Cover art done by the lovely @LemonCurds, who takes commissions!
In a post fluffy world, economic and social trends adjusted to meet new problems, and fulfill new desires. While they legally weren’t alive, the torture and abuse of fluffies still carried a stigma. As a result, companies that specialized in fluffy discipline appeared wherever fluffies were found.
Record capital investment and virtually zero percent interest rates allowed unlimited growth right until the world realized that fluffies were in a bubble. The average price of a fluffy went from hundreds of dollars to free, and hundreds of abuse centers found themselves being bought up and consolidated into two major entities. MiseriCorp and Cocytus Farms. This is the story of MiseriCorp.
Deacon was working a double. His ankles swollen and gritty, and with eyes too wide, he transcended the normal human limits of exhaustion, finding within himself an eternal wellspring of malice. This had become a habit for Deacon the past six months; from the moment he woke up until he collapsed into a dreamless sleep, he found himself rotating between duties at the MiseriCorp compound like the fate of the world depended on it. He supervised retail, worked the lines, trained nurse mares, chopped the legs off milk bags, rode along on extermination calls, trained anyone who was new, and when a dam was giving birth he was the first person in the room. It was hard for him to pin down why he did this, or what had brought about the change, but Deacon didn’t care. He was on fire! He was only sleeping about six hours a night, but he honestly didn’t feel tired. Each morning was like a refreshing cannonball of adrenaline straight to his chest, and all he could think about was fluffies. The circles under his eyes were probably nothing.
What Deacon knew for certain was that in that time, the accident and shrinkage rates had both dropped by sixty percent at his MiseriCorp location. It had been difficult for Deacon to step outside of his comfort zone, he had a principle about performing tasks not detailed in his job description, but after manually retraining half the staff he had both improved worker competency and ingratiated himself with basically every level of value production. It paid to have friends in low places when dealing with fluffies, and it made him a “stickier” employee. You can’t fire the guy everyone trusts and relies on without good reason. Deacon was breezing his way towards the reception area while trying to fan his pits. He was always hot lately, despite the air conditioning that was set to a cool sixty eight degrees. It’s like his heart was a dynamo in his chest, and his brain was the supercomputer it powered. Doors opened to the large hall and he was met with a familiar sight: a couple that looked very angry, one holding a fluffy, and the other holding a baby with a bandage on its face.
“Hi there! What can I do ya for?”
The wife, a woman who could be anywhere between her late twenties and early forties, could only stammer at Deacon’s extremely casual demeanor.
“I- ‘What can I do ya for?’ Excuse me?”
“Oh, you’re excused. Hi my name’s Deacon, I handle the problem fluffies around here, among other things, and it looks like you have a problem fluffy on your hands! Am I right?”
“I guess so-”
“Yes, good! Alright, right this way, we can get started immediately. Come in, come in.”
Deacon cajoled the young couple into his office without giving them room to refuse. Even a moron could see that this was an emotional visit, and he was looking to take advantage of that. Angry people were more likely to agree with Deacon on matters of fluffies, and he wanted an easy win. Husband and wife allowed themselves to be shepherded, and Deacon busied himself preparing drinks for himself and his guests. It was a new tradition for him; just because he was a professional didn’t mean they couldn’t have a good time doing business. Setting down glasses in front of his guests, he didn’t notice their expression change, nor did it lessen his toothy smile.
“What’ll you have? I’m having absinthe today.”
“Okay, I’m sorry, what? This is very serious for us, and the way you’re acting is completely unacceptable! I’d like to speak to your superior! You come in here, wearing sunglasses indoors, start talking over my husband and I and now you’re pouring drinks?! I thought this was the best place in the tri-state area for fluffy discipline, but if this is how MiseriCorp employees act I think I’ll go to Cocytus.”
Deacon had positioned the brouilleur over his glass but now paused, libations momentarily forgotten. Pushing things aside, he leaned over his desk towards the space between the couple, but kept his attention on the wife, the speaker. The energy that had been exploding out of Deacon from every direction was narrowed and focused into a beam of atomic hellfire, burning a hole through not only her physical body, but her soul. With one hand he lowered his green aviators and gave this woman his best Kubrick stare. Deacon almost attacked her with his eyes. They were half shut, the sclera almost pink with veins, and there were ugly bags rimming them. Far, far behind the neutral gray iris and inky black pupils, a bottomless hunger made itself visible.
“Ma’am, I can assure you.” He began, his voice dropping its casual slurring and lighthearted lilt for cold menace. He spoke low, but with intensity. “I’ve been working with fluffies for a very long time, and I’ve been working with their owners for almost as long. Looking at you two, I’m guessing that something happened between your fluffy and your baby, yes? I can also see it’s got you pretty upset, but whatever happened, it’s already happened, and it can’t happen any more. Now you’re in the best place you could be, which is my office. And since that’s the case, what we should do now is get comfortable, have a few drinks, and have a nice, long chat about what’s been going on, and what you want me to do about it.”
“I- Okay.”
Having deflated the woman, Deacon resumed his casual air. He put a sugar cube into his brouilleur and added water, watching each drip dissolve the sugar and louche his drink. At his insistence the couple asked for vodka sodas and Deacon finally made introductions. Before him sat Ian and Jaquelyn Marvelle. For almost ten years they had managed a series of social media accounts for their pet fluffies, and made a pretty penny doing it. Their current star was a DayGlo yellow fluffalo with a white mane named Stella, and she was given a life that Deacon almost envied. The Marvelles were already financially comfortable before social media success, being real estate brokers, but with Stella their jobs became to lavish their pet on an almost constant basis. They gave her daily baths by hand, rubbed medicated lotion into her hooves, gave her facials, prepared a special raw food diet, walked her three times a day, and dressed her in clothes provided by sponsors. All of this and more was filmed and photographed, and posted to her various socials to receive unbelievable engagement. While the money was nothing to sneeze at, fluffy content was oversaturated by the nature of fluffy existence, and the Marvelles had always aspired to a higher calling: family content. That’s where the real money was: established brands, television appearances, book deals, makeup lines, self help classes, selling hot sauce; the doors were wide open to them, if only they could get their hands on a human child. They had always tried for one, and approximately ten months ago a miracle had finally happened.
Introducing Astarion Daenerys Marvelle, yes, they actually named him that. Little Astarion was an overnight celebrity in the Marvelle household; when Stella had been introduced to her “little brother” she immediately took a shine to him. That same day the two were seen playing as though Astarion was himself a chirpy babbeh. Like many older siblings, the Marvelles believed, Stella eventually got jealous of her human brother. As Ian and Jacquelyn settled into their new family life she would express concern that Astarion was getting more attention than her, pouting or whining that it wasn’t fair. In the beginning her owners thought it was cute and empathized with her, reassuring Stella that they still loved her just as much as before. They had meant it, and they had made an effort to make it felt, but after a week of raising a newborn baby Stella got shut in her safe room much more often. She also stopped getting facials, or massages, or baths, and she was reduced to one walk a day. The Marvelles were full steam ahead on establishing their baby’s social media presence, and filming family vlogs to get all those new mom views. Astarion was now a month old, and his parents had the idea to take a video of him riding Stella. Fluffalos are known to be larger and sturdier than the typical fluffy, and with a saddle he would be able to sit mostly upright. It was like a cat sitting on the back of an English bulldog. What the Marvelles didn’t expect is that once the cat was sitting on the bulldog, and their parents both stepped away to film them “organically” playing, the bulldog would immediately buck the cat off and gore its face with keratin horns.
That had happened earlier this morning, and now cat, bulldog, and both their parents were sitting before Deacon. With the drinks’ help the Marvelles were spilling their guts while he simply listened and nodded, his eyebrows furrowing more and more as details were revealed. As the series of events reached the present moment there was silence, and Deacon took the opportunity to speak, injecting levity into his expression intentionally.
