Darlene, a pink unicorn with an azure mane and eyes, had always had a knack for the theatrical, even by the metric of fluffies.
From the moment her chubby little butt could sit herself upright, she had been wiggling those stubby leggies for mummah like her life depended upon it.
Unfortunately for poor Darlene, her mother was derped, so applause was a rarity. The odd side effect of this lack of encouragement was that it only boosted Darlene’s fervent desire for attention.
As she grew up, she took to the act of dancing on her hind legs, and by fluffy standards she was pretty damn good. All things considered, she clearly had a knack for it. From the Lindy Hop, to the stanky leg, to the Charleston, and even the well coveted fortnite default dance; she was clearly a talent to behold.
One late evening, Darlene sat with her dribbling potato of a mother by the FluffTV and basked in the glow of Dancie Bebbehs: North Korea edition.
Eventually the show ended and after a sickening amount of advertisements for fluffy playsets and litterpals, came the show to end all shows… Mare’s of our lives.
It was a soap opera about a collection of mares in a mammah room at a daycare, and all the shenanigans they’d get up to.
“YEW STOWE COCONUT BEBBEH!”.
“DAT NU AM BEBBEH, DAT AM PETAW DADDEH!”.
“NU-UH… BEBBEH AM DAISY BEBBEH… AN WE AM EN-GAY-GED!”.
DUN-DUN-DUNNNNNNN!.
“Tune in next week for another installment of Mare’s of our lives”.
“Mummah… Wat wus dat?” Darlene asked.
“Blarglewewwww… eeeerp?” her invalid of a birth giver replied, while chewing on the corner of the TV remote.
“Nu, mummah, Dawween meansie udda mummah.” she corrected, turning to the rough rural farmer on the sofa behind her.
“Dat der was sum kind of soap opera… It ain’t up my alley to tell ya the truth. Ain’t got no time for sissie shit like dat.” Polly explained with an exhale of cigarette smoke.
“Can-… can Dawween be un da teebee an du biggest dancies?”
“Dey ain’t dancin’ retard. Dey am actin’.” Polly smirked, “Actin’ a fool, more like.” she snickered.
The mare’s eyes glimmered.
“D-du ack-tin fwuffies git wots ob wuv?” she asked.
“Prob’ly, I don’t reckon they struggle hard fer much!”
This was too good to be true, all of it! Attention AND Love, the best kind of attention; and never having to work hard for anything? Truly glorious, magical even.
That night, a drunk as a skunk, passed out Polly was pilfered by a pickpocketing Darlene.
With a credit card in her mouth, the mare left through the cat flap and made her way to the city of angels.
It was a surprisingly boring journey there, no scarpers, scoundrels or assualts; no sodomy, smarties or shenanigans; just a crap lot of hitchhiking.
“Tank yew, mistah. Dawween hopies dat yew mayk id big tuu!” she smiled to the young man with a guitar case and a pocket full of travel sized lube.
The streets of Hollywood were… not pretty. Crackheads, hobos, people who talked funny, and worst of all: D lust actors, roving, stalking the streets, terrifying people with their sub par acting and constant requests for someone to buy their autograph.
Darlene got by, she danced for coins, and that’s where she befriended a nice middle aged Asian fellow named Kai: Short guy, even shorter hair, nerdy glasses, tired face. He said he was a chiropractor, accountant, nurse, sausage maker, and part time Alpaca herder.
“Howy mowy mistah Kai, dat am a wot ob jobsie!” Darlene exclaimed.
“It sure is, cupcake, but that’s the price for LA living.” he smiled with dead eyes.
“…o-oh…” was the reply.
They spent a good while together after a morning of penny scraping, enjoying a Mocha-cappa-mega-latte-frap-o-peeno for Kai, and a Fluffuccino for the rising starlet.
“That was refreshing” Kai smiled, as he reached for his backpack, “Well, back to the corporatist hellscape we call ‘the grindstone’.” Kai said with a face of despair and a shit eating grin, only to panic as he noticed the top of his backpack was unzipped and a fluffy’s worth lighter.
“SHIT! Where is that little fucker?” Kai said, checking under the table. “Ace-Chan? Where are you, you handsome little fucker!?” Kai called out, only to receive his answer as the sound of screaming on the other side of the street reached his ears.
On the other side was a Blue earthy stallion with a rusty red mane and an orange baseball cap, going to town on a woman’s shoe, with her foot still inside of it.
“Ohhhh yeh, yew wike dat yew diwty giww!?” Ace-Chan grunted while deep dicking the mary jane with all the sexual force a fluffy can muster, slapping it on the side between thrusts like it owed him money.
“NO, YOU LITTLE SHIT! I DON’T, GET OFF OF MY SHOE!” the woman eek’d.
“Ace-Chan nu wus tawkin’ tu yew, shuddup… An hew namsie am BWENDAH!” he said, looking up at the shoe’s owner with puffed up cheeks.
Kai got up and raced after his shitrat across the street without a goodbye.
“Wai, yew Kai kno whewe Dawween can fin tawent ay-gen-see?!” Darlene begged to know.
“I don’t know, kind of busy right now, just go that way!” he pointed while narrowly avoiding a honda civic, mid way across the street.
Darlene followed instructions to the letter, travelling down the sidewalk until eventually coming to a big shiny building where lots of people in pretty suits came in and out. Darlene could even recall the faces of some of the people who went in and out from the TV. This was the place.
She walked in, called out to the receptionist and asked to see the manager.
“Hewwo, Dawween am hewe tu see da teebee mistah!” she beamed innocently.
“My oh my, they make you things smaller and smaller every year…” she said, “Or maybe I’m just getting bigger?” She thought out loud to herself, her attention only cutting back to the tiny mare when she cleared her throat.
The receptionist pressed the button on the intercom and spoke to the big cheese:
“Mister Goldbergschneiderblatt, your 12’O-Clock is here.” she said.
“Already? A bit early, but it’s fine I guess, I’m just finishing up with Leo here, go on, send her up.” the producer replied.
Darlene got to the swanky office of Mister Goldbergschneiderblatt via the lift and basked in all the pictures on the walls, pictures of who must have been the producer, stood at red carpets with countless familiar faces from TV.
“Ay, there you are!” A fat, balding man with a cigar in his mouth and a white leisure suit grinned. “You, come with me, let’s talk while we walk, then get down to brass tacs.”
Darlene proceeded to talk his ear off as they walked through the labyrinthian halls of his mega office, entering into a more humble room with a walk in closet.
“-An dat am wen Dawween git hewe!” She smiled.
“Huh, interesting…” he said as he vanished behind a Japanese screen, “you came a long way, over a TV show?” he asked.
“Yup! Actin’ am su coow!” she giggled, while looking around the room.
“And you, what? Wanna be in the live audience?” he inquired.
“Nu! Wan be un Teebee! Be big staw un fwuffy soap opewa!” she declared while poking at a Ming vase.
“huh… Well, ya got moxie, kid, so I might be able to help with that, but it’ll take a lot of work, from the both of us.” he chuckled confidently.
Darlene spun at the offer as the dream maker of a man stepped out from behind the screen.
"Dawween wanna be da bigges’ bwightes’ staw ob aww timsies!
…
Whewe am mistah’s cwothes?"
-The End-
