Foals were a done deal. Good.
Douglas finished cleaning up the last bit of the now empty saferoom. Every foal was gone, delivered to their buyers or, sadly, given an early grave out back. Not every one could be saved, and those who couldn’t he at least used as a teaching experience for the others. That “bad babbehs” gave the “biggest heawt huwties” and needed to be punished. He went overboard for a few, but his process wasn’t a perfect one. Still had some things to rein in.
His phone rang. Douglas tossed aside the rag and wiped his hands off before answering. “Hello?”
“Hi, um, Douglas? I got an issue.” It was surprising to hear Todd’s voice again, given the fact it had only been less than a month since his purchase. None of his buyers ever called in such a short timeframe.
“Well, lay it on me,” He stepped out the saferoom and headed for the garage. Inside, he found Gabby basking in her little pool, lazily canting her head towards him when he entered the spacious place. “is it about the filly?”
“It’s about Rena, yeah.” Cute name. “She’s…well…um…she has that fever.”
Douglas frowned. “How?”
“I-I think Jen left for work and left Fluff-TV on. I thought I checked and made sure the programs listed weren’t anything about babies, but I think they changed the programing schedule later, cause when I got home, she was singing about it all around the apartment, and I saw that damn show on.”
The big man rolled his eyes. “Figures. And they wonder why they keep getting sued. Still, just calm down. How bad is it?”
“Bad?”
“Has she started wrecking things about it? Projectile shitting? Threatening? Saying she hates you or stuff like that?”
“N-None of those! She just keeps asking when she can have them! I’ve told her no, but she just gets sad and begs to know why, and I just…affirm it. She hasn’t done anything aggressive yet; worst she’s done is cry and have a small tantrum that ended when I threatened to sorry-stick her.”
“Hmm, important thing is she’s not being aggressive about the subject. If she was, we’d have bigger troubles. Right now, it’s manageable. Curiosity at the worst.” He set out Gabby’s food; a bowl of diced foal meat. Lean, of course. The vet said she needed to lose weight. “But from the sounds of it, she might just want them ‘cause the TV said they’re good, but not know the work that goes into being a mother. Most fluffies don’t. Only ones that understand the risks and burdens of it are ferals, and even then, they still rampantly breed if they think it’s safe to. And that usually backfires and gets them and their foals killed.”
“Right, but still, any advice? Suggestions? She’s been such a good girl up until this point. And I don’t wanna have to punish her for asking questions. Or…get serious. Jen told me about the Fluff-Mart mares and how they get. She had…a lot of horror stories about them and how bad they get.”
“Well, firstly, go ahead and lodge a complaint with Fluff-TV. With how often they get sued, the moment someone has a valid case against them about stuff like this, they cave and give whatever they can to sway them, probably some fancy coupons to Fluff-Mart. Secondly, I’d say bring her my way in a few days. I know a way to fix this.”
“I-Is it painful?”
“Oh, absolutely not. I’m just gonna show her that babies can be a big responsibility and show her what happens if a mare has them too early or without knowing what to do. Scare her straight, if you will, like that old TV show with the kids and the prison.”
“Hey, that could work! I’ll get things squared away on my end, then. You’re sure this’ll work, right?”
“For the most part. Honestly, the worst case we got is she just becomes scared of the idea of having them, and that’s a pretty easy fix. So, do what you gotta do. I need to go looking. See ya soon, take care.” He ended the call and sighed. Gabby finished her bowl of meat, eagerly smacking her maw and stabbing at the air with her tongue. “Looks like I gotta take a visit to the shelter soon, girl. Hold down the fort while I’m gone, kay?” Gabby flicked her tongue at him. Douglas smirked. “That’s my girl…should really get you a little crown to wear one day. It’d be funny.” He was joking. He knew most monitors didn’t like wearing stuff and Gabby wasn’t any different.
She was just more violent than the average water monitor, but then again, he struggled to name any animal that remained civil after encountering fluffies.
The shelter still reeked of fluffy. He had a feeling it was gonna, no matter how much bleach they used. The big man walked in and winced when his ears were assaulted with the usual miasma of begging, crying, threatening and pleading from the fluffies. From heavily pregnant mares begging for a safe place for their offspring to arrogant smarties demanding they be taken somewhere they could live free. Just hearing a lot of it made him wonder why the kill-shelters had to get shut down, but alas and alack, some people thought they were doing the right thing, only to make things marginally worse. The consequences of a good heart.
Still, he tuned out the jabbering and approached the front desk, run by the same old lady. The moment she stood the chorus of pleas died down. They still knew better. “Oh, you again.” She said, dryly. “Here for more fluffies, Douglas?”
“Just one this time; an odd request. I need your worst mare.”
“Our worst?” She inquired.
“The worst: pregnant, ran away from home, refuses to change, bitch mare; I need that. Context isn’t for abuse, no.”
“I know that; know you ain’t no abuser. But…why though?”
“A friend’s having issues with his mare. She got that baby itch and so I thought it’d be a good idea to show her what’ll happen if she has them without knowing what to do. Like that old show…the hell was it called again?”
“…Scared Straight?”