“So, what would you like me to do to miss Stella Marvelle?”
“I just don’t want anything like this to happen ever again.”
“Can I get that in writing?”
Like that, their contract was drafted. The Marvelles were done with fluffies as a business, and their beloved son would likely have a scar which could hurt all their chances of stardom. The only goal was to punish Stella for hurting him, and to make sure she would never do such a thing again. It was perfect for Deacon, a true return to form where he didn’t have to worry about preserving anything. After he got John Hancocks from both owners he stood.
“Good. All signed and sealed. Now, let’s begin the intake.”
“Thank you Deacon, I was starting to think I had done something wrong as a parent!”
“Oh, don’t you worry. Whatever happened, you may think it all a mere bad dream. The next time you see Stella, you won’t even recognize her.”
Intake was a relatively painless process. Deacon was so excited he actually put Stella’s crate onto a dolly himself, only to quickly be reminded he was dealing with a fluffalo. He told Thing One and Thing Two to each bring a friend to compensate. On Deacon’s orders the party of five wheeled the oversized box through the labyrinthine halls of MiseriCorp, the first thing he wanted to do was give little Miss Marvelle a bath. The reasons for this were twofold: the first is that Deacon had never received a fluffalo at MiseriCorp before, and this was a good opportunity to get a feel for their physicality. The second was that he really wanted to see it screech. This mistake of nature had already gone and harmed not just a real living being, but a human being. The level of presumptuousness that must exist within Stella Marvelle set Deacon’s radioactive blood to pounding. With five adult men and a carrier fit for a medium sized dog packed inside, the bathroom was cramped. Pressed dick to butt, Deacon directed his aides in opening the carrier and finally beheld his charge.
Stella Marvelle was a fluffalo, he knew that, but he wasn’t entirely prepared for what that entailed. Instead of being built like a horse that had packed on some pounds, fluffalos were much broader in the chest and hips, giving them a sturdier base. A fluffalo’s shoulders were also much larger and taller than a typical horse’s and gave their body a downward slope towards their hind legs. Their heads were sized accordingly, and unlike typical fluffies that had around one third’s chance to be a unicorn, pegasus, or earthie, all fluffalos had two horns sprouting from the sides of their head, male or female. Deacon knew this, but was still more than a little surprised to see a DayGlo tank be lifted bodily by four men and placed in a too-small washtub. Instead of screeing, she gave out a long, hysterical low.
“NUUUUUUUUUUUU! Wawa bad fow fwuffies! Stewwa nu wike wawa, am gud fwuffy!”
Well, that misconception had to be nipped in the bud.
“You definitely are not that. Stella Marvelle, you’ve been a very bad fluffy, and you’re going to be punished for it!”
Deacon punctuated his sentence by wrenching the cold water open, pasting her mane to her neck like a skunk’s stripe. Stella thrashed her hippo-esque noggin as she felt it and actually caught one of the aides in the wrist with her horn. The man yelped, and blood could be seen dripping from the fingers he wrapped around it. That gave Deacon an idea, and he went to the trouble of gripping her horns for the rest of the bath, for safety. Stella’s yellow fluff was so bright it almost gave off its own light, its cheerful glow contrasted by how powerfully she resisted being washed. Shivering and furious, Stella was placed back in her carrier and wheeled to the infirmary, where Lefty, Righty, and Middle were all keeping busy. Lefty washed baby bottles, Middle checked and rechecked patient charts, and Righty was administering therapeutic scratches to one of the fluffies in the sick wing. There was still no one filling the position of surgeon. Deacon had put in a request for something to be done about the lapse, but all he’d heard since was that his suggestion was under review. Seeing the trio, he announced his presence with gusto.
“Heeeey you guuuuys! I’ve got a double dehorning for you here.”
Three heads snapped to where Deacon was standing with a gigantic fluffy carrier before him, flanked by more aides than usual. Lefty was the first to recover.
“What, ya got twins in there? That’s an awful big crate.”
“Even better, it’s a fluffalo!”
Deacon patted the carrier excitedly with his exclamation and was met with several loud bangs against the metal. It didn’t deform the metal, but the sound was impressive, and it shook the dolly Stella was sitting on.
“She’s a bit of a problem child. We’re looking to get her ‘baby-proofed,’ as it were.” His white teeth were a half moon on his face.
“Problem child? She’s a dang terror! Hold on, I’ll get a rope.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that. There’s more than enough people here to get the job done! We’ll handle the legs, and it would only take two of you at most to get her horns off.”
Hesitantly, but with Deacon’s encouragement, it was done exactly like he’d described. He and his remaining aides each grabbed one of young Miss Marvelle’s legs and hoisted her bulk into the air, limbs splayed. Stella protested, and swung her head around to try and find another victim, but Deacon was wise to that now. From his position at her front right leg, he caught her horn in a death grip and limited her range of motion. Eventually Middle, the tallest person in the room, stepped up and took the burden off of Deacon, using his entire body to keep her head still. The five men stood there, muscles straining, as Lefty took a reciprocating saw to the beast’s horns. The sound of the electric motor set her eyes to rolling crazily, trying to identify the source of the noise. As it touched the nerveless keratin, a burning smell filled the room, and the vibration had Stella bucking and jerking against her “restraints”. It was only when the saw’s teeth reached the bony core of her horn that Stella gave a deep, gurgling bellow that vibrated her barrel chest. Blood ran from the freshly singed bone and Deacon found himself nearly crushing Stella’s leg as she redoubled her efforts to get away. Now his blood was really pumping.
“She felt that! Do the other one.”
While she was being vocal, Stella wasn’t nearly as verbal as a standard fluffy would be in this situation. There was no mention of pretty horns, or how she was a good fluffy, she didn’t beg for forgiveness, Stella just snorted, coughed, bellowed and lowed. With one of his handles now removed, Middle had to readjust her into a sort of headlock to get the other horn. The entire time she tried to pull her head backwards, out of his arms, as well as randomly bucking and arching her back to shake loose or catch someone with her remaining weapon. Although it was scary, especially for Middle, whose face was the closest to danger, Lefty removed her other horn without issue. Sufficiently baby proofed, and exhausted from fighting with five adult men and one farm girl, Stella put up minimal resistance while a patch of pretty fluff was shaved off of her neck and a weird collar was tightened around it. Now finished with intake, she was once again loaded into her carrier and rolled to her final destination: Multipurpose Room 2. It was furnished as a standard safe room, there was no need for adjustments with what Deacon had in mind. The bed was perfectly serviceable, food and water bowls were unadorned, and while the padded floors and walls were colorful they also looked old, and faded. By way of toys, the room had some blocks, a ball, a stuffy friend, and a baby doll with a green indicator light on its head. In spite of all the commotion before, Stella bit an aide’s finger while they were setting her down, and it actually drew blood.
Stella was spitting mad. Mummah and daddeh had finally left her alone with her STOOPI babbeh brother, so she’d given him sorry hoofies and pointy hurties, but they watched her somehow! Not only had they stopped her before it got good, now she had been taken to this stoopi place where dummeh hoomins gave her a bath and gave her horns hurties! She swore, the next time she saw him she’d give that babbeh the worstest hurties ever! She hated the hoomins here too, she wanted to give them hurties and sorry hoofies, but they had gone away. The big black collar on her neck felt weird where it touched her skin. It had two bits that were kind of pokey, not in a way that was sharp like needle owies, it was a dull pain. Stella tried to scratch at it with her hooves, but her body wasn’t quite the right shape for it. Stoopi collar! Frustrated, but with nothing to be done, she paced around the safe room, seeing all the usual things, fuzzy as they were. There were the blockies, there was the bed, there was the stuffy friend, there was the babbeh. The babbeh? Without needing to think Stella went on the attack. Dropping low, she brought her head up in a savage arc that would have punctured a child’s neck, had there still been any horns on her head. Stella met no resistance and blinked. Had she missed? She swung again, but still she didn’t hit the babbeh. Snorting in frustration, Stella abandoned her attempts at goring and lashed out with a savage right hoof at her hated enemy.
