They were still alive. In a large pen of foals never allotted more milk than would be needed for three quarters of their number, they were almost thriving. The ‘fever coat’ on the filly had held, so they were easier to tell apart- even as more than one of the added other hopeful foals attempted to hold color against them. Pity, since they were almost cute. The colt’s mane and tail had finished coming in all brilliant shades of cherry red and burgundy, making him look a little like one of the icecream flavors from the place down the road. One of the ones with silly names.
His little experimental filly had ended up looking like one of those flavors as well. Apart from the now dark taupe fluff setting her apart from the brown colt, she’d finally sprouted a mane and tail in shades of blue and lavender, as pastel and soft as her mother’s. He’d used a couple shots to make sure the surgery wasn’t slowing her development, and she’d caught up without further intervention. And with each passing milestone, she remained smaller and more delicately built, without a single hint of any fluffy questioning her being a normal filly. Including either of the twins curled up together in a corner like a double scoop bowl of Tasty-cone daily specials.
Jason almost murmured the flavor names as he watched them more fondly than he meant to, barely catching himself. Names were for fluffs that had earned their collars, not foals.
About when they were old enough to move over to the juvenile pen, the fluffy down on their wings started shedding off the full plumage, both of them with vivid peacock wing marks in colors matching their manes. They’d gotten something from the stud he’d picked, clearly.
And they seemed to be taking the chaos of the new pen as well as any did.
Ryan tended to remark that he had entirely too much fun with training. But, well, if it worked… The conditioning to obey and fall into what he needed started in the incubators. The pens were intended to instill different lessons. Foal pen was for those just old enough to survive without constant care, moving under own power and grasping basic concepts. Short the milk, the weanling softened foods, and they had to compete or die. There was the occasional attempt to ration and share out what little there was- but he’d accounted for that by making sure there wasn’t enough for all of them to survive. Fight for your own share, or starve to death. Watch the others starve because you chose to survive. There was a little extra food handed out in lessons as treats and rewards to those doing well, but never enough to make up for the rations otherwise. Only enough to maybe give the energy to fight for a better share.
The Juvenile pen pushed it farther. Still not enough food for all that survived long enough to make it there, of course, but now there were other risks. Tests and contests meant to prove what they’d learned, which were the strongest, fastest, smartest… and the bottom ranked were disposed of in front of the others. Sometimes by being fed to the others, which was entertaining for different reasons. The standards who made it this far forcing themselves to eat meat, with the digestive issues it provoked. The hunting friends and cannibals overcoming the similar instincts when it was one of their own, learning that “nummy fluffies” were who he damn well said they were.
Once they’d learned that, there were usually a few that realized it meant the others in the pen were also edible if they were hungry enough. Which was a few tests in itself. He’d tell them that killing the others in the pen outside his tests was against the rules, which meant any that broke the rule became examples themselves after. Proof for the little idiots that “Daddeh” knew everything they did, no matter how sneaky they were. In the meantime, keeping themselves from being eaten before that object lesson…or three… was a lesson itself in watching your back and protecting yourself.
Three of Cotton Candy’s foals had made it this far, although it was noticeable that the alicorn ‘twins’ and the surviving unicorn didn’t realize they were littermates. The ones he’d hand raised in an incubator were inseparable, even after the trials of the last pen, but neither paid any attention to the last past the wariness aimed at all the others. Interesting, really.
Sadly, none of the three were at the top of their contests. Midrange, so not in immediate danger, but not the top. The alicorn colt was the best of it, finding his way through mazes and obstacle courses steadily, with the unicorn a little behind. The filly, on the other hand, was usually last of the allowed spots…. After having sabotaged all the remaining competition. “Don’t have to outrun the danger, just need to outrun the idiot you tripped or hamstrung” was a valid survival idea, but he couldn’t see it lasting her into the next pen. He needed fast and strong, not just aggression.
For some reason, when Jason mentioned that to Ryan, the younger man just laughed. “You haven’t…. You tell them how many of the losers are going to die before the race, and there’s always that many tripped up and hurt enough to slow down behind her.”
“Oh. Well, brains is something if she’s actually working out her chances with that, but I need the speed and strength too. Think I should run different courses?”
“I think you ought to run her in one apart from her ‘twin’. Or run all of them against a timer for a while.” Ryan had that ‘I think I know something’ look, and Jason opted to leave it be. He did set up two new runs over an obstacle course they’d run twice before with similar results. One individual against a clock, as suggested, and one set with only half the idiots running at once.
The filly came in second in one and first in the other. There was a great deal of ignoring Ryan’s smug look as he checked the cameras for past races. The taupe alicorn had been rigging the races, probably for the sake of keeping her brother safe, since she always made sure he was ahead before she finished herself. Sneaky. Not in a way he’d told them not to do, so she was in the clear, but cunning. He suddenly was looking forward to see if they made it long enough to get the names he kept debating.
“Alright. You six are all old enough to move on to the next pen. But…” all six were watching him intently. as he held up four identical collars with a chipped patch at the back. “There’s only four spots available. Fix the numbers.”
“Daddeh wan fwuffies kiww extw-” the brown colt started to ask, just as the filly sank teeth into the mane of the unicorn already going for his throat. Once he was off his feet, the others set into him, ripping him apart like sharks scenting blood. He didn’t go without frantically lashing out himself, but all that did was mark the pegasus whose leg he’d broken for the others to gang up on next. He was left with four slightly bloodied fluffies. A black and white earthy cannibal he’d picked up as a foal from another breeder, a standard alicorn in pale green, and his surviving hunting friend “demonfluff’ alicorn twins, all sitting at his feet and staring up at him like loyal dogs.
Jason held up the collars again. “Oreo flurry. Mint Chip. …. Cherrydazzle chunk, and Razzleberry blue.” A few moments of…admittedly admirable… attempts to pronounce names later, he sighed. “Oreo. Mint. Dazzle. Razzle.” Fucking fluffies.