A short trip in his car, a complaining fluffy, and some fearful cheeps later, and Jacques has returned to his home. He collected the various bags of groceries in his backseat, including the bag full of fluffies. He hadn’t checked on them since stuffing them in, but it couldn’t be comfortable for the little creatures. He could vaguely make out the smell of fluffy feces, and so he knew they would at least needed to be washed.
Jacques also knew exactly what he meant when he accepted the mare’s request, and he enjoyed toying with his food like this. He had spent all morning looking for fresh foals, straight from the womb. There was a pregnant couple that still weren’t far along, and later he did find a dead mummah with a single emaciated foal, but neither would do for right now. His search had yielded no results until well into the afternoon, just after 2:30pm. Fluffies had been around Milgrove for at least 10 years to this point, but the change in weather usually meant fewer new batches of foals. As luck would have it, just before he was to give up and drive home, he heard Anabelle in the throes of labour from the alley he had parked in front of. It was like music to his ears, and he knew he finally lucked out.
He set his groceries down on the marble-top kitchen counter, bag full of fluffies included, from which he heard an “eep!” when he set the bag down. He quickly opened the green fabric bag to reveal Anabelle clutching all four of her surviving foals on her stomach fluff. Each foal had already relieved themselves on her, caking the feces into her fluff. The smell knocked Jacques back, and through squinted eyes he took stock of the situation.
Bestest, who was now visibly fat with milk, was still locked to one of the nipples, although Green had taken opportunity on the free nipple during their trip. Pink and Blue were huddled together, softly huu-ing as they bathed in the bright, sterile lights of Jacques kitchen. The two were still as thin as the moment they left the womb, and so Jacques figured they hadn’t been able to feed any further than they already had.
“Don’t worry you two, it’ll be over soon,” Jacques whispered to the pair as he stroked their heads with a finger. He looked at Anabelle, who was swooning over her perfect foals. Clearly she was smitten; this wouldn’t be an issue because Jacques knew exactly what to say to grab her attention away from her offspring, “would you like some sketti, Anabelle?”
As soon as ‘sketti’ left his mouth, her eyes shot wide open. She immediately turned over on her hooves, which knocked her children straight off her fluff and onto the countertop. She has never had sketties before, but just like all fluffies, she knew it was the best nummies. And of course, the best nummies make the best milk, and that was exactly what her Bestest Babbeh needed.
“YUS! Yus Anabewwe wan’ sketties! Wan sketties wan sketties wan sketties wan sk-” she vibrated with excitement, barely able to contain herself.
Jacques laughed, and wagged a finger in her face as he continued “Ah-ah-ah! But first Ana, we have to get you cleaned up!”
Her smile immediately dropped.
“W-wawa am bad fo’ fwuffies, nu wa-!”
Jacques had placed her foals in a bowl while she was protesting, and now picked her up to take her to the bathroom. She protested, wailed and flailed on their way, but after demonstrating how warm the water was with only an inch in the bathtub, she had settled down and allowed for a hassle-free cleaning.
“Okay Anabelle, you have to dry, so I’m going to wrap you in this towel”
Anabelle, now soaked thoroughly and fluff dropping off her chubby frame, complied with only a few “huus” about wanting her spaghetti. Wrapping her in a neat, comfortable towel burrito, Jacques stood back up, dusting his hands off and spoke to her.
“Okay, now Daddy will be right back, I just have to prepare your babies. After that, I promise you’ll get all the sketties you want!”
“Otay daddeh, Anabewwe wiww wai’ and nu hav wawa on fwuff”
“That’s my good girl!” Jacques said as he reached down to scratch her head. She cooed, and as he lifted his hand he exited the bathroom.
Now the real fun could begin.
Jacques took the time to set up camera and audio equipment in the kitchen; he was going to record and document everything he was about to do. After all, how would anyone believe him if he didn’t have proof?
Setting up the last tripod and hitting record, Jacques clapped once for the audio track. This clap startled the bowl full of squirming foals on his kitchen counter, the bowl erupting in a cacophony of frightened peeping and chirps.
“Peep, peep peep peeeeeeeee-”
“Settle down guys, were just getting started,” he said before turning to the camera. This didn’t settle the foals down, and so their peeping continued, clearly audible on the recording.