Three things happened in sequence: Stella’s hoof connected with the babbeh’s head, unseen by Stella, the indicator light on its head turned red, and the big black collar on Stella’s neck gave her hurties like she had never experienced before. This was different from any hurties she’d felt at home, like the time she bumped into the table while running. It was even different from the hurties she’d had earlier that day, when the hoomins gave her bad upsies. It’s like the hurties went into her blood, radiating out from where the collar touched her neck. The hurties also made her muscles tense up, and she lost her balance because of it. After two forevers it stopped, and Stella shook herself off. Well that was weird. She’d hit the babbeh, but she was the one with hurties. She eyed it with suspicion, now it was laying down. Stoopi babbeh! That was the second time she’d gotten hurties because of it, and they had both happened this bright time. Stella kicked it again, and again hurties made her leggies seize up, catching her off balance. Her neck stung, and her chest and shoulders were sort of twitchy. Was the babbeh hitting her back? Indignant, she redoubled her efforts to kill the accursed babbeh, this time delivering a stiff-legged stomp that would obliterate a grapefruit. All Stella got in return were even worse hurties, for even more forevers! With every shock Stella received she was spurred to new heights of violence and anger. How dare this babbeh hurt her! The longer the hurties went on, she started to falter. Even when the hurties made her chest feel funny, she kept going. Even after her leggies started wobbling, she kept going. One way or another, she was going to get rid of this stoopi babbeh, and win her mummah and daddeh back!
Deacon, Thing One, and Thing Two were huddled around a small CRT television. They were cracking beers, as was their custom, but a strange mood had fallen over the trio. Deacon often likened his observation room to a back porch, a place where family and close friends could sit and kill time. He’d spent many a night in his youth on a rocking chair or a stool, watching yellow tongues of fire flicker while bugs hit the zapper. They had always been peaceful, reassuring times, but this felt like a perversion of that memory. How would you feel if you and your friends watched a giant, mutant fly doggedly plow itself face first into a bug zapper, over and over again? It brought stories of suicides during the invasion of Okinawa to mind, Japanese citizens sometimes resorting to rocks or sticks to kill each other, rather than be captured by the enemy.
“She just keeps going…” Deacon finally broke the silence between them.
“Yeah, I mean, we knew she’d be hardier than normal but she’s a damn tank. At least she’s breathing hard now.”
Thing Two thought differently. “Need I remind you two that a normal fluffy would be catatonic from that amount of juice? I’m both shocked and terrified that she’s still kicking. I mean, what if she doesn’t budge?”
“Hey, if it doesn’t work the first forty times, zap her another forty times. That’s a modified cattle prod she’s wearing, she’ll get the message eventually. You going soft, man? You should know better than most how this goes.”
“Yeah, I’m just worried that even though we upped the ante it isn’t enough.”
“Well it’s a good thing I’m in charge, then, and you’re just Thing Two. If you do this as long as I have, you might learn a thing or two- oh crap I gotta go.” Deacon pointed at Thing One. “Goofus, you look after Gallant and keep an eye on our client. Give me a call if anything changes.”
Without waiting for a response Deacon spun on his heels and dashed into the hallway. He’d been interrupted mid beration by his walkie-talkie, five squawks was the code for pest control. He liked pest control jobs. They were usually simple jobs, and it was one of the few wings of the MiseriCorp compound that hadn’t been emaciated when he started working here. That meant the staff was already competent, and he could usually let them handle everything. Even so, it paid to have friends who trawled the streets for strays most days. Since the Tombo incident, Deacon had established himself as head boss of the fluffy catchers; generally more knowledgeable about fluffies, but not in the specifics of catching them. In exchange for lending him their eyes and ears, Deacon would give them the go ahead on when to “lose” a captured fluffy, instead of euthanizing ferals and putting chipped fluffies up for adoption. They made a little extra money on the side, and he was kept apprised of anything interesting they saw.
While a normal animal control building would be full of cages to house all the critters, that was handled by other wings at the MiseriCorp compound. Pest control consisted of a series of garage bays, each occupied by a large white van with simple black MiseriCorp decals. The walls were lined with various tools, some sprayers, spayers, stabbers, grabbers, pokers, burners, and even mops. Entering the building, he made his way over to the “A team,” named so because their van was parked in the “A” bay, and they were the ones he talked to the most by far. Deacon cast his gaze around, noticing half the garages were sans van.
“Hey fellas, busy today? Waddaya got for me?”
Three men in blue overalls turned to greet Deacon. They were all in their late 20s, and like Deacon this was the only thing they’d done professionally in their lives. In ascending order of height, their names were Bob, Rob, and Job. Deacon didn’t use anything else to distinguish them.
“Got a bit of a weird one, boss.” Job hesitated. “Customer says they’re currently on vacation, but they want us to come by and take care of a problem fluffy in their backyard. They paid upfront, but the weird thing is they can’t give us a description. They just say it’s loud and it’s back there.”
“And you want me to make the call? Okay, I guess that’s my job. Lead the way.”
Without another word the quartet packed into the van, brimming with its terrible instruments. The stench of ten thousand bowel movements hung in the air, mixing with enough disinfectant to fill an olympic sized swimming pool. The engine’s sound dampening had been shot years ago, its buzz providing a backdrop for the tinkling of tools as they cornered. It was loud, it was smelly, and it was cramped, but it beat walking. After twenty minutes of driving the group reached a new housing development, every single-family home having one of three floor plans in either a standard or mirrored orientation. There was a conspicuous absence of trees, and the sun baked the chalky white sidewalks like it missed them. Many of the units still had “For Lease” signs, but as they drove in the direction of downtown things became more lived in. The brakes squeaked as they brought van “A” to a halt. The best thing that could be said about the house the four men inside looked at is that it stood out. Instead of being stonework, or painted white, it was covered top to bottom in a garish purple paint scheme, and their lawn grew long and wild. Bob, Rob, and Job all turned to Deacon, their eyes asking questions even as their mouths moved.
“See? It’s suspicious, isn’t it? Should we just say nevermind?”
His supercomputer working overtime, Deacon had already put a few arguments together on the ride over. “How did the client say they saw this fluffy, given they’re on vacation?”
“Uh, they said there are Ring cameras set up.”
“And you said they’ve already paid for pest control to be performed at this address, which they claim to live at?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, legally that’s all the justification we need to be here. Let’s take a look around, at least.”
The four men shuffled out of the cramped van, leaving their equipment inside for the moment. Deacon took point as they waded through the calf length grass, which was definitely in violation of HOA regulations, and towards the back gate. The latch was new enough, not rusted shut from being unused, but the grass made it difficult to open. Deacon wrenched it open about a man’s body width and stuck his leg in front of it as a precaution. Bob, Rob, and Job all filed in and he followed behind them, shutting the gate. The backyard of the house contrasted the front in a couple ways: less grass and more junk. By deacon’s eye this place was definitely inhabited by a herbivore, the vegetation being kept to a manageable height was evidence of that. The grass was also littered with various bits; a rusty fire pit, an upside-down plastic pool, a washing machine, door open, a deflated basketball, broken bricks, and a bird bath, missing its stand, filled with rainwater that formed a green, slimy film on the stone. Taking note of this, Deacon saw a single round hoof print on the bath’s lip, leaving an impression in the algae. He pointed this out to his “A” team and told them to search everything in the yard. The four men fanned out, waving their hands and using the mass of their bodies to flush out any hiding fluffs. They acted like a wall that swept the area of the yard. About halfway through they got a hit, and a filthy, stinking fluffy erupted from the overturned washing machine.
