Intro and One-shot
Contains weird shit.
By: Turboencabulator
This was originally posted on FluffyBooru when that was still a thing. I was only really posting
there for about three months before THE DELETION happened.
The fourth day of grey misery had come, and the storms rumbling in the distance indicated that
sunlight was still a long way off. Rain had come and gone in irregular cloudbursts, turning yards
into muddy soups, and the roads out in the countryside were all but flooded out.
Looking over a ravine was a long, modern house, clashing with the old growth around it, built all of
glass and steel. The lights were out, except one dimly lit room. Thunder rumbled, and glass clinked
in a cut-glass tumbler as a scrawny, half-naked man sipped an amber liquor. He stared out at a blank canvas on an easel, eyes sunk in a grey, ashen face.
The storms in the distance continued to rumble, sometimes shaking the house. In between the man and the blank canvas was a candle, sitting on a wire holder, over a pan of water. A needle was standing on the tip of the candle, balanced in the flame. The vibrations from the thunder would make ripples in the glass of bourbon. The water in the pan and the needle remained perfectly still, neither holding a reflection.
âŚjust do itâŚ
He shook his head. It was not time. The light outside, such as it was, began to dim, and he put his
glass down on the side table, finally empty. The tattoos on his chest itched as they slowly moved
through his skin. He watched as two glyphs passed together and became a new symbol.
There was a soft click sound as the needle fell into the water, and into a large lump of wax that
had dripped into the pan. He shuffled forward out of his chair and carefully washed his hands in the water before taking the wax out, careful to not disturb the needle. He placed this on a folded paper towel on a pewter dish, and stood up, carrying it out. He passed through a hallway of paintings, all of them covered, hidden behind wooden panels. The dish was placed on a table in a dimly lit room, and covered with a glass dome.
He walked out again, more quickly. He had been given the token. Now it was to be anointed. Pulling on a shirt and dressing against the weather, he stopped in his pantry and picked up a specially marked brown paper bag. This vanished into the pocket of a woollen greatcoat. Finally he picked up a modified walking stick, and set out into the gloomy twilight.
There were only a few orange streetlamps this far out, at corners the county had deemed hazardous enough to require them. A few pools of light against the oncoming velvet darkness. He made sure to petition one to be placed at the base of his drive, and even paid for it. It had flickered on as he approached, as it always did for him. He sat on a stump in the nearby shadows and watched, slowly unscrewing the base of the walking stick, revealing a long, sharp stiletto blade, heat-blued and unreflective.
There was rarely silence out where he lived. The wind always made the leaves rustle, or rain would
drip slowly. Even in the twilight of a spring day there would be the sounds of the woods. Never
animal noises. They seemed sparse when the night fell. Even over the windy evening he could hear a high-pitched, lisping voice.
âDis way Tuffy. Is bwite-fing, make new hewd wiff hoomins!â
Two fluffies were coming up the road from the direction of town. One was stubby-legged and plump, and had a chunk taken out of its ear, its orange fluff filled with brambles. The other was slightly more lean and could nearly walk, rather than waddle. This one was a dull purple, one eye freshly taken and a nasty looking gash on its side.
âSmawty,â the purple one said. âHow yu know no kitty-munstas hewe?â
âShaddap stoopit, Smawty am smawt, an kitty-munstas no wike hoomins, an bwite-fings mean hoomin housies.â
The orange pint-sized dictator was from the city. It takes a lot of generations of breeding for
fluffies to become adapted to the forest, as much as the changes could be called âadaptationsâ.
The pair eventually made it to the pool of orange light and sat down on the side of the road. The
toughie looked around.
âBewwy no see hoomin housie, Smawty.â
The smarty made an angry whining sound and smacked the toughie. âShaddap. Yu no smawty, Cowneww am smawty. Aww bwite-fings mean hoomins. Hoomins wiww wisten to Cowneww, gib housies an enfie mawes an sketties an wicky-cweanies. Cowneww make hoomins num poopies eben!â
With that he sprayed a warning shot of liquid feculence on the toughieâs haunches, then sat down and glared out into the night. The toughie stared at the back of Cornellâs head, then sighed. Apparently he was used to the antics.
