The Abuser’s Web Guide - Episode 3: Procurement
By: Turboencabulator
The scene opens on a woodland trail, the ground covered in red and gold leaves, and a strong
breeze crashing through the trees. The light is dim, and the shot sways as someone is walking,
carrying the camera.
“Morning, everyone. Interocitor here, we’re starting off with how to get fluffies, starting
with ferals. I’m in a wooded area, with the permission of the land owners. Buddies of mine,
they come hunting deer out here when it’s the season, but any other time, it’s my fluffy
hunting grounds. Make sure you wear orange if you’re out in the woods during any hunting
seasons, by the way. Now, if you’re someplace that you don’t have permission to futz with the
land, don’t worry, we’ll get to that soon. We will also be covering urban fluffy capture after
we get through the rural methods.”
He sits down on a log, and the shot cuts to a tripod, showing Interocitor. He’s wearing camo
fatigues, and a balaclava.
“Now, when you’re doing rural capture, camouflage is as good as an invisibility cloak. Fluffies
have eff all distance vision, and next to no situational awareness. Scent however is something
that they can track, though not as well as wild animals. Take the same precautions as you would
deer hunting and you’ll be fine.”
He shrugs off a frame pack and sets it down on the ground. “Now, we’re about fifty feet from my
pickup, so getting them out of the local area isn’t going to be a problem. You’re going to want
some kind of transport even if you live next to or on your capture area, so a light-duty pickup
is a great bonus. Even something simple like a six-wheeler with a trailer can make your life
easier when we start dealing with setting up more complex traps.”
“The most important thing,” he says, spreading out a blanket and taking tools and other items
out of the pack. “is to have a goal. I’m out here right now to get four to six fluffies, which
tells me how I’ll need to pack, how long i’m going to be out here, and other bits of
information. Second is to know the fluffy trails in the area. Fluffies are dumb, have no
concept of hiding beyond covering their faces or running, and have spectacularly terrible
foresight. So, sitting out in dense brush or on a slightly steep hill with some binoculars is
enough to give you a really good idea of where they are.”
“I’m going to be targeting specific trails. Right now there’s a herd living in a little dell I
helped dig out during the summer. A few artificial dens and the first herd that happened by
decided to stay. We’ll be showing you how to rig an entire den area for trapping soon but if
you’re taking single fluffies, it’s best to focus on trails that are only used by fluffies one
at a time.”
He holds up a coffee can. “Remember what I said last time? We’ll be demonstrating this one
today, and a simple sprung noose. There’s a ton of trap ideas on the forums, and many of them
are very well documented.”
The shot cuts to a well-trodden fluffy path in the woods. There’s little bits of colorful fluff
in some thorns, and a candy-bar wrapper with hoofprints. Interocitor uses a small scythe to
make a branch in the trail, leading around a large rock, then with a trowel, buries a coffee
can level with the soil surface. In the bottom is a laminated photograph of spaghetti.
He takes out a spray-bottle of reddish liquid and shows the camera. It’s marked ‘tomato and
garlic water’. He takes a minute to spray the inside of the can, then lightly over the
trail. Interocitor settles nearby in the brush to wait, and watch.
After a brief period of fast-forwarding, a loud, high-pitched song devoid of tune is audible
over the breeze. A bright pink fluffy is bouncing along the trail, singing about bestest
poopies and the litterbox-place. It goes past the trail branch, then sniffs the air and turns.
“Nummy smeww.” It says, looking down the new branch. Then back to the original trail. “Nee make
poopies though.”
It sits down, debating. Then after a moment, it gasps, astonished by the revelation it just
had. After bounding down the original trail at high speed, there is the loud sound of excited
fluffy shitting, then the fluffy returns, and begins sniffing and investigating the new branch.
After walking down the new trail, it finds the coffee can and looks in.
“Sketties?” It says, leaning further down and sniffing. After pulling out and looking around
again, it leans as far as it can into the can, before falling in. The back half of what is now
obviously a mare is kicking frantically, squirting piss everywhere as it struggles to right
itself.