“SCREEEEEEEEEE! NU HUWT STAW-WITE, NU HUWT STAW-WITE! STAW-WITE SOWWY DADDEH, PWEASE GIB CWEANIES AN HUGGIES! STAW-WITE SOWWY!”
Without Deacon having to say anything, Bob, Rob and Job sprang into action, cornering the creature in just a few minutes. Once the hard part was over, Deacon strolled over to see what all the fuss was about. Bob and Rob were holding the fluffy spread eagle to keep themselves clean, and Job was giving him a worried look.
“Did you hear all that? I don’t think this is a feral, I don’t even know if this fluffy is lost. What are the odds the owner of this house didn’t even call us?”
“They’re not zero. Let’s talk to it anyway, see what’s up.” He stepped forward and put his face in front of the panicking fluffy’s. “So, Starlight is it? Is this your house? Does your daddeh live here?”
Starlight snapped out of her frenzy at the sound of her name, and sniffled. “Uh huh. Daddeh wibes hewe.”
“I see, and what are you doing out here?”
“Umm, Daddeh wiked watchin teebee wiff Staw-wite, fwuffy eben named Staw-wite aftew teebee hooman! Den teebee show gib daddeh angwies, stawted cawwin’ it ‘wokies’ an’ ‘wibewaw poopies,’ den Daddeh got angwies at Staw-wite! Nao fwuffy wibes outside, an nu hab cweanies ow kibbwe nummies.”
Deacon stared for a few seconds and gave a harsh, barking laugh, his face twisting into an uncontrollable grin. “HA!" Stepping backwards, he tilted his head to the sky and rest his fists on the small of his back. "So you mean to say, your owner named you after a character from The Boys, and after all this time he realized the show was making fun of him, so now he doesn’t like you or the show anymore? HA! That’s fucking awesome.”
It was Job that brought reason back into his mirth. “So what do we do? I’m willing to bet it was a neighbor who made the call, do we refund the card?”
Deacon hummed and made a show of resting his chin on his hand. “While that’s probably true, this sort of thing is exactly why the city subsidizes us in the first place. A fluffy left outside in these conditions is liable to spread disease, or worse, its own genetics. Plus we have plausible deniability, plus look at her, Starlight is a white unicorn with gold streaks in her mane, I’m sure she’s worth something to us.”
“But, she just told us herself that this is her house, wouldn’t this be stealing?”
“Ah, she’s just a stupid fucking animal, what does she know? Plus, I think it’s really funny that she got kicked out because of ‘woke’. Put her in the van.”
And so it was. Bob and Rob carried Starlight like a stretcher and dumped her unceremoniously into an empty crate. The ride back was equally loud and smelly, the heartbroken sobs of a mare lending themselves to the cacophony. It was only after the van had pulled into the garage, and the key left the ignition, that Deacon finally heard his walky-talky go off. It was Thing Two.
“Deacon? Come in, Deacon.”
“This is Deacon, go ahead I hear you.”
“Sir, she drained the battery.”
“…”
“What?! I haven’t even been gone an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That battery was intended to last her three days.”
“Yes, sir.”
Deacon’s fingers clenched and unclenched with both shock and annoyance. He hated to be proven wrong. Even when allowances were made for her physicality, he was still taken by surprise. Heaving a sigh, he made a decision.
“Alright then, go ahead and prep the sorry pit.”
“I- right away, sir.”
With that annoyance fresh on his mind Deacon turned to the stinky trio. Bob, Rob, and Job were busying themselves with wiping down the interior of the van, as well as unloading any extra equipment they had brought to their proper places. Starlight and her cage had been left in the middle of the garage, where she was openly weeping and tapping on the wire mesh door with leathery hooves. The three men seemed to have forgotten her. Deacon almost had too, he had more important things to deal with now. He snapped his fingers at the tallest of the three.
“Job. Since you were on point today I’ll let you take Starlight home. Just mark her as disposed and make sure no one sees you walk out with it. We wouldn’t want anyone to get jealous, would we?”
Deacon didn’t even bother to register the thanks that were sent his way, he was already on to the next task. He had underestimated a fluffalo’s physicality before, now he’d use it to his advantage. Harry Harlow is, and was, an extremely controversial figure for the work he did at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and not without reason. I mean, there’s no reason you have to name an artificial insemination device the “rape rack,” you do it to stir up people’s emotions, or because you’ve got personal issues. In Harlow’s case it was probably both, and having read up on the man 43 years after his death Deacon thought he was an asshole. Still, it was to him that Deacon breathed a silent prayer of thanks. No man had so unapologetically pursued the creation of misery in a living creature and gotten the kind of all-encompassing, rapid results he had. He’d claimed to be studying the nature of love, but he only really found ways to break the hearts of rhesus monkeys. Now Deacon needed to break a stubborn, bull headed, unusually energetic fluffy’s heart, and he had just the way to do it.
After much walking and a little coordination with a walky-talky, Deacon, Thing One and Thing Two stood before the door of Multipurpose Room 2. The aides were busy wheeling a large steel contraption between them that had been fabricated in-house many years ago. It was about four feet tall, shaped like an inverted triangle with wire mesh for a roof. The walls were incredibly steep, and met at a point. It had no floor. There was a drainage hole in the bottom, and what looked like a hamster’s water bottle poking through one side. Seeing everything was in order, Deacon entered the room and was immediately taken by the offensive odor. He’d expected to see things a little messy, he definitely expected to see the baby doll torn to pieces like it was, but it was as though a shitnado came through in the past 90 minutes. He turned to Thing Two in annoyance.
“Could have warned me about the mess, before I wore new shoes in here.”
“Sorry sir, this is news to me too. Last I saw she was misbehaving, but not like this.”
“Whatever.” Deacon grumbled. “Let’s get this done, I have other shit to do.”
Stepping into the room proper, Stella finally noticed the human’s presence. She’d been keeping busy, systematically dismantling what she thought was her baby brother with her hooves and square teeth, and Deacon was reminded of how large dogs destroy their chew toys. Seeing Deacon, she immediately squared up and charged him while bellowing her war cry.
“Dummeh hoomin! Gib Stewwa mummah an’ daddeh nao ow get wowstest huwties!”
Deacon braced for it. Now was the time to project strength. Shifting his weight a little, Deacon made a show of looking casual as he took the headbutt to his shin. It hurt, and it would definitely bruise, but he’d suffered worse as a kid on the playground. He covered his grunt with a chuckle and stood, statuesque, while Miss Stella Marvelle reared up and savaged his leg with her semi-firm hooves. After her sustained attack didn’t even flinch Deacon she backed up, and he took the lull as an opportunity to speak.
“Hey Stella. You having fun in here?”
“Stewwa hatechu! Take Stewwa ‘way fwom mummah an’ daddeh!”
“Mm hmm, and I trust you’ve been taking good care of your baby brother like your parents wanted?”
A mischievous grin overtook her bovine features. “Hehehehe! Babbeh gib Stewwa huwties, so Stewwa gib babbeh fowebah sweepies, nao mummah an’ daddeh onwy wub Stewwa!”
Now Deacon had to pretend he was surprised. He gave Stella a good show, even though his heart wasn’t in it. Big gasps, hands on his cheeks, looking back and forth a few times, as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. She was really buying it, too. He could see the logic chain running through her mind, all that Deacon could do now was send her straight home now that the baby problem was solved. What came next made all the playacting worth it. He injected a little more concern into his voice.
“But Stella, now you’ll never get to go home! You’re gonna be here forever!”
The confidence dropped out from under Stella like its name was Wile E. Coyote. Her broad grin narrowed, her smug eyes widened, her tail and ears drooped in a cartoonish way. She could only offer one question:
“…wha?”
