“Mammah wub babbehs~”
“Babbehs wub mummah~”
It was a scene all too familiar nowadays, a doting mother fluffy curled up in a cardboard box in a dark alley, singing obliviously off-key to the assortment of chirriuping foals clustered around her. No different to the one you’d find on any other streetcorner. The foals were no less familiar than the scene: two or three pastel-coloured ones playing in the box by their mother, a brown ‘poopie-babbeh’ barred entry to the nest and forced to sleep by the family’s refuse pile, and, of course, the ‘bestest babbeh’. In this case, it was a sky-blue pegasus with a purple mane, and small and innocent as it seemed, the mere sight of it was almost enough to make one forget, for a moment, what a vile creature it was.
“Mummah has bestest babbeh of aww babbehs~”
“Mummah so happy wi’ bestest babbeh~”
The fluffy held her prize foal aloft, snuggling it against her own purple cheeks as she crooned to it, eliciting excited chirps of glee from the tiny fluffball.
“Babbeh time fo’ open see-pwaces soon~” the fluffy sang. Such was her dedication she kept trying to force the words out through a yawn, before giving up on the endevour and devolving into cheerful cooing.
“It sweepy-times now babbehs,” the fluffy muttered contentedly, pausing to let out another yawn. “No times fo’ pway, times fo’ beddies.”
Of course, the foals ignored her and kept playing, or tried to, at any rate. But newborn fluffies spent most of their time sleeping, and these ones were no exception. Within a few minutes, they ended up pottering over to curl up next to their mother of their own accord. Not that she’d given any of them notice: she had eyes only for her favourite.
“Mummah mus’ be da’ happies mummah eva…” she sighed sleepily, taking one last longing look at her best baby already slumbering on her shoulder, before closing her eyes and letting herself drift off as well.
It was a pity the new mother was so preoccupied with her spoiled dearest—had she not been, she might had noticed another set of chirps that had added itself uninvited to the orchestra of her own spawn. Softer, fainter, chirps, that sounded somewhat labored. They continued even as the mother and her brood nodded off, then began to grow slightly louder as, from behind the dumpster, another full-grown fluffy lumbered into view, a foal dangling from its mouth.
“Qwiw, dummeh babbeh…” the fluffly muttered through a mouthful of infant fur, as it half-waddled, half-dragged itself over to the box. It was a sickly puke-green in colour, with a mane of brown that matched the coat of the emaciated foal it was carrying, though the most noticable thing about it were the swollen udders that it dragged between its hind legs. The green fluffy was so engorged with milk its body was noticably bloated and distended from the pressure, yet the foal it carried was gaunt and shriveled to the point its ribs were clearly visible. Loose folds of fluffy skin draped from its tiny body, giving it the effect of a raisin with legs.
Gingerly, the green fluffy approached the box in what it no doubt thought was a stealthy fashion, though in truth the clip-clop of its hooves on the pavement was as loud as ever. It stopped a step short of the box, taking a moment to sniff at the technicolour family of fluff that occupied it. Then, seemingly satisfied they were all fast asleep, it sprang into motion.
Deftly, the green fluffy eased her snout into the box, placing the malnourished babe it was carrying on the shoulder of the purple mother, right next to the best baby. Then, tail starting to waggle furiously, the green fluffy closed its mouth around the sky-blue baby, plucked it from its nesting spot in its mother’s fluff, spun about, and trotted off down the alley, looking mighty pleased with itself.
She had almost reached the far end by the time the mother stirred. The voice was muffled with distance, but echoed in the narrow confines of the alleyway.
“Wha? Bestest babbeh? Yu no bestest babbeh! Babbeh, weh’ yu go? Why’ bestest babbeh tuwn inoo’ poopie babbeh?”
The foal-thief broke into a canter, chased by the expected, yet harrowing ‘SCREEEEEEEEEE!’ of the mother she had robbed starting to panic. She knew she had ample time to escape: The mother would first search her nest and the surroundings, her panic blinding her to anything but finding her lost child. Of course, the foal-thief didn’t spare a single thought for the feelings of her victim: She had what she wanted, and that was all she cared about. The idea she was hurting another never even popped into her greedy green head. Still, she hastened back to her nest with her stolen prize, eager to get her ‘new’ baby to safety.
As far as nests went, she had found herself a good one, a far cry from the usual empty cardboard box. It was an alcove set into the rear of an office building, surrounded on three sides with sturdy brick walls, and on the fourth by a mesh fence that divided it from the alley it opened onto. Once, it would have been impenetrable to a creature like her, but time and wear had rusted a small hole into the corner, just large enough for the engorged green fluffy to squeeze and scramble under, with a little effort and a lot of kicking and thrashing. The far wall was taken up mostly by machinery: Air conditioning equipment the alcove had been built to house. A large industrial fan rotated within one such machine—the outlet for the building’s AC system, blowing a constant, gentle stream of warm air that left the cosy little alcove noticably warmer than the surrounding alleys and backstreets. Directly in front of the fan, the fluffy had rounded up a collection of sticks, grasses, and pilfered or discovered articles of clothing, heaping them into a pile that was both soft, and trapped the warmth within. Resting within the nest was a single foal, with a faded red coat, and the tiny stub of a horn protruding from its forehead.