Interocitor takes the opportunity to slip out, cork the mare, and haul it out by its hind
legs. Before it can finish drawing breath to scream, he muzzles it and drops it in a mesh bag,
letting the drawstring tighten until the fluffy is stuck, struggling and whimpering in a ball.
The scene cuts, showing him setting up a snare trap using a small sapling for a spring, the
noose looped over the trail, and a small stick hanging down in the path. After a
fast-forwarding scene, a blue unicorn walks through, nosing the stick aside. The sapling
immediately springs upright, the noose tightening around the fluffy and launching it upwards
with a high pitched screech and a streamer of waste products.
Another cut, and Interocitor is shown with five fluffies in mesh bags in the bed of his
truck. “This is about two hour’s work. Now, for transport, I’d prefer not to have them in bags,
since that means they can struggle and possibly loosen the cork or their muzzle.”
He takes the first one out, the pink mare. Holding her by her scruff, she’s kicking wildly and
making muffled screeching sounds. “So, the easiest way to take care of these little vermin is
with the tube method.” He moves over to a row of PVC pipes, big enough around for a fluffy, and
mounted on boards at a 45 degree angle. “These work well. The bottom is padded. Make sure you
put them in ass-first so they can’t put their legs under to try and jump out.” He lowers the
mare in until her nose is just poking out the end of the tube. The adjacent four tubes are
filled with the remaining fluffies. “Naturally this will not work for pregnant dams, but if
you’re going after them, you probably aren’t using snare traps or pitfalls.”
“Right, so let’s move to herd-level capturing next.”
There’s a cut, and Interocitor is sitting on the back gate of his pickup with another man, face
blurred. “This is my friend Hutch. He’s been setting up a trap nest for a week or so and
thought it would be a good idea to give a tour of how he does it.”
Hutch shifts and waves at the camera. “Hello. So, I have a large field that isn’t worth spit
for farming, but the fluffies like to play in it, and eat pretty healthily after I mow. I
borrowed my neighbor’s rear-end loader and excavated a fluffy area.”
They get up and walk up a berm, about three feet high. “Now, currently, we’ve got no
occupants. But once we’re done rigging the place, we’ll have enough space in here for a good
sized herd.”
The berm is one wall of a square, dug out of the ground, with sheer walls inside. The walls are
lined with crude wooden boxes covered in a thin layer of earth, each with a wooden gate. In the
middle is a stone bowl.
Hutch slips down in the den area, and crouches next to the first box. “So these are made out of
cheap plywood. The tops aren’t even nailed on, they just lift off for easy gettin’ of the
fluffies. I made 'em about a foot and a half square inside which should be enough for a pair of
fluffies to sleep comfortably. Each of 'em is set so we can slowly lower the gate usin the
fishing line and lock them in during the night. Once we cover the floor of the area with straw
we can cut an entryway in, and use a wooden board to make a ramp down. Just take out the ramp
and they’re stuck.”
The shot cuts, showing the finished area. There’s a mound of vegetables in the stone dish, and
a foot-wide board providing an entry ramp down one wall.
Hutch crouches near the cut entryway. “Now, I know the fluffies in the herd around here will
post night toughies. Their smarty, while an obnoxious bastard, isn’t entirely stupid. The traps
for them are already in place and hard to see, so why don’t I show you how I make them from
scratch?”
Another cut, and Interocitor is putting an empty fifty-five gallon drum down on a
workbench. Hutch knocks on the drum. “One of these will make two good fluffy houses for
outside. Plastic or steel, doesn’t matter, but I live near a place I can get these steel ones
for a good price. A little modification and one of these makes a good fluffy trap.”
He picks up a cutting torch and starts working, slicing the barrel into thirds. “Make sure you
cut so the rib is not attached to the end of the drum. It should stay on the middle segment.”
After cutting it into thirds, he takes an angle grinder and neatens up the edges.