“What do you mean, ‘what?’ This was just supposed to be a temporary thing, and once you and your brother got along again you’d both go home! Didn’t you know that? Somebody should have told you.”
Stella had a thousand-yard stare, her mouth opening and closing while she realized what was happening. “Buh- buh- buh- Stewwa nu knu! Wha? Stewwa nu knu! Wha?”
“Oh, now you’re going to lie too? This is MiseriCorp, the employees here are the very best! If I told Thing Two here to tell you, he definitely would have. Right, Thing Two?”
With a pointed stare from Deacon, Thing Two played his role perfectly. “That’s right, I told her this morning, in fact.”
“I thought so. Well Stella, you knew the rules and you broke them, so now you’re gonna die here.”
Shock turned into horror before Deacon’s eyes, and Stella immediately started to beg. “NUUUUU! Nu gib Stewwa fowebah sweepies! Stewwa suu sowwy, jus wan mummah an’ daddeh. Stewwa nebah, ebah gib sowwy hoofies ‘gain!”
“Oh, we’re not gonna kill you, don’t worry. You’re just never going to leave. You’re going to die… in this.”
Stepping to the side, Deacon revealed the contraption Things One and Two had been so patiently waiting beside. The cold fluorescent lighting reflected off it in an ugly way.
“W- wat am dat?”
Thing One stepped forward to speak, but in his excitement caught a frog in his throat. “The pit of despair, don’t even think about trying to-” he gave a wet, hacking cough and removed the frog. “Don’t even think about trying to escape. The walls are far too steep, and don’t think anyone is coming to get you either.”
Tickled by this subtle cultural reference, Deacon actually smiled this time. “Got it in one, Thing One. Alright Stella, into the pit you go.”
“NUUUUUUUUUU! Stewwa sowwy! Stewwa sowwy! Nu wan sowwy pit, pwease wet fwuffy gu! Nu wan, nu wan!”
For all her hysterics, Stella had been mentally stunlocked by recent events, and didn’t put up much resistance to being put in the sorry pit. She hung limply as she huued and lowed, occasionally pulling at an arm with feeble hooves. The entire time she called out for her mummah and daddeh, or her brother, or even Deacon to save her. She couldn’t make it difficult even if she wanted, the opening for the pit was wider than her leg span, and she dropped in easily. As the mesh door was padlocked shut Stella tried a final, desperate plea, making doe eyes through the wire at Deacon.
“Pwease mistew, Stewwa nu wan fowebah sweepies. Stewwa can be gud fwuffy, wet Stewwa out pwease?”
He pretended to think about it. “Hmmmm, well, I guess if you really were a good fluffy I could change my mind. Okay, I’ll let you out if you can be a good fluffy in here for… three months!”
“Fwee monff? How wong am monff?”
“Three months is uh… around 130,000 forevers? Let’s just call it a hundred thousand.”
“… how big am fousand?”
Deacon didn’t even respond as he left, he just laughed, heartily. His aides in tow shared a glance, it had been some time since they’d seen their boss in such high spirits. He’d been animated in recent months, yes, but he was always angry at something. Now he was grinning like a fool, high-stepping his way out of Multipurpose Room 2 like he’d just met an old friend. He kind of had, in a way. It had been too long since Deacon gaslit a fluffy just for the love of the game. Working complicated cases paid well, but the stress of taking a treatment too far always weighed on his mind. Working with Stella was liberating. He didn’t have to worry about taking things too far, or giving her more than she could handle. He’d even been paid upfront. Why shouldn’t he just bust out old reliable, then present the Marvelles with a catatonic ex-troublemaker they can either keep or kill? If six months was good enough for the rhesus monkeys, a fluffy would be reduced to a puddle in half that time with their heightened sensitivity to loneliness.
“Alright then,” Thing One started to peel off, even though he hadn’t been dismissed. “I’m gonna find someone to clean that up, and get someone to feed and water Stella.”
Snapping out of his joie de vivre, Deacon was back in action mode, arm rigid as he pointed towards thing one. “Belay that! No need to make it any more pleasant for Stella than it has to be. And while I’m at it,” he rotated his body thirty degrees, full of tension, to point at Thing Two. “You can be the one to feed and hose her.”
“What about the three months thing? Is that real?”
Deacon sucked his teeth and scrunched his face in disappointment. “Fuckin, of course it’s not real, man! Use your brain. Her owners practically sold Stella to us, we could kill her today if we wanted.” After a beat, he leans forward. “But we don’t. ‘Cause I’m having fun.”
Stella was in the sorry pit. Where else would she be? She’d made her mummah and daddeh angry. This whole time she’d thought this was about the babbeh, that the babbeh had somehow gotten her put in this terrible place. When they’d hit her back, she thought it even more. Then the hoomin in black told her the truth, and Stella realized what a terrible mistake she’d made. Being mean to the babbeh wouldn’t get mummah and daddeh to love her again, she had to be a good fluffy. Only good fluffies got huggies and wub. It was hard, though, especially here in the cramped, cold sorry pit. The walls were hard and shiny, Stella had tried to find a way to stand or even sit comfortably, but the pit’s shape made it impossible. She’d settled for curling up in one of the corners, and spreading her weight on the flat sides as much as she could. There wasn’t a place for her to make good poopies. The first time she’d had to go, Stella had begged and begged, banging on the walls of the pit for someone to help until she had an accident. Even then, no one had come to help her, or scold her, or do anything to her. She just had to sit in it. Some time later, a hoomin wearing white had come into the room. She knew, because he peeked in to look at her before she was blasted with cold wawa! It soaked her pretty fluff, and washed away the bad poopies and pee pees she’d made into a small hole. Eventually she learned to drink the wawa when it came, they didn’t give her any besides that.
The lights were always on. Their color temperature gave the impression of a midday sun, but there was no warmth. Stella usually just slept after the wawa. It had taken a few sleep times, but she’d found her food. Sticking out of one of the flat walls, opposite to where Stella usually sat, was a metal thing that looked like spaghetti but wasn’t. If she licked at it, a horrible gray mush oozed out. At least it got rid of her tummeh hurties. Even as bad as it was in the sorry pit, she didn’t complain. The hoomin in black said she had to last a hundred thousand forevers, however long that was. Once she had, she could see her mummah and daddeh again! She just had to hold on. The smell of sorry poopies from when she’d been a bad fluffy burned her sensitive smell place, but she held on. The wawa made her shiver until her teeth hurt, but she held on. Her muscles and bones ached from never being comfortable, but she held on. Days turned into weeks, then into months, and Stella was unaware of their passing except for her daily soaking. She lost her temper, her fluff lost its luster, her mane and tail grayed, and her muscles lost their tone, but she clung to her sanity by a single thread: someday, eventually, this would end and her parents would love her again.
One hundred forty two thousand, five hundred and sixty forevers after Stella had first been imprisoned, Deacon, Thing One, and Thing Two stood before the door to Multipurpose Room 2. Technically they had added an extra week, but their charge wouldn’t notice. After this long with complete social isolation and physical suffering, Stella Marvelle was sure to be a vegetable. Deacon felt like he was about to open a time capsule, or a batch of homemade alcohol. Enough time had passed that Stella was mostly forgotten for him, and he was interested in how things had turned out in his absence. The sweet stink of months old feces choked him as they entered, but he was used to it. The aides overtook Deacon and unlocked the pit of despair, lifting Stella out of it and setting her on the floor.