“Welcome everyone! It’s Bestest Chef Jacques White here with another special episode! First I want to thank you guys for all the love on our TurFluffKen, I still can’t believe so many of you watched that video. It was delicious, and my neighbors loved what I was able to make with the leftovers from their yard invasion! However!-”
Jacques grabbed the bowl of foals from the countertop, digging in and grabbing Bestest. Bestest flailed her limbs in panic as he lifted her up into the camera’s view.
“Today we’ll be trying something a little different. This is a bonafide, real-deal, Bestest Babbeh straight from the womb. She’s already nice and plump so we’ll save her for something special, but her siblings are with us, and we’re gonna make something delicious with them first.”
Jacques set the foals down and activated the overhead camera. He placed Bestest in the bowl and swapped him with Blue. Holding a finger on Blues tiny body, the foals stumpy limbs flailed against the pressure holding him down. Jacques grabbed a thin paring knife from his knife-block, and rested it in line with the foal’s legs.
“Remember! Like and Subscribe for more!”
-SWIPE-
As soon as he was finished his pitch, with a swift motion he severed two limbs on the foals side, straight from his thin little body.
“Peep… Peep-peep, PEEEEEEEP PEEEEEEEE-” Blue screamed as the knife worked its way like butter through the soft bones of the newborn. Each stump bled like a fountain, soaking into his cutting board.
“So folks, once your legs are off, make sure you skin the foal afterward,” he flipped Blue on his back, and ran the edge of the knife down from his collarbone, over his tiny sucked-in stomach, and down to his genitals. The foals screams intensified , filling the kitchen and frightening his siblings. The bowl foals themselves began voiding their bowels of whatever they contained, with Bestest absolutely blanketing her littermates in feces.
“and of course we don’t want this section, so cut it off”, with a flick of the knife, Blue’s wumps and stick came off like a skin tag. Blue himself had long damaged his vocal chords; he was still screaming, but the noise produced was simply the sound of exerted air.
Then, Jacques lifted the foal; Blue had hoped it was over, until he felt his fluff sliding away from him. Blue huffed, and puffed and pushed more air through his torn throat as he could feel his skin separating from the muscle, producing a wet ripping sound as it pulled away.
“And that’s how you skin a newborn foal!”
With a swift motion, Jacques stripped the foal of his pelt. With its eyelids detached from its still-unformed eyes, the chirpy could barely make out the shape of the monster who was giving him hurties. Reeling from the pain renewed, Blue vomited bile over Jacques hand and his consciousness began fading.
Until the salting began.
Jacques began explaining the process to the camera, with a semi-conscious Blue caged in his fingers.
“Next we’re gonna take our skinned foal, and just roll him over a salt-and pepper mixture,” he produced a plate with the mixture spread over it.
He dropped Blue into the salt, who immediately came back to his senses. Tears began forming in his young eyes as Jacques hand tossed him back and forth over the crystals, every roll like a thousand knives stabbing at once. He tried to breathe, but each breath introduced grains of salt to his bleeding throat. Now the pain wasn’t just outside; it came from within as well.
“And then we take the salted foal, and set him aside. Now, we’ll prepare the other foals in the same manner!”
Jacques repeated the process with his other siblings, working considerably faster now that he didn’t need to explain and show the process for an audience. Each foal screamed, knowing exactly what was coming to them when Jacques delicately picked them out of the foal-bowl.
Pink was first, and her pain tolerance was so low she gave out during the salting process. He placed her limp body right next to Blue, who panicked at the ghastly sight of his sister, skinless and coated in the same hurties he was covered in. Jacques watched him closely, noticing he was trying to peep at his sister.
“I know she can’t close her eyes, but I promise she’s forever sleepies, little guy,” Jacques explained matter-of-factly before proceeding to the next foal.
Green’s butchering was surprising; as Jacques picked up the foal, it tried to batter it’s hooves (with great futility) against the human hand carrying it. Jacques could have sworn it was speaking, hearing a small squeaky voice screaming “munstah!”
Probably just the wind, he figured, as he sliced away Green’s left front and back legs like a hot knife through butter. The foal was the loudest screamer of all, peeping more like a fire alarm and less like a hatchling bird. Unfortunately, this made skinning him a less-pleasant affair than either of his other siblings had been. Jacques set the foal down, reached over to his pepper grinder, and opened it up.