Douglas scowled. “…I need to write the name down; I forget it sometimes. But yeah, that; show her what she’ll end up like if she has foals too early and whatnot.”
“Huh, I like it. And your plans for the mare when you’re done?”
Douglas shrugged. “I’ll think of something. Won’t be bringing her back here cause then she’ll just be a bigger headache for you, and you already got your hands full with these.” He slapped a cage, causing the stallion inside to whimper and cower.
“Don’t remind me,” She rolled her eyes. “I wish I coulda got stuck working at a kill-shelter. Sure, it’s tough hearing these things go in the incinerator every week but…well I might actually like it more than hearing them beg and cry every single day for something they obviously ain’t getting. Think the only reason people even go to shelters is ‘cause the fluffies here are way cheaper than a Fluff-Mart. For good reason. Anyhow, you want bad? Well, enjoy ‘Princess’ over here.” She pointed. Inside a cage was a bloated, pink colored mare. Purple flowing mane and pink fluff, she looked like a designer fluffy with damn near immaculate colors. Judging from how rotund she was the damn thing was pregnant, though he couldn’t be sure of the date. And, to make matters worse, she had a litter of foals already in the cage with her; five in total, with one already fatter than the others, suggesting it was the “bestest”.
“Princess?” He asked.
“Her name. She used to belong to a kid, good kid…too good. Spoiled the damn thing rotten, and she has it in her head she’s the best fluffy in the world or some shit. Considering your little business, you can probably figure the rest out yourself.”
“That I can.” Douglas frowned at the sight of Princess. She was exactly what he was looking for. He tapped on the cage and the mare jostled awake.
“Nu! weabe soon mummah awone! waitin’ fo’ dummeh daddeh!” She babbled, thrashing in the cage and trying to escape the cage to no avail.
“She always does this.” The old lady whispered. “She keeps forgetting she’s stuck here.”
“Funny. So, Princess,” Douglas began, catching the fluffy’s attention. “You’re a soon mummah, hmm?”
Her deposition changed quickly, and she calmed down. “Yus! pwincess am soon mummah! mowe babbehs!”
“And did your daddy say you could have them?”
She puffed her cheeks and stamped a soft hoof against the cage bottom. “Nu! buh daddeh dummeh! pwincess am dah bestes’ fwuffy, su pwincess desewbes babbehs an’ sketties an’…” She kept going, literally listing off everything she thought she was entitled to. Funnily, all were the usual demands and wants a fluffy would want. Still, she was already showing everything he hated in a mare; he had to refrain from bursting her delusion-filled bubble.
“So, Princess,” He asked, kind as ever. “I can take you somewhere to wait for your daddy; I have a saferoom and everything for you and your foals.”
Her deposition changed in a flash again, going from mean and ranting about her former owner to bright again. “Weawwy?! pwincess am su happy! safewoom means sketties fo’ aww dah babbehs! an’ bestes’ mummah tuu!”
Douglas inhaled and nodded to the old lady. She definitely wasn’t getting any of that, but she was getting a starring role in his own take on Scared Straight. Shame she wouldn’t like the way it ended.
He never remembered the show ending in violence. Well, nothing extreme, at least.
“So, your daddy’s told me you’ve been watching babies, is that true?” Douglas carefully carried Rena towards his safe room. The little filly was grown up now, with her mane coming in and now ready to fulfill that biological itch her sick maker gave her.
Sheepishly, the almost-mare nodded. “Dah tee-bee say babbehs am dah bestes’ thin’ ebew! buh daddeh says nu! why? it gibes big saddies!”
“Because they’re a huge responsibility, both for you and for him. And to show you how tough they are, I brought in a mare who had babies too early. See what it did to her.” He reached the saferoom, stepping over the fence and setting the filly down. Right ahead of her was Princess, flopped onto her side with her brood nursing from her crotchtits. Or, rather, some were nursing, but were beaten back by the fattest foal.
“Nu! fwuffy’s miwkies!” He screeched, bashing one sibling across the head with a hoof, earning sobs from the wounded foal. The sight, naturally, made Rena hesitant, and she took a few cautious steps back. Considering she got the baby fever from the TV, it definitely didn’t show the gristly facts of “bestest babbehs” treating others like shit. Here, here it was worse.
“Now, Princess,” His voice caught the fat mare’s focus. “now that I have a friend here, mind telling me how you got babies?”
“Dummeh daddeh say nu babbehs, buh pwincess knu bettew! su pwincess wan ‘way an’ found speshuw fwend who gabe hew babbehs!” She eagerly recited.
Rena gasped. “Buh dat makes 'ou bad fwuffy!” She cried. “Onwy bad fwuffies dis…dis…nu wisten to daddeh!”
Princess snorted. "Pwincess am dah bestes’ fwuffy! she gets aww dah toys! aww dah tweats! an’ aww dah babbehs! dummeh daddeh nu did wet fwuffy hab them! He BIG DUMMEH!”
Rena looked absolutely appalled, inching away. Down below, the foal situation worsened; the big one was shoving another and shoved the weaker filly away from the teat, causing her to cry.
