Most of my stories are living in the Subreddit right now. I’ll migrate them over sometime over the next year. Until then, I wanted to write a solo piece.
Inspired by an old McGonagall piece combined with a Wolfram piece.
Please forgive any spelling or grammar errors. Sleepy brain is preventing Editing brain from executing properly.
A hot pink fuzzy bean stares you down. It’s front legs are low to the ground, hind legs fully extended. Cheeks puffed up, it squeaks an insult, and hurls demands.
“Dummeh hoomin! Gif nummies, bwudda hun’gy.”
Cowering behind a torn open chocolate wrapper is a blue fluffy, about the same size as his sibling, no bigger than a loonie (1 dollar Canadian coin). Unlike his sibling, however, his face is not smeared in rich milk chocolate, or salty peanut butter.
“Huu huu, babbeh hun’gy. Nice mistuh gif nummies? Pwetty pweez?”
You crouch down the grass, no one in the grass would bat an eyelash at the sight before you. No one would care. Except you.
You extend a hand to the pink fluffy. He hunkers down, looking ready to pounce.
“Dummeh hoomin nu am scawy. Babbeh am bwavess babbeh effah!”
With quickness that left the pink fluffy bewildered. You bend your finger into a hook, catch it by the tummy, and flip the fluffy over, onto his back.
For good measure, you gently push your finger into his belly. You aren’t too forceful about it, employing the same amount of strength you’d use to hold a marshmallow.
The pink fluffy flails his stumpy legs, bellowing his discomfort in that high pitched, squeaky voice all fluffies posses.
“Nu! Nu wike upsie-downsies. Pweez mistuh, babbeh sowwy! Babbeh nu be meanie nu mo’! Pwomis! Huu huu huu, nu wan tummy owwies.”
You ignore its pleas and empty promises, and begin to apply a TINY BIT more pressure. This sends it into full blown panic.
It begins to plea harder, throwing out all the old classics: “Nu huwt! Am onwy widdow babbeh! Babbeh am fo huggies an wuv! HUGGIES AN WUV!! HUU HUU HUU MUMMAH, SABE BESTES BABBEH! PWEE-HEE-HEEZ! Why weggies nu wowk? Nu wun way, nee hidies fwom munstah”
He goes on for a bit, but your attention is on the blue fluffy. He fearfully peeps and chirps the entire time, trying to hide from the scary sight by going behind the wrapper.
You chuckle at his foolishness. Young fluffies lack a fully developed sense of object permanence. With your off-hand, you pull the wrapper away, crunching it into a small ball. Tucking the trash way, you rush to snatch the peeping blue fluffy.
His peeps grow louder, and a puddle begins to form as he looses all control of his bladder. He wants to run away, back to where mummah told them to wait. Leaving the nestie was a bad idea. Bwudda said they’d be safe from the munstahs, because he’d scare them away. But now a scary human munstah was hurting bwudda.
“PEEP! PEEP! CHIRP! MUMMAH, HEWP! PEEP! CHIRP!”
You silence the terrified fluffy by jamming your thumb into his mouth. He panics even more, thrashing as hard as his screaming brother, but the effort exhausts his strength, and he’s running out of air. He nearly suffocates before he remember he can breathe with of his smell place. The threat of imminent death passes, but he’s still firmly locked in your grip. You give him some reassurance. This won’t be the end of his life, he’ll live a long, long time before you allow him to take forever sleepies.
“Shhh. It’s okay little guy. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m going to take you home with me. You’ll have lots of nummies, and toys, and warm bed. I promise. I just need to fix your brother’s bad habit before we can go to my house.”
The blue fluffy is caught between extremes on the one hand, his brother’s screams are scary. And the suddenness of being take into your hand was scary too. But the thumb in his mouth feels good to suckle on, and the promises of nummies are a boon given his current hunger. But most of all, the promises of a home, a bed, a safe place to rest. This triggers reactions buried deep in his brain. That Hasbio base code, for a fluffy to desire being adopted by a human, it pushes aside all logic and fear.
Wub! Nyu Daddeh! he tries to squeak out. But instead it’s more like, “Gwuh! Hruh Gaaggeh!”
You smile. One down.
Attention back on the pink fluffy, whose vocabulary has broken down to mere chirps and peeps. You gradually release pressure.
“Now, you are going to be good. Or else this,” A moment of reapplied pressure, “this won’t stop. Understand? Peep if you understand.”
