Boutique De Moelleux
Part 1: Zenobius
You are Zenobius; a Greek name meaning “life of Zeus”. Of course that wasn’t always your name; you chose that name for yourself once you shed the vestiges of your former life. And really, what kind of name is Robert anyway? You? Be called Bob? No, Zenobius fits you much better, fits you like the royal purple silk pajamas you are currently in. The soft chirping of birdsong awakens you from your peaceful rest as the automatic blinds also begin to rise. You feel the silk sheets and luxurious bedding around you, the soft fluff of Duchess between the fingers of your left hand, her chest gently rising and falling under your protecting arm. You open your eyes and see the other Fluffy Ponies strewn about you; 6 in all, counting Duchess. It was a good day yesterday, many of your flock earned the right to spend the night in the master bed. An orange glow was beginning to creep into the room; you look to the windows and see the cityscape outlined in the rays of the rising sun. The view from your penthouse condo was always spectacular.
The chirping noise was gradually growing louder and you begin to feel the stirrings of the Fluffy ponies around you. Duchess shudders and stretches out her limbs giving a long drawn out yawn. The plumb colored unicorn with the lavender and black striped mane opened her eyes revealing one glittering green iris and one glazed-over grey eye accompanied by a scar tracing from her forehead to her cheek.
“Gud mowning Daddeh” she cooed, the dregs of sleep still in her voice. You reach to your side table for a remote, clicking a button the chirping noises cease and instead a soothing disembodied voice begins to speak.
“Today is June the 25th; it is currently 62 degrees Fahrenheit. The forecast for today is mostly sunny with a high of 81. Your stock investments are as follows…” you look down your body at the fluffies that are snuggled up against you. All of them stare in your direction with love in their eyes.
“Did you all rest well?” you ask your flock, they all nod vigorously and voice their approval of the situation. You clap your hands twice and say, “Well, no time to dawdle let us begin the day off right!” The fluffy ponies jump to their hooves and make their way down the steps at either side of your bed; Duchess wrestling herself out from under your arm and following behind them. The fluffies all camber over the polished black marble floors, heated of course, to the master bathroom. You follow them inside where you see them all jump into the oversized litterbox you have installed opposite the vanity. You relieve your bladder and inspect yourself in the mirror. Your short bleached white hair had become unkempt overnight, but your tanned skin still seemed mostly blemish free save the crows feet forming at the corners of your eyes. Age was beginning to show on you but you did not let it control you; the reminder of your mortality simply inspired you to work harder. You splash water on your face and brush your teeth. You glance over to the fluffies who have all finished their business in the litterbox and are muttering and giggling to themselves. “Good Fluffies wait here until I call them” you say to them. The fluffies all snap their attention to you and nod their heads. You exit the bathroom and walk to the other end of the master bedroom. You reach for a handle in the wall and pull revealing a rack of suit jackets, vests, and slacks hanging from a rod and less formal clothes on shelves beneath them. You select a pale purple jogging shirt and black shorts from the shelves beneath and change into them; tossing your pajamas into a nearby laundry chute. From the bottom shelf you select socks and tennis shoes, lacing them up tightly. You cup your hands around your mouth and call out “Good Fluffies come when they are called!” at this the six creatures burst from the bathroom and race to your side as fast as they can. Duchess is the last to come to you as she has a slight limp in her rear right leg. You frown slightly, hoping she wasn’t in too much discomfort from the sprint. The others are muttering to themselves again, arguing who was first to get to you. You clap your hands twice to get their attention. The instantly stop and look up to you. “Time to wake the others and begin calisthenics” you say softly.
The Fluffies begin bouncing in anticipation and follow you as you head to the black wooden double doors of your room. Gripping both handles you push them both open revealing a giant gymnasium like room. You step out and feel your feet squish the rubberized flooring. A large circular track dominates the majority of the room. Along the right side of the room a row of two dozen capsules line the wall at ground level. Each with an identification number above the clear plastic doors; five of the capsules were empty as their occupants were currently trotting along behind you, two of them were empty as their previous occupants had washed out of the program. The remaining 17 capsules each had a fluffy pony snoozing peacefully in them. You clap your hands twice and the lights in the room begin to brighten. At the loud noise most of the sleeping fluffies began to wake up and began babbling to their neighbors. Walking over to a control panel next to the capsules on the wall you press a button and all the doors open with a hiss. The Ponies inside moved their way out and stretched their limbs. You take a whistle that is hanging on a hook on the wall and give two short blasts. “All fluffies have five minutes to make good poopies and come back here!” The 17 fluffies all trot over to the back right corner of the room where a sandbox sized litter box was. You keep close time and when one minute remains you give another blast of the whistle. A few fluffies sputter out “Oh noes!” and rush to finish their business. All 22 fluffies assemble in front of you, only Dutchess remains at your side as you say “Good morning Fluffies!”
“Gud mownin Mistah Zenobwius” the Fluffies reply in as much unison as fluffy ponies can provide.
“Remember, all of you, the three main rules! One!” you raise a finger in the air and you say “Only the best fluffies get names and love! They go on to be adopted!” the fluffies chant the rules along with you as best they can. You raise a second finger “Two! The best fluffies are disciplined! They do exactly what their Mommies and Daddies say!” You raise the third and final finger. “And Three…” you trail off. The fluffies all finish the third rule together.
“Bad Fwuffies go tu da Fawm”.