After setting the grinder aside, Hutch slices a slit in the middle segment, and slides it so it
is nesting on the outside of the top of the barrel. “So, now we have a sleeve of steel over a
steel cap. All we need to do now is turn it over and cut an entry hole.” He flips the assembly,
cutting a hole for fluffy entry.
“All you need now is a wooden plate for the top and cleaning up the edges. Let’s do that off
camera, and then demonstrate how this works out in the field tonight.”
A cut, and it’s near sunset. The camera is zoomed in, focused on the entry to the fluffy
den. There’s a stream of babbling, technicolor idiots going in. Even at a distance, it’s easy
to hear proclamations of ‘best nesties’ and ‘gween nummies’. The smarty, a teal unicorn with an
eye-wateringly pink mane, is directing two toughies to stand guard in the metal containers,
half buried on either side of the entryway. The toughies get in, peering out, all puffed up and
trying to be intimidating.
Needless to say it doesn’t work.
Hutch sneaks out on the other side of the berms, and slowly crawls up to peer over the edge of
the mound.
The shot changes, showing the smarty ordering the pregnant dams and their special friends to
have the covered dens first. He claims one, bucking another stallion in the face as it tries to
follow him in. Eventually the toughies, pregnant dams, and the smarty have claimed the majority
of the covered pens, with the remainder being fought over by the herd. Those remaining make a
fluffpile under the entry ramp. The food pile in the middle has already been decimated.
It isn’t too long before the fluffies are asleep, the light well on the way to twilight. Hutch
gets up and begins slowly lowering the gates, silently locking the fluffies in one by one.
The scene cuts, and Interocitor slowly turns the outer sleeves on the drums the toughies are
in, until the slit is over the inner opening. Airflow, but no way out. He then slips in and
removes the entryway board, leaving the fluffies trapped in the pit.
Both Hutch and Interocitor sneak away, picking up a stack of nested totes each, then sneaking
back out to the mounds. The wooden tops for the toughie’s traps are lifted, the dozing fluffies
quickly muzzled and corked before being stuffed in mesh bags and put in totes, holes already
drilled for drainage and airflow. Hutch lays down in the access cut and begins gently lifting
one sleeping fluffy at a time, passing them to Interocitor, who corks, muzzles, and bags the
fluffies. Eventually the fluffpile is gone, the occupants writhing and pissing in fear in
plastic tubs, muffled whimpering and crying barely audible over the snoring of the undisturbed
fluffies.
The remainder of the fluffies go easily, not one waking up early until the entire herd is in
tubs.
Hutch turns to the camera. “That went better than the first time. If ya wake 'em up it takes
longer because they fight but we got lucky with this round. The idea can be expanded for any
size fluffy herd, or repurposed as housing if you want to keep an outdoor fluff-herd for pets.”
Hutch and Interocitor shake hands. “Thanks for having us out Hutch, I’m sure people will
appreciate the effort and time this took.”
“You betcha.”
The scene cuts to the woods again. Interocitor is crouched in the brush by a fluffy trail. “Now
if you don’t have permission to modify the land or you’re going for one fluffy at a time, you
can get by with two easy methods. First, just grab the little goober. Be prepared to be pooped
on though. The second is one I’ll demonstrate now, called ‘fluffy fishing’. You’ll need a
wooden stick, like a thick broomstick, and a game noose made of paracord roughly the same color
as the surrounding brush.” He waves the implement lightly, opening the noose and resting it on
a rock, so the noose is head height for a fluffy, and off one side of the path. “There’s three
tips for doing this well. First, always go for the last fluffy in a group. Second, toss
something behind it before you move the noose out into its path. Third, and this one is a bit
less intuitive. Do not lift the fluffy upwards. Not only does this choke it more, but it’s easy
for it to be spotted by the fluffies further up in the group if they hear something. Pull it
sideways towards you, preferably through tall grass so it is immediately obscured from vision.”
He settles back and waits. After a fast-forwarding, a line of fluffies led by a puke green
unicorn starts to tromp past, mares with foals on their backs, toughies, stallions, and at the
very back is a jet black earthy. Interocitor flicks a pebble behind, making the earthy turn and
scan. After a moment, it turns and walks directly into the noose. It’s pulled taught, and the
quietly choking fluffy is dragged through the brush, before winding up corked, muzzled, and
bagged.