“PEEP! PEEP! PEEP!”
“Good fluffy.” With that you release the pink fluffy. He takes a moment to calm himself, and considers resuming his tough guy act. A quick twirl of your finger convinces him to relent.
“Huu huu, Babbeh am sowwy. Nu wiww be meanie nu mowe. Babbeh onwy want potec bwudda.”
You smile, a soft, reassuring expression.
“If you be good, you’ll never get hurties again.” The pink fluffy gasped in excitement. “BUT, if you’re BAD…” you twirl your finger in front of his face, and gently poke his tummy again. His glee immediately evaporates.
“Babbeh be gud! Nu wan huwties. Babbeh be gud babbeh.” With that, you collect the pink fluff and return home.
Far away, clumsily galloping across the park, is a dark green, adult fluffy. Her thick, stubby legs pound the grass and dirt as she surges towards the sounds of her crying babbehs. They’d finally weaned a few bright times ago, and she thought it would save to leave them alone in the nestie while she foraged for food.
But when she returned to the nestie, with yummy berry nummies and pretty flowers to feed them, she’d found it empty. At first she followed their scent, using a fluffy’s only good sense. She’d been hampered by meanie hoomins and bawky munstahs, and at one point was forced to hide from the meanie birdy munstahs. All the while, her children cried, begged for her rescue.
By the time she saw the hoomin, clutching her babbehs in his hand, she was too late. You were already several meters away from her. Walking, on foot. Not going in a metal munstah, or waiting for a big metal munstah. This was a chance, her only chance. She hurried after you, every so often calling from out of earshot for you to return her babbehs. Her wastest babbehs.
You arrive home, never noticing the mummah fluff that chased after you. You shut the door, and take your new pets to your office. You pass by your safe room on the way. Inside, your precious white pegasus fluffy, Arwen, waits for you.
Inside your office, on your desk, sits a nice cardboard box. On the inside, the walls are decorated with crayon-drawn grass, and pretty white and yellow flowers. A soft blanket, and a tiny food dish await. You gingerly place both fluffies inside the box. They marvel at the art, and colours.
“Pweddy! Wuv fwowew.” The blue fuffy presses a hoof against the walls of the box.
“Nestie su wawm. Wub!” The pink fluffy settles a comfy spot on the blanket.
You take a can of preserved fruit, and a can opener you had prepared. After opening the can, you pour a portion of the contents into the food dish.
“Here you go, guys. Fresh nummies.”
Blue immediately dives in and starts eating.
“MMM! Footy nummies.”
Pink joins his brother, having grown hungry on the walk home. You leave the children along for a awhile. They cannot escape the box, it’s too tall. And it’s too heavy for them to try and topple over the desk. You prepared for it specifically after Sam tried to escape.
You retrieve a small device. A simple thing containing a low voltage battery, a button on top, and two prongs extending out from the front. It resembled a mini-taser. You could have easily made a similar device with a battery and a paper clip, but you’re not that good with electrics. It was simpler this off of Etsy, and let someone more confident deal with the specifics.
Returning to the box, both fluffies have consumed their meal. Small pellets of poop and urine stain the blanket. At least they had the forethought to make their mess in a corner of the box. No matter. The box was a temporary measure until your work could be finished.
You scoop Pink first. He coos happily.
“Wub! WUB! Wub nyu daddeh!” You gently pet his head with a finger. You graze his tummy, prompting his face to scrunch up, and elicit a brief, “cheep!”.
“Don’t worry, honey. You’ll forget all your bad memories soon enough.”
You step out of the room, slowly walking toward the safe room. Before you reach it, you stop at a table in the hallway. Gently, you set the Pink fluffy on it, and press just the tips of the prongs against his little forehead.
“You’ll forget it all.”
With that, you hold down the button. Out loud you count, “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six!”
Release.
The Pink fluffy stares at your blankly. The reset seeming to have worked. He’s stock still, waiting for instructions. His eyes devoid of the spark of life they once held.
“You are a good fluffy. You love Daddeh very, very much. You’re never meanie to your brother, and your love your mummah. You will always obey Daddeh, because daddeh is always right. You will never, ever run away from daddy. And you will never ever lie to daddeh.”
With that, the window of opportunity closes. Life returned to the pink biotoy’s eyes. He gasps with joy upon seeing his Daddeh.
“Daddeh! WUB! Babbeh wub Daddeh!”
