture
a herd and put one toughie aside. Tell him to watch. Then, in front of him, one by one, destroy
the herd. Disembowel the pregnant mares, light a chirpy on fire, whole nine yards. Make sure
the toughy watches. Don’t let him derp. Then, put him out on a lead near the gate. Tell him if
he doesn’t want other herds to go the same way, he’ll make sure they stay away. If he fails,
capture the herd that came in, pick a toughie, and start with the one that failed.”
After a moment of fussing over a few chirpies in an incubator, he picks up the board again,
turning to the last page. “Dear Interocitor, my house mare ran away and got knocked up and came
back. She’s refusing to leave my property and I don’t have the stomach to kill her. What should
I do?”
“Feed her american pennyroyal. She’ll abort her little shitlets. Then just laugh at her until
she runs away.”
“Well that’s it for this episode. We’re a dozen in, and expect more. Till next time, folks!”