“Precisely” you finish. “Let’s begin today’s exercises.” You lead the fluffies in a series of stretches designed specifically to limber up their unique bodies. Duchess is still next to you providing the perfect example of the stretches to the cohort. Once you feel that they have been warmed up sufficiently you have Duchess go to a station on the inside of the track. There she pushes a button which causes a ‘10’ to display on a large digital sign next to her. “Ten laps! Let’s go! The sooner we finish the sooner we get nummies!” The fluffies perk up at the mention of food and you lead them onto the track stopping at a white line on which indicates the starting area. Once all the fluffies are positioned properly you blow your whistle and set off at a slow jog. This was going to be the longest run for them yet. The four week program the fluffies were enrolled in demanded an exhaustive exercise regimen that incrementally increased in difficulty as the weeks progressed. This was the beginning of week three which called for the runs to be topped out at 10 laps with no stopping breaks. The Fluffy ponies start out keeping pace with you but after about three laps a cacophony of gasping breaths begins to build behind you. You slow your jog a little more to try to give them some time to catch their breath. Crossing the white line into the fourth lap you glance at Duchess who dutifully presses the button next to her which changes the number from a seven to a six. “Almost halfway!” you shout back. “Good fluffies push themselves to do better every day!”
At five laps you push back up to your starting pace coaching the fluffies to keep up with you. At six laps you hear some fluffies begin to complain of ‘side huwties’ you remind them to keep their breathing even and regular. At seven laps you swear you hear some of them crying. You turn around and jog backwards surprised to see that all the fluffies are still grouped up with you and that none have fallen behind the pack. You praise them for their effort and it seems to give them a second wind. At eight laps you double your speed shouting at them that they are in the final stretch. At nine laps you turn around again and see that six of the fluffies have given up and have reduced themselves to a walking pace.
“Good Fluffies who can’t run anymore move to the outside lane!” you shout out. Five of the fluffies dutifully move to the outermost lane of the track while the sixth simply collapses to the ground from exhaustion in the middle lane.
“BAD FLUFFIES GIVE UP AND DON’T GET NUMMIES!” you holler. The fluffy on the ground starts in fear and picks itself up as best it can and moves to the outside lane, crying and saying as loud as it could “NU AM BAD FWUFFY!”
At the tenth and final lap you break into a sprint. You know the fluffies cannot dream to keep up with you but you want them to still aspire to. You race past the walking fluffies and cross the finish line before the other fluffies have even gotten a quarter of the way done with the last lap. You go back to the control panel near the capsules and take a towel off the wall drying the sweat off of yourself. On the control panel’s touch screen you bring up the roster of the current class of fluffies and mark off the ones who could not keep up with the group adding a note to the one who collapsed entirely.
You turn back and see the rest of the fluffies who had not slowed to a walk cross the finish line. Most of them fall onto their bellies as soon as they finish causing others to trip over them. Tongues lolling out of their mouths as their chests heave with the extreme effort. You hear a mix of fluffies muttering “Suu hewties” and “worstest tummy ouchies.”
Just then you hear a ding and you glance up to the far end of the room. An elevator at the far wall opens up to reveal a young woman in her early twenties; your personal assistant, she is holding your morning protein shake along with a tablet. She steps out of the elevator and begins walking towards you. You nod in her direction draping your towel over your shoulders you make to meet her in the center of the track near Duchess.
“Good morning Sir,” she says curtly. Her Brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and her brown eyes framed with thick, black rimmed glasses. She was already wearing her uniform. Black slacks with a black button up long sleeve shirt with a purple silk vest overtop.
“Good morning Abigail,” you reply taking the shake out of her hands. “What is the good word today?”
“Some bad news today,” She started. “The shipment of special feed came in late yesterday, well after closing time, unfortunately some ferals got to the crates before we could bring them in. they knocked some of them over and crushed themselves.”
“Unfortunate” you say taking a deep drink of your shake.
Abigail bites her lip and says “That is not all…”
You keep drinking and motion her to continue. “Carl finished reviewing yesterdays CCTV footage and… there was an incident.”
You choke on you shake and cough roughly. “What!?” you say between coughs.
“It appears… as though Spearmint and Cinnamon were bullying Buttercup…” she finishes hesitantly.
You stare at her utter shock on your face. These were two fluffies that had finished the program. They passed with flying colors even. This was unthinkable. A betrayal! A stab in the heart! You pour your life and soul into these creatures and their training to give them the best shot in life, and this is how they repay you? Strict breeding schedules, well documented and notarized pedigrees, intense training regimens and education programs; all to make the most perfect and sought after fluffies in the tri-state area; all of it amounting to nothing in these two.
“They are siblings correct?” you ask, a dead serious look in your eyes.
“Yes.” She replies, slightly scared.
“Who were their sires?”
She taps at the tablet in her hands and says, “Ladybird and Nougat.”
“Strike them as a breeding pair and re-evaluate both of them.”
“Y-yes sir.”
“I have to get cleaned up and changed. Please get the flock their breakfast and prepare them for classes. I need to get down to the boutique before we open and make an example of those two before their attitudes can infect more of them.” You look down at Duchess and ask “How are they doing dearest?”
Duchess continues to keep her eyes on the walking fluffies and says “wawky fwuffies have not yet finished wast wap. Awmost dere dou”
You kneel down and pet Duchess, smiling. “Good work; when they are done I want you to have your breakfast and then head down to the Nursery with Abigail.”
“Otay Daddeh,” she looks up at you with a beaming smile on her face; her grey eye reflecting the lights above, “Duchess wuv Daddeh.”