Stella Marvelle hadn’t been an athletic fluffy, her considerable strength and size were mostly the result of genetics. Three months of constant sitting down combined with a survival diet had leached the life out of her body. Not that she was deprived by her caretakers, the gruel in her hamster bottle was completely nutritionally sound, if culinarily bankrupt. In the MiseriCorp kitchens it was nicknamed “nutri-paste,” although officially it had no name and was only for internal uses. Still, when Deacon looked at the diminished fluffalo his eye caught something he didn’t like: her own. After what should have been a brain breaking level of torture, this thing was still looking him in the eyes with its approximation of intelligence. At first he thought it was a fluke, but after moving his head around, then stepping side to side, he confirmed it. Watching their boss wiggle around, Thing One and Thing Two knew something was up. The latter went to his side, craning his neck like an inquisitive child.
“Hey boss, what’s the matter?”
“I don’t like the look she’s giving me. Let’s give her some more time.”
Thing Two glanced at the emaciated thing on the floor, struggling to sit upright in its weakness. Her head was fixated in Deacon’s direction, her eyes wide and pleading. “I mean, look at her. I think her spirit’s pretty broken. Can’t we just call it? I really don’t want to keep coming in here and hosing her down.”
Deacon visibly tensed, lifting his clenched fists and spinning on Thing Two in an instant. “That’s the problem, she still has a spirit. We’re not looking to break her spirit, we’re looking to destroy it; to make it not exist. She’s following my eyes, so she needs more time.”
Raising his eyebrows, but not speaking, Thing Two grabbed the retractable hose and wrenched the faucet open. As he sprayed the scum down the pit’s drain, Stella noticeably shook at the sound. Still, the wan smile on her face didn’t die. Deacon held his arms out, causing her to instinctively make an “uppies” pose. His gloved hands kneaded the spaces between her ribs a little too hard as she rose and the smile widened. Stella barely shivered when the cold, hard wall of the pit pressed against her back, still wet. Her eyes sparkled through the mesh as it was padlocked again. The three men wordlessly walked out of the room, and shut the door with a resounding KA-CHUNK. Inside Multipurpose Room 2 harsh lights buzzed, water dripped, and Stella Marvelle was once again alone.
She didn’t get it. After what felt like infinity forevers, she’d eventually lost track of their passing, Stella had seen the hoomin in black again. Her hear places had been hurting for a while at that point, and she couldn’t really make out what anybody was saying, but the hoomins had looked angry when they talked to each other. The entire time she kept looking at the hoomin in black, waiting for him to tell her she’d been a good fluffy and could go home. Then she’d heard the sound of that awful wawa, and her leggies got wobbly. Afterwards the hoomin in black had given her uppies, and she’d had the biggest heart happies, even if he squeezed her a little. Then something had happened which Stella still couldn’t understand. The hoomin in black, with a smile on his face, his eyes sparkling, put her back into the sorry pit and locked it shut. Maybe they had just come to check on her. Yes, that must be it. The hoomins had only wanted to check on her, and now that they knew she was doing fine it was time for her to go back into the pit. Stella rolled towards her food spout and gave it a few laps before shuddering at the acrid yet chalky taste. It was awful, but she gave it a dozen more all the same.
Now it was back to the waiting. She wouldn’t admit it, because good fluffies don’t complain, but she hated the waiting suuu much! Spending time in the sorry pit made her thinky place fuzzy, like everything that made her Stella was leaking out. It had gotten a little better when the hoomins came, but already she could feel herself drip drip dripping out of her hear places. She hoped she could last long enough to see her mummah and daddeh again. The hoomin in black said she needed to last a hundred… hundred thousand forevers, however many that was. The hoomins must have come to check on her halfway, so she just had… half of a hundred thousand left to go. The thought made her eyes cross a little, and Stella laid her head to one side, the nub of her horn giving her cold hurties when it touched the metal. She shuddered, not because of the hurties, but at the reminder of when they’d been taken from her. She didn’t understand it at the time, but she must have been a truly bad fluffy for the hoomins to do something like that to her. She remembered being suuuu angries back then, always trying to give them hurties or run away, and how happy she’d been when she succeeded. Even if this sorry pit was the worstest, she deserved it. The hoomins knew it too, when the door was locked on her sorry pit, the hoomin had whispered “sowwy” to her. She could tell, even if she hadn’t heard it.
What a silly thing for the hoomin to say, actually, since she definitely deserved the sorry pit. Sowwy? Why would the hoomin whisper sowwy to her? The thought itched at her leaky thinky place, and stuck its finger in the drain. Why had he said that? She was a bad fluffy, she was supposed to be in the pit with no horns, there was no reason to be sowwy. The hoomin in black had been acting weird too. When the first saw him he had the biggest angries, his talky place looked all tight and he kept making stompies, but later he’d had biggest happies. The hurties in her hear places made it hard to focus, but she tried to remember. The hoomins had been making angries at each other! After making stompies at the other hoomins for a while they had gotten sad, and the hoomin in black had the biggest happies! Stella remembered because she saw his smiling face when he gave her uppies. Then… she had been put back in the sorry pit! And the hoomin had told her sowwy… a cold hand gripped Stella’s heart but she didn’t know why. She thought back. Even on her first day here the hoomin in black had called her a bad fluffy. He always had the biggest meanies to say to her. He was always yelling, and telling the other hoomins to do meanie, hurty things to her. It was so weird that the hoomin in black smiled at her, now that Stella thought about it. It reminded her of this one time, when she was a foal. She had hurt her ankle while ‘splorin outside, but when her mummah or daddeh tried to make the hurties go away it didn’t feel good! Stella had refused any help, and decided to just limp around until it felt better. Later that same bright time, mummah told Stella that she was going to Skettiland, all she needed to do was get in the vroom vroom munstah! Every fluffy had heard of Skettiland, and the amazing nummies it had, so she jumped in without a second thought!
Imagine the shock when mummah actually took her to the doctor instead. Through all her screams her leggie had been looked at and wrapped in some not-fluff, then she’d been treated to spaghetti. The many, many treats, massages, facials, and other sweet things soon drowned out the sour memory, only in the quiet of the sorry pit did it resurface. Why? There was a fuzzy similarity between how that made her feel, and how the hoomin in black made her feel. Stella thought hard. She could actually feel her thoughts getting all jumbled as she tried, and a few times she had to start over, but she meticulously laid the events out in her thinky place. Mummah had told her about something good: Skettiland. Mummah had actually taken her somewhere with hurties: the doctor. The hoomin in black told her about something good: going home. He had actually made angries at the other hoomins, and she was in the sorry pit again. The other hoomin told her “sowwy.” She rubbed her eyes with her hooves. Had… the hoomin in black actually been mean to her? She thought back to when she’d been let out of the sorry pit. The hoomins had definitely been having a fight. Then after the fight she’d gone back in, and the hoomin in black was happy. Because she was in the pit? What if… she had already lasted a hundred thousand forevers? Or worse, what if it was impossible? She had no way to know, but she didn’t trust the hoomin in black to tell the truth anymore. Stella had to find a way out of this horrible pit. She thought being a good fluffy would work, but all that happened was she got put back in! She was going to have to try something drastic. Mustering her strength, Stella sat up and whacked her hoof against the wall of the pit, and with vocal cords unused for 100,000 forevers, she squeaked out a plea.
“Stewwa wan out pwease!”
No one came to talk to her, or check on her, or even hose her down, so Stella figured no one heard her. That was okay, she could always try again. Settling into a more comfortable sitting position, she thumped the other wall this time and gave a hoarse plea.
“Stewwa nee out pwease!”
Still no one heard her. That was okay, she could always try again.
Even Deacon could be forgiven for his surprise when he was pinged not even an hour after he’d put the Stella problem to bed. His blood was still up from dealing with his idiot helpers, and now he’d been interrupted mid euthanization to deal with a fluffalo that just wouldn’t give up and die. Abandoning propriety and breaking into a half run, Deacon stormed his way towards Multipurpose Room 2. He’d been pinged halfway through helping out in the breeding wing, and he was still covered in blood and amniotic fluid up to his elbows. The sensation irritated him, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Leaving the door handle slick as he slammed it open, Deacon announced his return with an almost hysterical yell.
