Thanks a lot to Virgil,Mister-Shitrat, and CFroste for their help in recovering these from the fluffybooru archive.
I’m taking a look at the fluffy in the interrogation room now. It can’t see me, though - one-way glass.
“Huuuhuuuu whewe am fluffy? Whewe evewyfwuffy?!? Hoomins?! Mummah!?!?! Huuuhuuuu”
We’ve kept it there for a few hours to let it stew.
This morning, we got a call from a landlady who told us that she hadn’t seen or heard from one of her elderly tenants in a couple of days. She wanted us to enter the housing unit with her in case something was wrong.
When we got there, we found the old lady sprawled out at the bottom of the stairway, blood pooled around her. The stench was terrible. Wound to her head seemed to indicate that this was an accident - unfortunately, a very common occurrence with elderly people who live alone.
We were ready to write it off as a routine case, sign her remains over to the medical examiner, and move on to the next one.
But then we heard sobbing and whining coming from the kitchen corner.
“Fwuffy so hungwy huuhuuuu nee’ nummies”
“Why dummeh mummah sweepies so wong!?!?!?”
Must be the owner’s fluffy pony. Poor thing. Unclaimed fluffy ponies have to get sent to shelters, where they’ll probably be euthanized after a week. It’s a particularly irritating shade of bright orange with a brown mane - I doubt anyone would bother adopting it.
My partner points out a camera near the entrance. The landlady explains that it’s there to let her elderly tenants watch out for intruders at and around the doorway. It has a view of the stairwell too, though. We decide to take a look.
We see the old lady trying to go down the stairs carrying a sack of kibble in one hand and a plastic bag of litter and fluffy shit in the other. All the while, her idiot fluffy keeps badgering her by yelling, tapping her legs, and hopping around in that stupid “wan’ upsies!” pose.
But then it makes a wrong move. It pushes on the old lady’s legs just a little bit too hard, sending her falling down the stairs. She hits her head on impact, and it ends there. At least it doesn’t seem like she suffered.
Fluffy ponies are animals, of course, so they can’t be charged with anything. My partner and I decide to punish this one…extrajudicially, so to speak. It’s easy to get bored when you’re a cop in a small town where no one really hurts each other.
Which brings us back to the interrogation room. The fluffy was pretty hungry after a few days without being fed, so we gave it some kibble. But otherwise, we’ve just let it stew in there since this morning.
I go in.
“State your name for the record, please.”
“Wha’? Who hoomin? Wan’ mummah! Pwease wet see mummah!”
“Fwuffy name am…Apwicot.”
“Apricot, do you know why you’re here?”
“Nu know why Apwicot am hewe. Whewe am? Whewe mummah?”
“When was the last time you saw your mother, Apricot?”
“Was sooooo many fowevews ago! Apwicot was sooooo hungwy an’ mummah no gib nummies! So Apwicot gib mummah sowwy-hoofsies, den mummah faww fwom upsie-downsie pwace den make wong sweepies! Mummah so siwwy. But Apwicot sooooo hungwy but mummah stiww sweepies! Whewe mummah nao, nice hoomin?”
“Apricot, I’m not sure if you understand this, but your mother’s dead. “Forever-sleepies,” if you will.”
I grab my phone and show her the camera footage.
“Nu! Apwicot nu do dat. Dummeh mummah jus’ faww and make sweepies!”
“You did this, Apricot. We can see it clearly on the footage. Now, you can make a plea deal with the DA if you want, and you’ll probably get away with doing time in a shelter. Are you guilty?”
“NU! Apwicot nu do bad thing!”
“I’ll take that as a plea of “not guilty.” I’ll just let you know now that the maximum penalty for your crime is death.”
I carry Apricot off to another interrogation room where my buddies and I have set up an improvised court room. Never underestimate bored cops.
My partner’ll be playing Apricot’s defense attorney, while our Sergeant is playing the judge. Four of my other buddies’ll be the jury, and I’ll be prosecuting the poor fluffy.
“Wha’ Whewe am Apwicot? Who hoomins? Wan’ mummah!”
Sarge says: “Apricot Fluffy, you have been charged with first-degree murder. How do you plead?”
“My client pleads Not Guilty, Your Honor.”
I show everyone the camera footage, and my buddies in the jury pretend to gasp and be appalled. Cheeky bastards.
“As you can see, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this footage shows that Ms. Apricot here intentionally murdered her mother, solely because she didn’t get food right then and there!”
“NU! Apwicot nu huwt dummeh mummah! Was aksy-dent!”
My partner claims that there’s no evidence that his client willingly murdered her mother.
“But upon interrogation, Ms. Apricot admitted to giving her mother so-called “sorry-hoofsies” because she didn’t get any food! Isn’t that right, Apricot?”
“Nu! Apwicot nu say dat! Apwicot nu huwt mummah!”
I let everyone listen in to the interrogation room’s audio recording. Boom - that’s perjury right there.
“Nu! Dat not Apwicot, dat othew fwuffy!”
My partner decides to walk out, stating that he can no longer represent his client.
Sarge asks the jury for their verdict.
“For the crime of first-degree murder of her own mother, we, the jury, find Ms. Apricot Fluffy GUILTY. Further, we find Ms. Apricot Fluffy GUILTY of the crime of perjury.”
“Nuuu! Nu guiwty! NU GUIWTY! Was aksy-dent!!! Huuuhuuuuuhuuuuu”
In his booming voice, Sarge says: “Apricot Fluffy, you have been found GUILTY of first-degree murder, and GUILTY of the crime of perjury. This court observes that you are clearly unrepentant and continue to deny your guilt in the face of overwhelming evidence. Therefore, I am electing to give you the maximum penalty for your crimes: DEATH. May God have mercy upon your soul.”
We go outside to take her to the electric chair (really just a stool and a car battery)
We strap her in. No wet sponge here - she’ll roast the whole way.
“Ms. Apricot Fluffy, do you have any last words?”
“WAS AKSY-DENT! AKSY-DENT! DUMMEH MUMMAH NU FOWEVEW-SWEEPIES IF MUMMAH JUS’ GIB APWICOT NUMMIES!”
I connect the clips to the battery and let 'er rip.
Apricot starts sizzling immediately. The areas on her where we’ve attached the clips start to smolder. Her entire body convulses, releasing the contents of her bladder and bowels all over the chair. Her mouth starts foaming.
Oops, “power outage.” I detach the clips from the battery.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEE! PANT PANT WOWSTEST…OWWIES…PWEASE…NU MOWE…”
We get the power back on. More screeching and screaming. She’s convulsing so hard that I can hear a few of her bones break. The skin where the clips are have been burned and blackened. We shut the power again.
“Nu mowe…pwease…wan die…so sowwy…wan die…”
We take the clips off and unstrap her. I try to pick her up by her scruff, but she’s so burned now that the skin and muscle just peel off.
She’s so delirious with pain that she can’t even scream.
I throw her in the dumpster, where she’ll probably live for another hour or so before dying in utter pain and misery.
Justice has been served.