The line of fluffies didn’t even notice as they made their way through the woods.
The shot changes to an alleyway. “Now for you urban hunters, the idea is the same. Noose or
grab, but plop them in a canvas bag or knapsack before leaving the alleyway, and try to hunt at
night. Darkness is your friend. However, if you are the industrious sort…”
He kneels down next to a hole cut in a dumpster. “This is a common trick that some places
use. Put a one-way flap in the side of a dumpster. Fluffies go in, and get taken away with the
trash.”
Standing up again, he turns and walks. “Now, check local ordinances, because where I am right
now might be very different from where you are. Here, you can take fluffies off the street, but
one town over, it’s not allowed unless you’re a licensed catcher. Guess which city has a bigger
fluffy problem.”
“The main difference between urban and rural techniques is that drugs and bait are much more
effective in the city, due to the lack of intelligence required to survive. Shittier food is
found here too.” He turns a corner in an alleway, pointing down a dead end section. There’s
half-chewed banana peels, a large pile of shit in the corner, and a water-damaged cardboard box
in the opposite corner. A dirty orange tail is hanging out of it.
Interocitor goes over and crouches down by the box. Inside is a mare and three chirpies, one of
which is far healthier than the others. She wakes up and immediately makes a lil hiccup-screech
sound, pulling all her babies close, glaring at the intruding human.
“Gu wai munsta hooman. Mummah an babbies no do nuffin.” She said, then kicked a previously
hidden brown chirpy out, and huffing at it. “Nu gib mummah owwies, gib poopie babbeh owwies.”
Interocitor picks up the chirpy, gently turning it over. It’s a little stallion, breathing
weakly.
“You just had these babies, didn’t you. You must be so hungry.” He says, stroking the rejected
chirpy gently. “Two bright-times ago?”
The mare sniffles once, then nods. “Speciaw fwien say he go get nummies fow making
miwkies. Speciaw fwien no come back yet.”
Interocitor sighs. “That’s so sad. You must be having a hard time making milk.” While talking,
he takes out a small bottle of warmed formula from a pocket and gently teases a drop out,
touching it to the lower lip of the brown chirpy. It immediately reacts, sniffing and lapping
the drop up, before chirping and pawing frantically at the air. Interocitor gently puts the
nipple in the chirpie’s mouth, prompting loud suckling sounds, and a quiet cooing noise.
The mummah stares, then gets up, letting her babies tumble. “Dat MIWKIES! GIB MIWKIES NAO!”
He continues gently feeding the foal. “But these are for this baby. You gave me this one. I
don’t want to feed your babies. I have some food though.”
The chirpie finishes eating with a contented little burp sound. After quietly tucking the
infant in a soft pocket of cloth, it slips into Interocitor’s breast pocket, just the little
head poking out.
Mare of the year however stomps and puffs her cheeks. “Dummie hoomin gib nummies fow
miwkies. Ow get sowwy poopies.”
Interocitor stands. “I’m not dealing with a meanie. I offered to give you food but you went and
had to be bad.”
As he turns, the mare relents. “Wait, pwease!”
He turns back. The mare is looking up at him, obviously frustrated, and huffing. “Mummah
sowwy. Nee’ nummies fow babbies. Pwease can mummah hab nummies?”
After a beat, he crouches again. “That’s a very nice way to ask. Let me see what I have for
you.”
He shifts, taking off a backpack, and going through it. The mummah turns and checks her
bestest, the only plump one, a ruddy orange color. The other two chirpies are peeping hungrily,
yawning mouths searching for food. One crawls near the mare’s teat, but she smacks it away
lightly. It chirps in pain, one nostril dripping blood.
“Well, I only have a little, and then my own food.” He says, pausing. “But here, does this
help?” He offers a fluffy treat, which the mare grabs and scarfs down noisily. She picks up her
bestest, and immediately plops it on her teat, watching it suckle. The other chirpy peeps,
needily, but she ignores it.