Left on the cold ground near the hole lay four other foals—all brown, just like the one she had left behind in place of the one she’d just stolen. Just like their involuntarily re-homed brother, all four of them were emaciated, all ribs and bone and loose skin. From their extreme condition and young age, it seemed she hadn’t fed any of them since they’d been born.
As the green fluffy trotted past, one of the starved foals weakly opened its eyes, squinting and blinking as it took in its first glimpse of the world.
“M-mum-m-mah?” it cried weakly, but the green fluffy ignored it, paying no heed to her child’s first words or opening its eyes for the first time. Instead she waddled past towards the nest, leaving a few droplets of milk on the ground from dragging her swollen udders beneath her.
“Nao Cawamew has pwetty wingie bestest babbeh!” she exclaimed, as she dropped the pegasus into her nest. “Pwetty wed pointw’ babbeh and pwetty bwue wingie babbeh! Mummah has two bestest babbehs! Mus’ be bestest mummah! Mummah so wucky, so happeh!”
She made no effort to keep her voice low, and so, predictably, her newest aquisition began to stir. It quickly noticed the smell of its mother was gone, replaced by a new, unfamiliar scent, and started chirping frantically, trying to get its mother’s attention.
“Quiw, widdwe wingie bestest babbeh.” Caramel shushed, nuzzling the foal, which only served to make it chirp louder and more desperately. “Mummah is hewe, no nee’ to cwy!”
“Mummah?” mumbled the red unicorn foal sleepily.
“Ye’, widdwe pointw’ bestest babbeh, mummah is bac’!” Caramel cooed, settling into the nest and starting to lick the red foal’s fur. “Mummah bwing nyu bestest babbeh!”
“Nyu babbeh?” the red colt’s eyes went wide, turning to study the chirping blue pegasus beside him, who at this point was chirping so emphatically that, with a wet ‘pfft’, it promptly let out a spurt of poop. “Wha’ happen to bwudda mummah cawwy off?”
“Bwudda tuwn into good babbeh, just wike yu, bested babbeh!” Caramel explained. Of course, just like his new sibling, the red unicorn had been plundered from the nest of his true mother and replaced with one of Caramel’s litter. But the memory of a developing foal was short, especially before they opened their eyes, and while he’d cried at first, just like the pegasus beside him was now, he’d quickly forgotten his real mother had ever existed. Now, he had no inkling whatsoever that Caramel was anything but his mother.
“Mummah, bad poopie bwuddas and sissies twied to nummie nestie!” the red foal reported, tilting his head back, his ears pulling back uncertainly as he tried to puff his chest up and make himself look ‘big and grown up’. “But babbeh towd dem’ no, gives dem sowwie hoofies, so dey stop!”
“Good bestest babbeh!” Caramel praised, and the red colt’s ears stood up immediately at the compliment. “But wememba, no huwtie bad bwuddas and sissies, one day dey turn into bestest babbehs wike yu and nyu bestest babbeh.”
At this, the colt’s ears drooped, and he looked up at his mother with pleading eyes.
“Dis mean babbeh no’ bestest babbeh no mo’?” he asked forlornly.
“No, wed babbeh is bestest babbeh too!” Caramel cooed at him, nuzzling him for comfort. “Mummah is bestest mummah, so mummah gets TWO bestest babbies, mebbe mowe!”
“Mowe?” the colt asked, his eyes going wide.
“Uh-huh! Is like stoopie no-daddeh-no-mowe tell mummah: Aww babbehs is good babbehs, good mummah wubs all her babbehs! Mummah had bad poopie babbehs, but mummah fink of way to tuwn bad babbehs into bestest babbehs mummah wubs! So mummah wanna tuwn all bad babbehs ino’ bestest babbehs, just wike yu!”
“Mummah so smawt!” exclaimed the colt, sitting up on his hind legs. He began to sway too and fro, struggling to keep his weight upright with his weak, developing legs.
“Oh, bestest wed babbeh is dancie babbeh too?” Caramel said with delight. “Mummah is weally best mummah dere is!”
“Yay mummah!” cheered the cold, devolving into happy chirps as he stumbled over to fall into Caramel’s fur. “Babbeh wubs mummah!”
“Babbeh wubs mummah~” Caramel repeated, settling deeper into her nest and drawing the unicorn and terrified, chirping pegasus to her teats, which were so bloated they were already leaking dribbles of milk. “Mummah wubs babbehs~”
Of course, she’d curled up with her back to her real babies, one of which was weakly trying to drag itself towards the nest, with a strangled cry of ‘Miwkies!’. But Caramel just kept singing and playing with her two stolen babies, ignoring the malnourished brown litter as if they weren’t even there.
Just a setup for the moment. Not entirely sure where I want to take this, so suggestions for what should happen to shitfactory Caramel, her neglected foals, and her lovely litter of stolen bestest babbehs are absolutely welcome. Though be warned, I’m the kind of person who prefers a slow buildup that makes you really despise a fluffy as opposed to immediate cathartic violence, so a slow pace is something that should be expected, not a quick gorefest. Of course, that only makes the inevitable gorefest all the more satisfying when it does come, IMO.