Task complete, you deposit your newly remade fluffy into the saferoom. Arwen delights in having a babbeh join her. She stumbles as she rushes over to inspect her new family member.
“GASP Daddeh bwing Awwen Babbeh? Awwen wuv babbehs. Tank yu su muchies Daddeh!”
You affectionately pet your beautiful fluffy.
“Of course, sweetie. Daddeh promised to bring you babbehs today. Say hello to your new Babbeh, Pippin.”
The pink fluffy marvels at all the wonders he is receiving today. A Mummah and a name! Pippin was so happy he could burst.
“Babbeh namsie am Pippin? Pippin su happies! Pippin am pwetty namsie! Tank yu suuuuu muchies, Daddeh! Wub! Wub Daddeh! And Mummah!” Pippin scurries over to Arwen, his mummah. She wraps her legs around her new son, and holds him close to her chest.
“Pippin am pwetty pinkie babbeh. Mummah wub Pippin! Gud babbeh.”
You leave to let them get acquainted.
Returning to the box in your office, you find the sleeping blue fluffy. You’re careful on waking him, don’t want to startle the little fella and make a bigger mess to clean up.
“Wakey wakey, sleepy baby.”
This next part is a simple repeat of the first. A quick reset of the blue fluffy, programming him in just the way you like, and introducing him to the family.
You name him Merry.
“Mewwy wub namsie! Tank yu Daddeh.”
The family take time to bond, sharing hugs, and playing gentle games like huggy tag. Arwen is ecstatic to have babbehs, and the brothers love being in their daddeh’s home.
A week passed.
Arwen loves her grown up sons dearly, and the brothers continue to grow. They love each other, their Mummah, and especially You.
It’s dinner time. The sound of tapping comes from the door. You open the door, to see who it could possibly be. On your top step you see a haggard, dark green mare. She looks like she’s been living on the streets for a while. She’s thin, mostly fluff and bones. There’s a wild look in her eyes, desperation mixed with purpose.
“Pweez, mistah. Mummah am wookin fo’ babbehs. Babbehs nee’ mummah! Mummah fowwow yu fwom big gweenie pwace. Odda meanie fwuffies gif Mummah hewties. Gif stompie hoofies, and take mummah’s nummies. Nao mummah nu haf nummies, nu haf nestie, an nu haf babbehs. Mummah nee’ su can be gud mummah. Pweez, mistah, gif Pinkie and Bwue babbehs backsies tu mummah? Dey nee’ mummah su can gwow big an stwong.”
You listen to her appeal, letting the words go in one ear and out the other. She got the colours right, you figure she must have caught you when you adopted your new fluffies for Arwen.
You turn to look at your fluffy family. Merry and Pippin are hiding behind Arwen’s front legs. They don’t recognize this scary, feral fluffy. Arwen wears a mien of fierce determination.
“Huu… Pippin am scawed Mummah. Wai scawy fwuffy wan taek Pippin an Bwudda away? Nu wan weabe mummah, and nice housie, and daddeh. Huu huu huu.”
“Meanie fwuffy nu take Awen babbehs. Gu way, dummeh fwuffy! Deez am Awen babbehs! Yu am dummeh nu-mammah. Daddeh, nu wet meanie fwuffy steaw babbehs!”
Merry cries, and cheeps. He doesn’t understand what is going on, but the mood is scary. He hugs his brother for support. Pippin hug him back.
“Well,” You look down on the feral, “it looks to me that you are confused. These aren’t your babbehs.”
“NU! Dose am mummah’s babbehs-” She begins, but you interrupt her.
“That’s not what it looks like to me. If they were your babbehs, they would be calling you mummah, right?”
The Feral looks bewildered. She turns her attention to Merry and Pippin. She looks into their eyes, looking for recognition. All she finds is fear.
“Buh… Buh… Muh Bebbehs. Bebbehs nu wuv Mummah nu mo’? Nu wan com tu mummah? Wai Babbehs nu wisten tu mummah?!”
Arwen walked up the feral, careful to step over her intertwined sons.
“Gu way! Dummeh fwuffy nu am mummah. Dese am Awen babbehs. Mewwy an Pippin nu am yu babbehs.”
“I think that’s enough.” You chime in. “Go away. Leave and never come back. These babbehs aren’t yours.” With that, you shut the door.
The mare, no longer a mummah, cries loudly. Her spirit is broken.
Perhaps, if she could see the bigger picture, she could understand how much better her children’s lives are.