After a moment, she blinks, and slumps sideways, giggling a little. Interocitor picks up the
two rejected babies and takes a few more bottles out, feeding them as well. The plump bestest
is irritatedly chirping, trying to suckle from a mostly try teat.
“Mu-mummah feew funny.”
“Folks, I really hate it when fluffies are bad mothers. Fortunately two days is not enough to
cause permanent issues in development, and this high-grade foal formula will put these three
back on track. The bestest is also likely not spoiled yet. Fortunately it doesn’t need fed, I
only brought three bottles.”
“Who du-dummy hoomin talkin to?” The mare manages to slur, before falling backwards, dead
asleep.
After wrapping all four babies securely and tucking them away, he picks up the mare and
massages her belly gently over a dumpster, causing a massive deluge of starvation-shit. Then,
in goes a cork, a muzzle, and into the bag. He sets her gently inside the backpack and walks
out of the alleyway with her. “Generally speaking you can also just offer to house some
fluffies and they’ll go with you. While urban fluffies generally are much easier to catch, the
risk of being spotted is much higher.”
He gets in the cab of his pickup, and sets the backpack in the footwell. The four chirpies are
transferred to a soft blanket in a plastic bin on the seat. They quickly form a fluffpile, and
Interocitor tucks a bit of blanket over them. The chirpies coo and peep contentedly as they
quickly go to sleep.
“Alleyways are one place to find ferals. Behind food joints and grocery stores is another, in
parks, and surpringly they like to hang out behind banks and other large institutions and
building, mostly because there’s easy sources of heat from the HVAC units and other equipment,
and because the chance that food services people will be around. Also look for abandoned
buildings with ground level entrances. And if all else fails, follow your nose.”
A cut and the camera is back on its tripod in Interocitor’s workroom. He shakes the mail tub
and draws out a piece of paper.
“Dear Interocitor, what is the most effective bait for stallions?” He reads, before putting the
paper aside. “That would be mare scent. You can find this for purchase on a lot of online
websites, or if you’re particularly uh, enthusiastic about this hobby, you can extract your
own. All it takes is a mare, a funnel, and a vibrator with a long battery life. Gather it in a
jar, dilute with filtered water until it’s sprayable, and it’s immediately useable. If you’re
confused and wondering what exactly I’m talking about, go ask your parents.”
“Dear Abuser-dude, I’ve got some fluffies and I’d like to try and keep them calm, but music
only works so well. Any ideas?”
After a brief cough, Interocitor responds, “Yes, one of the best ways to keep fluffies calm is
to combine soothing music, be it classical, new-age, or what have you, with a softly lit
environment and pleasing scents. Incense is nice, especially if the smoke is in a position to
be nice to look at, but not get too close and actually get into the fluffy’s nose. Unless you
want to torment them with it but, that isn’t what’s being asked. I personally prefer an oil
warmer, since the flame from the tea-light can also serve as a relaxing thing for a fluffy to
watch. Oil diffusers can work as well, but they tend to be a bit more subtle in scent. We’ll
cover more on fluffy housing design, both to relax or intimidate, in the next episode.”
“And last but not least,” He says, reaching in and drawing out another question. “Dear
Prudence,” He pauses for a moment, then sighs and continues. “Over the last few days I’ve been
dealing with a rather stubborn mother. She’s refusing to let her foals wean, claiming she needs
to give them more milk. I’ve tried reasoning with her, but nothing helps.”
“Ah, you might have a rare case where your mare is overlactating. She might honestly think that
they need to feed as long as she produces. Explain to her that this isn’t the case, and I would
recommend investing in some fluffy breast pumps, so you can milk her and save the milk for
other litters that might need it. Also if she is of good general temperament, you may want to
consider training her as a milk-mare later down the line. If she persists, there are aversion
videos on the internet to show mares what happens when they don’t wean their young at the right
time.”
With a wave, he puts the paper away. “So that’s it for this episode, join us next time for
elementary fluffy housing.”