**This is a non-canonical event happening after Chapter 7 and the Epilogue of @BFM101’s Requiem for a Doctor. Contains spoilers, so don’t read until you’ve read those.
It is worth noting that there is a non-canonical history between Napoleon and Hippolyta. Thanks to BFM101’s generosity I was able to do some silly comics with the three which BFM then wrote accompanying fiction to. Its worth reading those before this. Likewise, the two of them were in the comments for some of the more recent stories with Josef. Again, non-canonical, 4th wall breaking, but still fun. **
“Napowean wan swice of peppewoni!”
“Hippowita wan cawzone.”
“Order of fries and rings?”
“Yesh pwease,” they replied simultaneously.
The restaurant was quiet, but it usually was. Not many people or fluffies came here. Not that it was out of the way. It was, after all, always just around the corner. Its not that the food was bad. Quite the opposite. But, its clientèle was limited and select.
“Hey kids, where are you two coming from today?” a man in an apron smiled, laying down a basket of french fries, onion rings, with two cheese sticks on each end.
“Hewwo daddeh!”
“Hippowita an’ Napowean comin’ fwom daddeh BFM stowy.”
The two fluffs grabbed ahold of the non-descript man.
“No caww yousewf non-descwipt, daddeh,” Napoleon chided.
“Dat wazy,” Hippolyta added.
Their daddy sighed, forced to describe himself a little. The middle-aged man rubbed his balding head, sliding a chair alongside the table. Crows feet grew along brown eyes, peering over glasses to his two fluffies.
“So, tell me about it.”
“Oh, wuz gud stowy! Wotsa ups an’ downs!” Napoleon said before jumping on a fry. “Got to be hawwucinations fow Josef Mongowa!”
“Got fow see Cwimson again tu,” Hippolyta said while stuffing an onion ring in her mouth. “Nebah fight, doh. Nebah fit pwotwine.”
“And how is Josef doing then?”
“Oh, daddeh Josef iz dead.”
“Fowebah sweepies.”
Daddy looked surprised, but not displeased. “And how do you feel about that?”
The two paused, looking up at the ceiling as their thoughts drifted.
“T’ink need dwink befowe answew dat.”
“So, this is the thing I never understood,” daddeh asked, cheese steak in one hand, gesticulating with the other. “Why did you ever ask me if you could go visit Mongola in the first place?”
Napoleon burped, his tiny slice of pepperoni pizza almost finished. Hippolyta ate half her calzone, the rest wrapped up to go. They looked at each other, then back at Daddy.
“Fewt wike daddeh Josef needed Napowean an’ Hippowita.”
The earthie mare nodded. “Hoomins wewe made fow huggies an’ wub. Daddeh Josef nebeh get any of dose.”
“I seem to recall that fluffies were made for huggies and love.”
“Dis am twue.”
“Bu’ hoomins make fwuffies fow what hoomins need. Hoomins so i-so-wated now dat hab to cweate fwuffies fow make up fow what no get fwom oddah hoomins.”
“Are you talking about the pandemic?”
“Eben befowe dat,” Napoleon noted, sipping diet cola from a crazy-straw. “Wemembah, fwuffies awound wong befowe pan-dem-ick.”
“Hippowita tink dat daddeh Josef too i-so-wated. Eben fwom sewf,” she mused, tapping her hoof against an ice-filled glass. “No couwd be honest wiff sewf.”
“Obah com-pen-satin’.”
“What for?”
“Weww, mabbeh if daddeh go wead mowe backstowy den mabbeh Napowean an’ Hippowita get idea.”
“No knu nuffin’ daddeh dun knu.”
Daddy looked at the two. It was true. Independent as they were, they were still his creations, and were limited by that fact. The mini-micro nibbled absently on a spoonful of cheesecake while the earthie sat back and relaxed.
“So, do you two want to go back at some point? BFM has some happy fluffies at his place. I’m sure you could have a playdate or something.”
“Meh,” the black dot grunted. “No wan.”
“Dey tu nice. Wouwd wathew pway wiff dummies.”
“Yeah, dadden nebah make Napowean an’ Hippowita fow be nice fwuffies.” Napoleon belched again. “Make fow be dummeh an’ kiww dummehs. What du best.”
“So, what’s next?”
“Got jobs wined up fow watew.”
“Nee’ get nummies fow hewd.”
“Ooh, an’ Hippowita mama gon’ cum visit tu!”
The fluffy groaned, covering her eyes with her hooves. “Gon’ ask whewe babbehs awe…”
Napoleon leaned over, “Hippowita mama babbeh cwazy.”
The two walked, enjoying the brisk evening air. It took a while, but they eventually got to Josef’s grave. Only a few hours passed for them, but a quick trip to the epilogue got them where they wanted. It was vague and implied, not having been written explicitly. The shadow of a man knelt by it, speaking to the headstone, angry and mournful at the same time.
“Uncwe Jonathan hewe?”
“Mebbeh,” Hippolyta said, staring at the dark swirlings of possibility.
“Unwess dat guy puww out no-no stick and gib bad pee-pees it no am Woo-is.”
“Twue.”
The two sat quietly as the scene faded. When it came back, they were at the Mongola house again. It was empty, devoid of narrative to give it life and purpose, the sound of backstory blowing through it sending shivers down their spines.
“Stiww hawd fow beweibe daddeh gone.”
“No am gone. Jus’ stowy end hewe.”
“Yu t’ink we see daddeh again?”
“Onwy if daddeh BFM wite mowe, but t’ink he wan’ do oddah t’ings fow now.”
Napoleon nodded.
The two yawned while walking around the yard. The hole in the fence was patched because of course it was. Josef’s beloved garden was growing wild and free, the grass long and tall. At the side of the house were three graves for three fluffies; Crimson, Nurse, and Whipped. The brown mare tossed her mane to the side, laying down on Nurse and Whipped’s plots while Napoleon scratched dirt over a fresh poop made on Crimson’s.
“Wai sweep hewe? No smeww wike daddeh ow nuffin’.”
“Dis whewe aww daddeh’s speshuw fwuffies awe.”
“Nebah was weawwy daddeh’s fwuffies doh.”
“Iz okay. Fow dis dawk time can pwetend wuz…”
“An’ next bwite time?”
“Wowwy about dat den.”
cute.
