Pierre finishes feeding his dodos.
The Fluffy Cartel has grown rather fond of the silly, stupid, delicious birds, and the dodos seem to be fond of the fluffies, too.
Perhaps both species recognize that they are kindred spirits.
One of the dodos is currently cuddling with Dot, Blueberry’s daughter, who spends the most time with the dodos out of all of the Cartel.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the forest, Victor, hooded and masked, scares off a group of Dutch sailors who inexplicably found out about Pierre’s dodos and immediately set sail across the Atlantic at full speed, salivating the whole way there.
CRACK
“Aaarrrgh! Mijn arm!”
“Opkankeren, jongens! Jullie gaan deze dodos niet opvreten!”
Yeah, he speaks Dutch too.
The growth of Blueberry’s herd has slowed down, thanks to the mares now being supplied with No-Foals Treats.
This was actually Blueberry’s idea.
“Bwuebewwy haf bin finkin, an Bwuebewwy weawize dat if hewd keep havin babbehs, den hewd get tuu big, an den mebbeh dewe nu enuff nummies fow aww hewd. Can mistah Piewwe hewp Bwuebewwy?”
“My, what brilliant foresight. I’d be happy to help, Blueberry.”
“Wha fowesite?”
“It means, Blueberry, that you can think ahead. And I’ll tell you something else: not a lot of fluffies can do that. Most fluffies, and I mean no offense, are a bit too impatient. You’re a lot smarter than the average fluffy, Blueberry. You’re almost as smart as Nikola and Audrey, but they have an unfair advantage. Hmm. A thought just occured to me. Blueberry, would you mind if I took a few drops of your blood? It will only hurt a tiny bit. It’s just one prick.”
“Mistah Piewwe wan Bwuebewwy booboo-joos? Wai?”
“Because, you see, if I take a look at your blood, I could learn more about you. I’ve got a theory. I could show you how it works, if you want.”
“Otay…”
So Pierre took Blueberry into his cabin, down into the lab, and ran a blood test.
Blueberry tested positive.
X-positive.
Blueberry’s power is super intelligence.
He’s the smartest naturally born fluffy alive.
Only Pierre and Valerie’s genetically engineered fluffies are smarter than him. Even though one of them was sorely lacking in common sense. Which one shouldn’t have to be pointed out.
And the Death of Fluffies is smarter, but he’s not naturally born, and not exactly a fluffy.
Of course, Blueberry is super intelligent by fluffy standards. By human standards, he would only be considered above average in intelligence.
But by fluffy standards, he’s a genius.
There’s been a few losses. Mostly older fluffies, dying of natural causes.
Truth, the old fluffy who regaled the foals with tales of his glory days, passed away last week.
Tommy, who, as it turns out, is naturally gifted at music, played the bagpipes as Truth was lowered into the ground.
Blueberry asked Tommy to never do it again.
Pierre watches the fluffies playing with the dodos, and cuddling with them, and smiles.
He calls Maria over, and she keeps an eye on them, Moonflower following her in a levitating cradle, and Woodstock and Wakko following them both. They’re stumbling a bit. They’ve both just had a bite of brownie.
Tommy’s in town, getting some Boneless Buckets for the Fluffy Cartel.
Pierre put the cradle together. He tested it extensively before he gave it to the Fondas, and it’s perfectly safe. Pierre isn’t a hack like his old rival Hans was.
But Pierre’s on good terms with Erwin. Erwin totally geeked out when he first met Pierre.
With Maria keeping an eye on the fluffies and the dodos, two species of idiots coexisting in harmony, Pierre heads into one of the new greenhouses to check on his other new hobby.
As he steps inside, the smell of cannabis plants fills his nostrils. He can identify each strain by scent alone.
After Tommy returned from the nearby town with the fruits of his latest transaction, Pierre was appalled by the poor quality of marijuana being sold in the town.
It was a problem. He couldn’t just ignore it.
So Pierre put up a few greenhouses, and started growing his own weed.
He never really had the time to partake frequently before he retired, but as has been mentioned, as Calvin can attest, Pierre does smoke weed too. So does Victor. And Deston, after Sorcière’s gone to bed.
In Victor’s case, he’s done pretty much every drug at some point of his life. He drinks like a fish, as well. It’s not like it can kill him.
Victor doesn’t mess with hard drugs anymore, though. Not after what happened in the 80s.
What happened, you ask?
Cocaine happened.
Pierre’s been partaking a lot more since he retired. One time, when Tommy and Maria were giving Blueberry’s herd a bath, it was fucking Pierre and Calvin slumped together and giggling at the bubbles.
Anyway, after Pierre put up the greenhouses and started growing weed, Calvin, Seth, Dave, Andre, Tommy, Maria and Victor have all been helping out, since they all have experience with this.
Dave and Andre have their own blippers now. So does Seth. Valerie offered Seth’s dad Harry one, but after trying it out, Harry puked and said he’d stick to cars.
Some people suffer from nausea when they blip. It’s just like getting carsick, or seasick, or airsick. It doesn’t mean blipping is dangerous. Getting into an airtight flying tube of death is more dangerous than blipping. And getting blipsick can be prevented, but Harry didn’t want to hear it.
We just keep going off-topic, don’t we?
To get to the point, Pierre’s supplying his friends, and people in the area, with higher-quality weed than they were getting before, the Fluffy Cartel are supplied with higher-quality brownies than they were getting before, and, thanks to a tip from Dave, the Fluffy Cartel is finally contributing to the production of their supply, via the litterboxes now strategically placed in locations around the exterior of the Brownie Palace.
So, everyone is happy.
“Yo, Doc.”
“Yo, Dr. P.”
“Ah, Cal. Seth. Cal, I didn’t know you were pitching in today. Where’s Dave?”
“Dave’s not here, man.”
Pierre’s glowing blue eyes narrow. Seth’s eyes, not glowing, also narrow.
“You volunteered to cover for him just so you could say that, didn’t you.”
Calvin cackles just like Andre does.
“You know me too well, Doc! Nah, Dave and Slayer are training with Robert today.”
“Oh, that’s right. Thanks for reminding me, Cal. I was so busy with the dodos that I had forgotten.”
“Haha, I love those stupid feathery buggers. Fluffies seem to love 'em too, by the looks of it. Next time I’m here, I’m bringing the gang to play with the dodos.”
Pierre walks over to one row of plants, one of his attempts to crossbreed as potent a strain as possible.
“I wouldn’t mess with that stuff, Doc.”
“Yeah, Andre tried some, and then he wandered off. He’s still not back yet-- oh.”
Victor, back in street clothes, walks into the greenhouse, leading Andre, who is still high, by the hand.
“Keep a close eye on this guy until he sobers up, okay? We’re lucky there aren’t any bears around here.”
“I saw a bear out there. He told me his name is Sir Bearington.”
“Shut up Andre, you’re high as fuck.”
“Okay, Vic.”
Victor lets go of Andre’s hand, and Andre lifts it up and starts staring at it.
“Damn. This is some good shit. Anyone got something to snack on? I got the munchies bad.”
Calvin and Pierre head out of the greenhouse. Pierre’s got plenty of snacks in his cabin. He prepared for this.
As Calvin heads back into the greenhouse, carrying several bags of potato chips, Pierre, carrying a box of chocolate bars, stops for a moment.
Pierre sees Blueberry, overseeing his troops as they perform their respective duties. They follow his orders because they respect and adore him.
Pierre smiles with pride.
“For the reincarnation of a bratty little smarty, Blueberry turned out alright.”
Of course he knows.
He’s fucking Pierre.