“Daddeh! Daddeh! Am Battew Fwuffy times! Can Cawwot be in battews too?”
Carrot’s ‘Daddeh,’ whose name was actually Derrick, grumbled and looked up from his laptop.
“Do what?”
“Battew Fwuffs! Toughie fwuffies gonna gib sowwy hoofies an’, an’, an’!”
At this point, fat little Carrot was so pumped up he couldn’t stand it; he was kicking his back legs into the air excitedly, mimicking the sounds he’d heard the other fluffies making at the park this morning.
“Hiwah! Kapow! Take sowwy hoofsies!”
Carrot’s owner sighed as the small but muscular stallion accidentally kicked a hole in the drywall. He wasn’t getting the security deposit back on this trash-hole apartment anyway, but still- he’d gotten a fluffy because he’d heard they were too harmless and cuddly to be destructive. Carrot had apparently never been given the memo (nor had any real effort been put into training him once the litterbox situation was settled.)
Carrot’s continued residence was currently under question at the moment. The biotoy had proven to be more work than expected, and while Carrot wasn’t really a bad boy, he wasn’t as much fun to have around as expected. Now that Derrick unexpectedly found himself unemployed, he was also too goddamn expensive to keep around. Your average fluffy was a cheap first purchase, followed by several expensive purchases to keep the little abominations relatively healthy and happy.
But the local hugbox rescues were all full-up and already having to make difficult decisions about their own resident’s futures. A trip to the vet for proper euthanasia was unaffordable, and Derrick just wasn’t the kind of guy who could snap the neck of something that loved him, even if he was growing to resent it.
Simply dumping Carrot somewhere felt like a cruel waste… the little orange fluffball would easily die in the wild, all alone and miserable.
Maybe Battle Fluffs could solve this problem, he realized. He’d gathered a faint idea of what it entailed.
Carrot could die a blaze of glory (or a screaming smear of blood and shit on the floor) and Derrick could comfort himself by telling himself that it was how Carrot wanted to go. His hands would be clean.
“Alright then, Carrot, let’s get you suited up!” he said, jumping to his feet.
Carrot had such a big heart-happy that it almost burst on the spot. He excitedly ran around Derrick’s feet as the man scrounged together some battle gear: a (never-used) steam-iron with a strangely long extension cord and a stainless steel pot for helmet.
“What do you think, uh,” he thought for a moment. “Cooked Carrot?”
Cooked Carrot (thankfully) couldn’t talk while he held the iron in his mouth, but he bit down on the iron’s main button in excitement, letting out a scalding fwhoosh of steam into the air.
“Alright then, buddy, when does it start?”
Blockquote Battle Fluff: Cooked Carrot (toofymunstah)
AN: wanted to write a small backstory for this guy since I didn’t do it when I originally posted him -shrug-