Princess, of course, just rolled over to deliver a firm swat to the filly’s head and send her across the floor. “Dummeh babbeh! miwkies am fo’ bestes’ babbeh!” She cried, but the filly didn’t respond. The swing had, for lack of a better word, killed the unfortunate filly; her neck was twisted at a bad angle and the body just happened to roll close to Rena, causing her to scream and begin crying. Douglas took that moment to scoop the terrified filly up, bringing her close and giving her a soothing hug.
“You see, that’s why your daddy didn’t want you having babies right now.” Douglas affirmed to the mildly traumatized filly. “If a mare has babies too early, or without daddy’s permission, they turn out like that. They become worse than a bad fluffy; they become the baddest, and can’t ever get better. But,” He made sure to enunciate as he left the safe room, bringing Rena to the living room where Mary and Ruddy were. The former was asleep, resting on a pillow, and the latter was engrossed in TV. “you’re a good fluffy, but please listen to your daddy. When he says it’s time, you can have them. But not a moment sooner, 'kay?” He used a calm, sweet voice the entire time. Rena was, understandably, freaked the hell out. No reason to hammer things home when he already succeded.
“O-Otay…W-Wena wait.” She sniffled.
Douglas nodded. “Ruddy,” The stallion perked up. “Keep an eye on this one. Let her watch some TV with you.” He nodded and beckoned Rena over, with Douglas catching the heel end of their talk as he left; Ruddy was apparently trying, and failing, to explain the plot of the movie he was watching.
…Douglas didn’t plan to tell him it was just ten hours of rain sounds. Why were they on? Mary liked the sound and she was nearing the end of her rope. No sense in denying her that wish, given her service.
Still, with the peaceful job done…thus came the gruesome one. Disposing of Princess. Douglas returned to the saferoom just in time to see two more foals were dead, courtesy of their obese sibling attacking them for milk. The last two were sniveling and starving, but too afraid to beg their mother for help. She didn’t even notice; she was just singing a gaudy version of the “mummah song” for her next batch of foals. It was as if she just…abandoned the idea of raising the current batch, knowing more were on the way.
“Your babies aren’t doing so good.” He calmly informed her, stepping into the saferoom and closing the door behind him.
Princess dismissively huffed. “Dose am bad babbehs. Nu gud. Mummah has mowe coming!” Her stomach growled and she promptly puffed her cheeks. “Nao bwin’ pwincess sketties, ow 'ou get sowwy poopies, dummeh!”
“Hmm.” With a single kick he sent her obese foal into the wall with an audible, hard thud. The little bastard shrieked the entire time he flew, going quiet when he exploded like a water balloon filled with red food coloring. That got the mare’s attention and she rolled over, eyes widening.
“Nu! bestes’ babbeh—” Douglas planted his foot on her back, trapping her in place. And slowly he began to apply pressure.
“You wanna keep these?” He firmly asked. “Then you’re gonna do exactly as I say. Cut–”
“SCREEEE!!! WET MUMMAH GO—SCREEEEEEEE!!!” He applied a bit more pressure, but not enough to crush her or, more importantly, force her to miscarry. As fitting as it was for her, he didn’t feel like cleaning birth juices from the carpet, and her brood already left shit and piss for him to deal with. As did she.
“Wrong. Answer.” He firmly enunciated.
“WET GU DUMMEH DADDE—” He reached down and grabbed one of her legs. With a firm yank it came free, earning even more agonized spasms from the bitch mare.
And then he heard the unmistakable gushing sound of her water breaking. In a hurry, he yanked his foot off her and looked over just as a chirpie slid from her hole. Its fluff wasn’t fully developed, and its little chest rose and fell in haggard breaths. Lungs weren’t fully developed; it’d be dead in moments. The rest slowly slid from her as well, all in the same state, and the moment Princess turned to see them she shrieked in mournful agony. “Nu! babbehs!!! mummah am mummah nu mowe! hu huuuu!!!” She wailed and buried her head into the carpet, sobbing uncontrollably. Douglas just scolded himself for the sight; not only did it mean a mess he needed to clean up, also meant some profits down the drain. As underdeveloped as they were, those foals could have brought some good colors, but…well they were dead. Robbed of the chance to even start the questionable existence of a fluffy’s life.
Oh well. Least he taught Rena the dangers of being a mother too early. Still, what to do with Princess…maybe the barn could use her. So long as she didn’t start trouble.
With that, Douglas reached down to snatch her by the scruff. His other hand clamped down onto her muzzle as he made his way to the door. He didn’t want Rena to hear; she was a good fluffy, with a good owner, and she was too young to remember what he did to instill obedience. No point in letting her see behind the curtain.
Besides, he didn’t want her to see him turn Princess into a blood splotch against the side of the house. He already had a feeling that was her inevitable ending. That or going out like a French Princess, but then that meant finding a little guillotine.
…ironically, and twistedly, there were fluffy-sized guillotines. Abusers were a whacky bunch.
[Short one and follow up. Starting another little multichapter thing, with a funny little idea. So, I hope folks enjoy it. I may resume writing An Outsider’s Look but…this is amusing to work on. Who knows? Til then, take care!]