âHello fluffies.â
Two loud eeping sounds, followed by far more diarrhea than should be possible, was their first
response. Both spun around, looking into the darkness.
The man stood up and crouched near the circle of light. Cornell immediately stomped up to him,
cheeks puffed, anus puckering with anticipation. âDummie hoomin u gib smawty
⌠uh⌠gib⌠smawtyâŚâ He turned and looked at Berry.
â⌠uh, gib⌠housies an⌠enf-â
âYEH GIB HOUSIES! An enfie mawes an-â
âBerry, this smarty is kind of mean isnât he?â
Cornell spluttered and sat down, confused and angry. How dare a human ignore him? He turned and looked at Berry, and caught him nodding.
âBEWWY! Yu shaddap. Gib hoomin sowwy-hoofsies.â
Berry sighed and padded over slowly. The man instead poked Berry in the nose gently, making him
squeak and cover his nose. âHow about we get rid of the smarty, and talk like not-dummies?â
Cornell laughed once, then stopped to think about what the man just said. Berry glanced over and saw the intense thought on Cornellâs face.
âBewwy wike dat.â
Cornell never got the chance to finish figuring out he had just been called stupid. The stiletto
blade flashed out, penetrating his eye and finishing poking out the back of his neck. The pain was
immense, but before he had the chance to scream, the man pushed a small trigger. A carbon-dioxide canister fired a small charge through holes in the blade, flash-freezing what few brains the smarty had to use. Just as fast the man withdrew the blade and put the cover back on.
Cornell toppled to the side, not even bleeding, his eye frozen over. At a glance he seemed to just
be resting.
Berry stepped back slowly, lowering down and ready to run. He had not expected this.
âBerry. Iâm not going to hurt you. I want your help. Iâm Will.â
âBewwy am onwy fwuffy. Nu huwt, pwease.â He knew he couldnât run, the human was so tall and fast. So he curled up on his side, tail over his face, even though it smelt of the sorry-poopies. He tensed as he felt the human touch his neck, but slowly relaxed at the scritches they gave.
âIâm serious, I wonât hurt you. I have uh⌠ânummiesâ for youâ
Berry uncurled and looked up at the man. His brain was telling him different messages. One was that this was a human, and humans were nice, and could give fluffies love and food and warm places to sleep and play. The other said he should get up and run as hard as he could, until his hooves were cracking and he couldnât hear for his heart pounding in his ears. There was something wrong.
Will took out the bag and opened it, setting down a small tupperware of zucchini noodles with a
heavily seasoned marinara sauce on it. Even unheated, Berry could smell it, and every worry went
away. âSkettiesâ he mumbled, and stepped forward, planting his face firmly in the container, and
eating the first real food in his life.
He didnât even get the chance to finish licking the container before the benadryl knocked him out.
Berry woke up in a soft bed, in a pen set in the corner of a room. He was a bit foggy, and got up
and stumbled around. Checking himself over, he was clean. Not just forest-clean but properly clean, his fluff soft and shiny. Looking around, there was a bowl of more nummies, this time nice-smelling green leaves, and a weird metal stick that he could suck water from. By the other corner of the pen from the bed was a tray set into the floor with weird yellow-white pellets in it that smelled like a poopie-place, but very faintly, and only when he was right up near it. He reared up against one of the walls of the pen, looking around the room. There was a stone table, with a grey dish on it. There was a big wooden thing holding lots of colorful tall things, and there was another wooden thing, with round yellow balls that reflected the light. The walls were dark and covered with not-fluff that hung from sticks near the top of the room.
Thunder struck and shook the house, and Berry launched himself back into the bed, leaving a trail of urine behind as he buried himself under a blanket, huu-huuing. He knew he couldnât beg the
sky-monsters to stop, but he could hide.
The door opened and Will walked in. âBerry? Oh donât worry, the storm canât get you in here.â Will
bent down and gently picked Berry up, setting him on a pad on the stone table. The table came up to Willâs waist, but Berry was focused on the sounds outside.
Will busied himself checking his stitchwork. The fluffy had definitely been attacked, but it seemed
recent enough that what rudimentary first aid Will knew was keeping infection away.
