Rocky was at home all alone like usual. His daddeh was out a lot of the time. He was in a little side space in the apartment that served as a saferoom. The carpet was dingy and the whole place smelled like cigarette smoke but it had all the stuff a fluffy could need to survive, at least. A littertray (not an official Hasbio one), a tray of kibble, a little water bottle because he was scared of open dishes of the stuff.
The brown & grey fluffy didn’t really have much in the way of entertainment except for a pathetically sized television that was always tuned to FluffTV. Miss Manners was on currently and it was Rocky’s all-time favorite! Miss Manners was a really prim and proper mare and her program didn’t focus on dancin’ or playing around. Instead she taught other fluffies how to act properly and to even help their humans have good habits too.
Bad words were a no-no! Drinking buwny wawa was a no-no! There were lots of things which fluffies (and their owners) shouldn’t do. Miss Manners helped him feel really smarter. Even smarter than when he stacked three blocks on top of one another.
“Wocky am su smawties. Am hewp daddeh be happeh daddeh.” He nodded to himself. Still only a colt, really, but he was learning so much already!
“Am time ‘fo espowin to hewp daddeh!” Rocky got over to the little gate that blocked off the saferoom from the rest of the house. Nudging himself forward he would loosen it up at the edges and make it fall down. Getting on his back hooves and doing a dance, he’d celebrate the great triumph!
“Espowin’ babbeh am hewp daddeh!” He said, scampering out of the living room and looking for things that he could help with. The first stop was the living room. His owner kept a packet of cigarettes on top of a magazine which just so happened to be on the edge of the coffee table. It was high for a fluffy, but he got on his back hooves, grunted, got ahold of the magazine’s corner and gave a mighty tug. The magazine slipped back and went to the floor with the cigarettes, the fluffing standing over the packet.
“Yew am bad smoky fings! Wocky nu wike yew!” Miss Manners always said fluffies should stay away from these things and that they were bad for owners! Rearing up, he gave the packet a serious sorry-hoofing until every single cigarette inside was broken up. To top it off, he positioned himself over it and gave it peepees so daddeh would know it was no good.
“Naow Wocky am espow sketti pwace!” He said, going off to the kitchen. There were lots of things in here that Miss Manners said was very bad! Mostly stuff under the sink. Rocky went to open one of the cabinet doors open, examining the bottles of stuff inside. There were lots of things which had caps he couldn’t open with his mouth but there were also squeeze bottles he dragged out and stomped on. Dishsoap splattered all over the kitchen floor along with blue toilet cleaner, drain cleaner, and various other things. Laundry powder was kicked out of a box and fluffed out over the floor. Now nobody could have huwties from it!
“Su smawties! Gud wowk, Wocky!” He patted himself on the back and tracked through the various liquids and powers, leaving hoofprints of it across the linoleum. The next stop was the bathroom.
There wasn’t much in here that he could reach. The one exception was the bottle of buwny-wawa beside the toilet. Daddeh often drank it while crying. Miss Manners said it was bad and it did make him cry so Rocky slammed into the bottle, knocking the liquor to the floor. It was positioned beside the toilet because, well…his owner had a lot of problems. No matter how hard he tried it wouldn’t break so Rocky would give a grunt.
“Yew am bad fing! HAB POOPIES!” The colt turned, released a furious shower of poopies on the liquor bottle. Now daddeh wouldn’t want it! It was a very good plan. Smiling smugly to himself, he had a rush of excitement as he heard the front door open. It was daddeh! Daddeh was home! He’d give him lots of wubs and huggies for doing such good work.
++++++++++++++++++
Ed had just gotten off of work. Grimy, miserable, aching for a cigarette. He worked at a recycling facility and his boss would bitch and run his mouth if he came into work smelling of smoke. Shitty work for shitty pay but hey, it’s all he could get. Walking into his roach-infested apartment, all he wanted to do was relax and waste away the rest of the night with TV and drugstore brand whiskey.
Well. There was one thing out of sorts. Something had fucked with his coffee table. Walking over to it, bending down and picking up the packet of piss covered cigarettes, he’d curse. Fucking rats. Had to be. You never knew what they’d do. Well, he’d go to the gas station to pick more up after taking a tug from his whiskey.
That’s when he got a good look at the kitchen. That hadn’t been a rat which pissed on his smokes. No, there were clear hoofprints of laundry detergents and soap looping around all over the place. His fluffy. Fucking Rocky. He’d felt sorry for it. Nobody wanted the brown ones. They were practically worthless. He gave it a home and this is how he was repaid?
“Calm down, Ed, no big deal. Just clean it up. It’s just an animal. Booze.” Yeah, booze. It’s all he wanted. Stomping off to the bathroom and getting a good look, he saw Rocky standing there beside his whiskey bottle. A bottle which was now covered in feces.
“Daddeh! Wocky hewp daddeh! Am bestest espowin’ babbeh ‘fo yew!” The fluffy gave him a wide smile. Waggled his little ashy tail around. Ed closed his eyes, nostrils flaring.
“What the fuck did you do, you little retard!? Huh!? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” Ed picked the little colt up, dragging him up so they were face to face. The fluffy squirmed around a bit.
“Daddeh! Nu bad wowds! Dey am bad wowds! Su su bad!” The fluffy didn’t seem repentant about anything he had done.
“Yeah? I’m going to fucking kill you, Rocky. I’m not going to be creative about it. I’m just going to kill you. How’s that sound?” Ed asked, glaring at the fluffy. Rocky gave a few shakes of his head.
“Nu gib fowebba sweepies! Dat am bad! Miss Mannehs say nu sposed tu gib fowebbah sweepies!” The fluffy was crying by now. Sniffling, tears running down from his eyes. “Wocky wub yew daddeh! Dun wan daddeh tu be saddies ‘o huwties!”
Ed stared at him for a long moment. Transferred his hand to it’s mane. The colt quivered a bit, bottom lip jutting out. He was right: Rocky was going to die, and he wasn’t going to be creative about it. The fluffy was slammed face first into the mildewed wall of the shower, a disgusting crunch evident as he destroyed practically every bone in it’s face on his first try.
“PWEASE DADDEH WOCKY WUB YEW!” It screeched, and Ed was quite frankly surprised it could speak after that blow. He continued to slam the colt against the wall until pieces of it’s face were transferred over to the grimy surface, continuing on long after his legs had stopped scrabbling around and struggling for release. Ed continued until there was only a large splotch of gore, matted hair, brain matter, and shards of bone. In his hands was a practically headless body. Huffing, puffing, he’d toss Rocky into the bathroom trashcan which was practically just a heap of used condoms and empty liquor bottles.
Picking up the whiskey bottle, he’d run it over the tap until most of the shit was rinsed off. Afterwards he’d sink down on his shitter and take several tugs from it, giving a satisfied sigh.
“Seeya later, Rocky.”