He didn’t hear the response coming from the pit of despair, he was already stomping over to it, hooking his fingers through the mesh as he rattled the door. He hated that when he looked inside Stella was… reacting. Trying to curry favor from him. He’d gone after this job because he thought it would be fun, and he’d really taken his time to enjoy things, but this just wasn’t going his way. Now he wanted it to be over with. The shitrat’s demeanor shifted when he opened the door and scruffed her. While it was an improvement that she went from asking for freedom to begging for mercy, a fluffy that spent almost four months in the pit shouldn’t be able to beg for anything, and Deacon loathed her for her resilience. He shook her to shut her up. A short drop and a sudden stop, usually designed to snap necks, pulled painfully at the skin she was dangling by. Fear welled up only to be replaced by annoyance as he got a squeal for his troubles. Having worked for MiseriCorp so long, Deacon was used to needing the fluffies alive and was terrified at his reflexive action, one that would have killed a lesser fluffy.
Scruffing something the size of a bulldog wasn’t easy, but Deacon could handle it for up to an hour. Years of practice, and being a tall guy made it possible. Stella Marvelle dangled piteously from his hand as hatred welled up inside him. He hated that this… thing normally so below him could get such a rise out of him. This was supposed to be fun! Stella wasn’t breaking in the way that Deacon expected, and he didn’t feel like waiting around anymore. Should he just kill her? Even now it felt extreme to him. Nonetheless, the thought of being done with Stella Marvelle buoyed him a little, and lifting his leaden heart, Deacon wandered down the halls of MiseriCorp in the direction of the medical wing. Stella kept up her wiggling and pleading, but he paid it no mind. The walking was good for his head, as always, and his anger cooled from an animalistic, throaty, throwing-creatures-at-walls rage to a constant simmer. He reached Lefty and Middle without making a decision, and started talking to them anyway. Righty, conveniently, was doing his shift at the Spa Wing.
“Hello, you two.” Deacon said almost calmly, as though there wasn’t a fifty five pound animal dangling from his hand. Lefty and Middle, to their credit, didn’t make their concern known as they put their charts down and met him.
“Hey boss,” Lefty kept her tone neutral, just in case. “Whatcha got there?”
Deacon’s eyes sharpened, and he lifted Stella to head height, looking at her as though he’d just noticed her. “Oh this?” He looked back at Lefty and flashed a grit-toothed smile. “It’s just a project I’ve been having problems with lately.”
The medical staff, as well as all the other staff at MiseriCorp were used to Deacon’s tendency to monologue, and Lefty expected her neurotic manager to do so now. She gave him silence, and he just stood there. Lefty checked, and Deacon was just staring at the fluffalo he’d carried in, with a weird look on his face. She let a few seconds pass, to see if he was thinking, and when she inhaled to ask a question, he came back to life, fixing her squarely in front of his green aviators.
“You grew up ranching, right?”
“Uhh, yeah.”
Deacon began to pace while stroking his chin, holding Stella against the small of his back like she was nearly forgotten. “What would you do, growing up on this ranch, if you had a bull that, say, kept injuring people?”
Lefty’s brow furrowed, but she answered. “I uh- I guess I’d make sure they were castrated right.”
“Let’s assume you had followed all the proper procedures. They had a normal birth, a good rearing, clean bill of health, but still they’re crippling your cowhands and killing your calves. How would you deal with them?”
Lefty eyed the fluffalo nervously, not liking where this conversation was headed. “Well… we’d probably butcher it. It’s no good otherwise.”
“Butchering huh? Now that’s country bumpkin resourcefulness. If the animal can’t serve its original purpose you reduce it to a baser function.” Deacon paused for a few seconds, then horrified Lefty and Middle by performing a euthanasia drop right in front of them, only for Stella to survive and him to address her. “You hear that Stella? You’ve been such a bad fluffy we’re gonna have to butcher you! Maybe once you’re all cut up you can do some good, huh?”
To the medical staff the fluffalo in Deacon’s hands had looked almost dead. Its fur was soiled and matted, there was discolored fluid leaking from the ears, its eyes were half crossed and glazed over, and it only repeated the same few phrases of broken fluffspeak. Lefty thought he got a bit too tilted, and Middle suspected this whole thing was some kind of test, but as Deacon taunted the wretched creature they saw it stir to life. Stella swung her still impressive bulk in desperation, screeing deafly for “NU MOWE HUWTIES PWEEZE!” It was unsettling, but Lefty had seen worse things on her evening commute. What chilled her was seeing all the false mirth drain out of Deacon’s face as the zombie fluffy begged for leniency. He still held the bulldog sized thing at head height, handling the bucking, squishy mass with apparent ease. People at MiseriCorp were either sadists who enjoyed the fluffy’s misery, or they tried not to think about it. Lefty could tell a change had taken place in her manager since she’d helped de-horn Stella. Back then he’d been full of energy, even if it was kind of disconcerting how excited he was to amputate a semi intelligent creature’s precious horns. Now, being handed that same fluffy by him, Lefty could sense nothing at all.
Behind those lenses there was no joy, no hatred or relief or resentment or disgust as Deacon breathed “toy her.”
Against her better judgment, Lefty probed further. “Are you sure?”
Deacon sighed like he’d fallen out of love. “I’m sure. Remove her legs intact and hang them up, then do it like normal.”
At his bidding Lefty and Middle, who had been standing on the sidelines to avoid his involvement, began making the preparations for a major surgery. Stella wailed and flailed on a metal table as the sort-of doctors moved around it. Deacon shot down the use of a muzzle or restraints when they were produced. He insisted on helping hold Stella down while they shaved the fluff around her shoulders and hips, as close as they could to not leave any nub. When it came time to amputate, he pushed for them to not use anesthetic, but reminders about the risk of death due to shock made him relent. With an IV in her scalp, Stella was sedated and de-limbed. First a scalpel carved at the skin and flesh, peeling each layer from around the central bone. Reaching the joint, connective tissue was neatly destroyed and a small saw was used to deal with any bone, producing what looked for all the world like Fisher Price™ beef legs.
From there procedures were pretty standard. The muscle and bone around Stella’s joints was excised, replaced with plastic ball-and-socket joints and the flesh sealed with contact cement. The same thing was done to her tail, which they just threw away, the cartilage and keratin fit only to be a dog chew. Her vagina and anus were surgically removed, leaving her smooth as a barbie doll. Stella’s eyes were taken without a whimper, and without ceremony. In their place were glass beads, colored to have a gold iris and massive, adoring pupils. The teeth were just pulled out. There was no fun to be had knocking them loose if the patient was sedated, and it was much nicer and neater anyway. To avoid creeping out any small children, her vocal chords were severed. To cover up any ugly weeping sores, a pair of plastic dentures was glued in place. When the adhesive touched her still bleeding sockets the skin was chemically burned, fusing with the dentures and giving her a permanent rictus grin. A few injections of muscle relaxants and paralytics gave her ears that stiff toy feel. They also installed permanent shunts to drain the massive infections they were now prone to. Her mane was shaved, the skin treated so nothing would grow there again, and a magnetic strip was implanted subdermally. Naturally, her horn stubs were cleaned up and magnets were placed there as well.
Stella was in the dark. She had no way of knowing how long she’d been here. On top of it being dark, it was quiet and cold, and she wasn’t able to get any information outside of that. The last thing Stella remembered, she was getting yelled at by the hoomin in black while someone touched her leggies! Then she got really sleepy, and had woken up with the WORSTEST hurties. Her leggies had hurties, obviously, but so did her tail, and her special place, and her entire head was a throbbing lump of meat as far as she could feel. She tried to groan in pain but all that came out was a wheezing snort. The feeling confused Stella, and she started to panic when she heard a door open. She… heard it? Now that it was on her mind, Stella noticed her hear places didn’t hurt nearly as bad as they used to, and she could hear out of them again! The revelation came just in time for her to hear someone speak.