âYou seemed to need sleep, you just passed out in your sketties.â
Berry blinked and looked at Will again, then just nodded. That wrong feeling had come back, but then he noticed that Will wasnât wearing his not-fluff, and his pale skin had pictures on it.
Will looked where Berry was staring. "Oh. Yeah, some humans put pictures and things on themselves with special tools. Theyâre called âtattoosâ.
âTa-tews. Why?â
Will smiled. âItâs a long story. But do you remember when I said I wanted your help?â Berry nodded,
sitting on his haunches and watching the tattoos slowly move and merge, split and drift. They made his eyes sore. âWell Iâm whatâs called an âartistâ. I make pretty things that humans like, and some fluffies like. I want you to help me make my art.â
Berry looked up at Will finally. âWiww be Bewwys nu daddeh?â
Will scritched Berryâs ears. âIâll be your daddy as long as youâre around, Berry.â
Berry felt his chest get tight. He had a daddy. He reached up and hugged to Willâs arm, crying and
shivering. âFankoo Wiww. Hab su much happies, dey make heawt huwties.â
Will held Berry close, letting him calm down. Forest fluffies made better conduits, since they were
smarter than city fluffies. But they also took more work to set up.
âBerry, you ready to help daddy make art?â Will was smiling down at Berry still, but there was
something else there. Berry could feel it, but didnât know what. It didnât matter. His daddy wanted
his help, and he would learn how humans were different in time.
Berry nodded. âHow?â
Will let Berry go and opened the cabinet, taking out two copper dishes filled with a greenish-grey
liquid. He placed a black stone in one, and a clear stone in the other. The solution cleared as the
pills dissolved. He made sure to set the one with the black stone in front of Berry. âBerry, this is
a special drink. It gives humans and fluffies a tiny touch of magic. We drink it together, and it
will slowly let us see magic. Then, I paint what we see. It will take a little time, and it tastes
very uh⌠very not-pretty. Worstest not-pretty. But it works.â
Berry stared at the copper bowl. Human magic? And he was sharing it with Berry? Without question Berry drank from the bowl, coughing and choking the bitter, herbal liquid down. It made his tummy feel angry and tight, and his talkie-place felt like he had fallen asleep licking moss again. Will had followed soon after, and from his expression, Berry knew that it was just as bad for him.
The tattoos on Willâs torso slowly stopped moving, and then began to come together. Berry watched as they separated into lines, joining together in a complex fractal, then melting again and
scattering. He looked around and the walls began to ripple like water, the light turning pretty into
rainbows and flowing like honey over his mind. The dish rattled against the uneven stone top, and
Berry watched as the wax melted, the needle standing up in it, and writing in a slow, minute spiral,
carving unknown words into the blackening wax.
Will and Berry started to laugh. Berry didnât know why, but he was smiling so hard his jaw hurt, and
things just seemed so happy and silly. Will was sweating profusely, what little color he had was in
his face, like he was running a fever. Will took a knife out, opening the palm of his hand, then
placed it in a circular shallow on the table. Berry giggled as it sparked with gold and ran with
streaks of blue, filling a pretty shape with the prettiest boo-boo juice, all around him.
A rumble sounded overhead, not thunder, but the tolling of a massive bell. Berry looked up as the
ceiling peeled away like leaves on the wind, and stared into the face of eternity.
Eternity stared back at him, and it was entertained. Tendrils of green and silver snaked from
Berryâs eye, his ears open to hear Will chanting in a nonsense-language, his four voices making
discordant harmonies that could not exist in a human voice. Then Will was looking into Berryâs eyes, seeing the rotting halls of forever stretch out as a reflection in the eye of a fluffy, watching as
Berry was invited to view a scene from beyond the wall of sanity.
The lights went out.
Will busied himself painting. He had to while the image was fresh in his mind, before the ritual
drugs wore off and returned his imagination to the shackles of the waking world. A few rooms over, the corpse of a fluffy lay on a stone table, smoking, the one remaining eye staring at the ceiling as rot took hold at an exponential rate, until all that remained was a pile of ash, and a few dozen bloody sutures.
The nine paintings in the hall were still behind their doors. Six spots were waiting for paintings,
their doors open to show the blank wall behind. Will had to finish this one before he would know
where it wanted to be hung. Then it would be time to read the wax and learn his next task.