“This should do the trick,” he said as he punched a few whole peppercorns from the reserve, and slid them into Green’s mouth. He pushed each one further down with another, forcing them down either tract in the chirplings throat. It’s noisy, interruptive peeps quickly replaced with a more subdued gagging, Jacques happily continued pulling the grass-green pelt from the foal.
Finally after a few more minutes, Jacques wiped his forehead as he admired his work; three whole salted foals, ready for cooking. Although one had long since passed from shock and cardiac arrest, two were still violently shaking from the pain of having every muscle in their body absorb coarse-grain kosher salt. The once-colourful group of infant BioToys now looked more like sentient chicken thighs. The only one spared this torture was the Bestest Baby, who merely sat in the bowl peeping ineffectively as they heard the terror and butchery happen.
“I know it might seem cruel that we’re keeping them alive for this, but remember the two core tenets of cooking with fluffies guys: Number 1, a stressed and panicked fluffy is full of adrenaline, and this makes the meat sweeter and more tender; Number 2, well… Because fuck them, that’s why!”
Grabbing a metal kebab skewer, Jacques reached for the first foal and inspected for its rectum.
“Ah, there!,” he exclaimed as the skewer found purchase on a foal. He righted the foal to ensure the skewer would exit through the mouth, and slid it down to make room for the next two. Then again, he forced the foals into the skewer. Surprisingly, the foals bled quite a bit as he did so.
“Whoa! See guys this is why I always make sure to have some Shamwhoas handy! They’re great for spills like this; and speaking of Shamwhoas, they’re the sponsor of today’s video!-” Jacques continued hamming up an obviously overpriced product for the next minute or so while the foals helplessly wriggled what they could on the skewer.
In truth, he hated Shamwhoas and felt they weren’t nearly as good as just plain old paper towel, but sponsorship advertisements were king in content creation and the company had already paid for the advertisement spot. He knew everyone would skip the section anyway, but what did it matter? Easy money, baby.
“So now we have our foal-kebab,” he returned to the subject at hand, raising the skewer into view of the camera; each foal glistened as they attempted to wriggle against the steel keeping them firmly in place.
“Before we get this on the grill, I need to get the little mamma we picked up out into the yard; she’s gonna be one of our taste testers for the day,” as he reached for Bestest, he brought her up to the camera’s field of view and continued, " and this little fella is gonna reap the reward in milkies form!"
Bestest seemed to peep in delight at the mention of milkies, voiding it’s bladder into Jacques palm for a brief moment. The skewered foals had ceased their contracting and noise, fading in and out of consciousness. Jacques could hear a soft thumping against the bathroom door accompanied with the sweet tune of a *“huu huu, pwease wet out daddeh”.
Click.
Jacques deactivated the recording on his video camera and began bringing seasonings, a plate, and the skewered foals to his backyard for a good-old-fashioned cook-out. He began to prime the barbecue, practically vibrating in excitement.
He had brought Anabelle out into the spacious backyard while he allowed the grill to reach temperature, and watched her frolick with her bestest. Just as he promised, he gave her canned sketti, and she wore the tell-tale red stains on her snout and muzzle as she played with her favourite foal. Bestest seemed to completely forget about the trauma Jacques induced on his siblings, although that may even be a signal that Bestest was already developing Smarty syndrome. Less “bwuddas an’ sissies” meant more miwkies, after all.
Anabelle had merely been told that she was going to receive a yummy treat soon if she was a good fluffy, and that was enough to redirect her concern when she asked the inevitable “whewe babbehs?” She knew she had to find them eventually, but maybe she could do so after her treat. After all, Bestest was happy and that’s all that mattered. As for the pudgy little ball of fluff, she was giggling wildly as she felt the grass beneath her weak, crawling limbs, the sensation completely foreign to her in contrast to the alley-way’s loose pebbles and pavement.
Jacques smiled watching the pair, happy to see them happy for a brief period of time. He had to admit, he enjoyed seeing fluffies live happy lives. He had gone into detail with the subject on his channel before, but reminded himself anyway: it’s not that he hates fluffies; in fact he loved them. It was just that they tasted so good.
Without another thought he lifted the barbecue top, and placed the mostly dying Foal Skewer on the grill. As soon as the salted, inflamed meat touched the grill, the larger of the two foals began making noise again. A quiet shrieking, as it’s flank touched the fiery hot grill bars.
“Oh good, Green is still alive,” Jacques thought, as he closed the barbecue top.