“Here we are, the new and improved Stella Marvelle!”
“I’ll be honest, she doesn’t look that different Deacon.”
“Ah, that’s because we do good work. Come over here and take a look.”
Stella recognized the first voice, she would never forget it for the rest of her life. The hoomin in black was back to give her more hurties. The other voice was confusing, because it sounded like mummah but couldn’t be mummah, mummah loved her, and was much nicer. After the sound of a few footsteps Stella felt a tug on her mane, which was annoying, and a tug on her tail which really hurt! She wheezed in response to the pain, but the hoomin in black didn’t say sorry.
“She’s fully modular now, you can mix and match the colors of her mane and tail or keep them like they were.”
“My god, she’s like a fucking Bratz doll. I see you finally trained her to stand still. Why’s she smiling like that?”
“She’s been given dentures with a feeding system, as well as a laryngectomy. It wouldn’t do for a doll to frown or scream in protest, would it?”
“Are her eyes a different color?”
“Glass. I thought gold was a much more striking choice than boring old blue. They’re also interchangeable, available for purchase in our retail wing.”
The hoomins were completely ignoring Stella, even though she was right here! The things they were saying confused her, the hoomin in black had yanked on her tail and gave her hurties, and she couldn’t get her leggies to move no matter how hard she tried. It was like they were asleep, all she could do was wiggle, and even the wiggling gave her terrible hurties in her shoulders and haunches. The hoomin in black kept talking to the mysterious lady when a third voice hit Stella’s ear.
“Is there something up with her legs?”
It was a voice she’d definitely heard before. It was daddeh! She hadn’t been sure earlier, but her mummah must also be in the room if daddeh was here. Stella screamed out for her daddeh in her mind, wiggling all the muscles she still had left while hyperventilating. The hoomins didn’t even pause their conversation.
“They’ve been amputated, of course; the only thing to do with such a dangerous animal. These base models are actually her original legs, plasticized for long term use. They’re available at no extra cost, and a set with electric motors and a remote control are available if you want to go that route.”
“It seems a little extreme, no? This is a lot of trouble for a fluffy.”
“Oh, don’t think of it that way sir, instead of Stella being a total writeoff she can still be of use to your beloved son.”
“I mean I guess, but how is she even gonna stay alive? She doesn’t have an anus.”
Stella’s horror crescendoed when she felt strange hands scrabble around her tummeh. They seemed to catch on something, and she shrieked internally when she felt them go inside her tummeh! There was a riiiip of velcro and Stella felt something fall out of her!
“By way of a cleverly hidden colostomy bag and catheter, of course! We surgically installed this pouch to keep the imagination alive, and it has a child lock to avoid accidents.”
“My god!”
The hoomin in black spoke low, like he was trying not to startle her mummah and daddeh, but Stella heard anyway.
“It seems extreme but remember, think about what she did to poor Astarion. I didn’t want to alarm you, but when I first received Stella she beat a baby doll to ‘death.’ Envy can have very… ugly consequences.”
There was silence for a long time. Stella heard an occasional shuffling of leggies, and the hoomin in black sniffed a few times. The whole while she was begging for forgiveness.
“How much are those electric legs?”
The hoomins talked for quite a while, but Stella stopped paying attention. She was fixated on the horrible feeling of her tummeh falling out, and the emptiness it left inside her. After a few horrible forevers the cold hollow was filled back up and she was carried by strong not-hooves. She was moving, the sounds around her shifting from the hum of electric lighting to the chatter of hoomins, with something else that tickled her thinky place. She breathed deep through her smell place and caught it- fluffies! There were fluffies here, now that she was paying attention she could hear them talking to the hoomins, asking for huggies or a new mummah or daddeh. They reminded Sella of when she was a babbeh. Her leggies still soft, her eyes closed, she would cheep whenever something new happened, and soon after her mummah would come and give her huggies. Now she couldn’t even do that.
They left the fluffies soon enough, and Stella heard the distinct sound of doors sliding open as the cool air hit her muzzle. This she recognized immediately. She was outside! Her mummah and daddeh really had come to get her, and now she was going home! Then they would give her kisses and warm huggies and brushies and paw massages and- dump her unceremoniously in the back seat? Memories of the plush fluffy seat she was used to ride in were contrasted by her daddeh laying her across the back seat like a folding lawn chair. He didn’t even buckle her in, which made Stella nervous, but she had been a bad fluffy, and mummah and daddeh knew best after all. When the vroom vroom munstah roared to life she actually let out a little bit of scaredy peepees, only to feel the warmth worm its way around her insides. The vroom vroom munstah sounded different than the last time, it was louder and angrier, and shook her around way more. The trip was full of jostling and sliding, but the whole time mummah and daddeh said nothing, not even when they stopped really quickly and Stella rolled off the seat! The fall put her leggies at an awkward angle, which hurt, but no matter what she tried she couldn’t move them.
Despite her degrading position, Sella had been in the vroom vroom munstah enough times to know where she lived. Every turn and stop they took became more and more familiar, until she felt the climbing sensation of pulling up their long, curvy driveway. She didn’t complain when her leggies bumped something as her daddeh picked her up, she wasn’t a bad fluffy anymore. She heard the footfalls go up the scratchy brick steps. She heard the jingly keys. She felt the pretty smelling air hit her face, and knew she was home.
“We’re home Astarion! I’m so sorry we had to be gone, but we have a present for you!”
Suddenly Stella was hit with the sound of babbling; it was the babbeh! Even after she’d been in the pit for a hundred thousand forevers, he was still just a chirpeh babbeh. She snorted to herself. A hundred thousand forevers and the stoopi babbeh still wasn’t a talky babbeh? She bet his eyes weren’t even open either, stoopi babbeh. After some more walking daddeh put her down on the floor, but at least she was standing up. Somewhere far away, the babbeh giggled, which annoyed her, then it got closer, which annoyed her more. She didn’t let it show though, she was a good fluffy now. She just tried to relax. She was home now, her mummah and daddeh were here, and she wouldn’t have to be in that horrible pit any longer. Her train of thought was interrupted by a weight settling onto her back. It pressed on her hard, and made her fresh stumps ache where they pressed on the scar tissue. Then it bounced. Tiny little leggies kicked her ribs while her poor stumps were mashed into a pulp, and little not-hooves grabbed on her beautiful fluff. She grunted in pain but no one reacted. All she heard was her mummah, happy as can be.
“Say cheese!”
Author's Note
What a world! It took me the better part of three months to get this out, and yet I feel like I’m working slower than ever. I got hooked on Reddit fiction for a while, shoutout to Raltz_Bloodborne for their series First Contact, it’s awesome and massive and I’m only 500 chapters in. I also finally got my laptop fixed and played Elden Ring’s DLC which was excellent. While technical issues delayed the writing somewhat, ultimately this took so long to come out because of me. I hope it was worth it!
You’ll notice a fair few references in this one, I was having fun and I think it’s super clever when other people do that, so I decided to really commit. If you knew them all already you get five bonus points. It’s also a little less Deacon focused, as in we’re not focusing on his inner world so much as his actions, and how they affect Stella. At least that’s how I feel, it’s been a while since I read Sloth.
I like the people on this website, a lot of them, but the way it’s run has always been kind of icky to me. The fact that stories featuring LGBT characters are quarantined into their own category is telling. Until something else that shakes up the site irreparably happens I’ll stick around, and even if it does I swear I’ll finish this series goddamnit. It just sucks when bigots are in charge of you. But what else is new? I’m American.
To all my readers, past, present, and future: I hereby vow, this series WILL be finished, and it WILL end on part 7. No matter how long it takes!!
