“How sublime she is when she weeps! How beautiful she is in misfortune!”
- The Marquis de Sade
Writing tips for fluffy dialogue are appreciated. Thank you.
Justine was gorgeous, as far as fluffies came. She had a soft, sky-blue coat, a banana-colored mane, and a pair of huge, sad oceans for eyes. An orphan, almost from birth, she was fortunate enough to have been raised in a no-kill shelter that more closely resembled a day-care than the death-prisons most street fluffs wind up in. She was surrounded with toys, warm blankets, and dozens of dozens of friendly fluffies. Despite all this, Justine suffered one great misfortune- she was born a Wingie.
Wingie fluffies are more prone to suggestion than any other sub-species of fluffy. It’s in their very programming; Wingie fluffies are born with the belief that their hummingbird-sized wings can make their fat bodies fly! In their younger and more vulnerable months of life, Wingies will believe anything they’re told, and will carry it with them until death. And- as for Justine- from the moment she had opened her eyes as a little chirpie, she had been watching FluffTV.
FluffTV guided and shaped Justine more than anything else in the entire world- it was gospel. She had never had a Mummah or Daddeh, and the shelter volunteers couldn’t be bothered to talk to every fluffy… But that didn’t matter. FluffTV’s programming blocks were designed to morph their viewers into the most perfect fluffies conceivable, and due to her above-average attention span, Justine would soak up every second.
Babies! taught Justine to be kind and generous. Playtime! taught Justine to be fair and trusting. Splorin’ Babies! had taught Justine to never step out of her safety zone. Fluffy Columbo taught Justine that evil-doers always lose, and that the good are always rewarded. By the time she was a filly, Justine was practically fit for sainthood, the type of fluffy you see in commercials.
Now, onto the beginning of Justine’s ordeal. The shelter she had lived in for all her life was owned by a very wealthy, but reclusive, old woman, a widow. She had no family, no friends, and only communicated to her employees over the phone. The woman perished from loneliness, and her estate went to the local government. With no choice, the shelter had to close. A few shelter-workers took their favorite fluffies home, and as for the rest of the babbling hamster-horses, the front door was simply left open.
As the herd of abandoned fluffies chattered and peeked outside, Justine stayed in the shelter’s play-space far away from the gaping hole of freedom. As she stacked her blockies, happily humming and muttering to herself, she was approach by another fluffy. The crimson-furred earthie, Juliette, knocked over her blockies, demanding, “Juhs-teen! Wai am stiww pwaying wit’ dummeh bwockies? Fwuffies can gu outsie’ nao!”
Justine maintained her composure like a good fluffy, “Nu wan gu out! Gud fwuffies nebah, ebah gu outsie’ wit’ow neck-wace an’ weesh an’ Mummah ow’ Daddeh! Bee-sigh, hab ebewythin’ fwuffies nee wiiiiiiiighhh’ hewe, at homesie.”
Justine was proud that she had managed to quote her favorite FluffTV Christmas Special at the end there, but Juliette retorted, “Wuh’ ‘bout nummies! An’ stawwions!!! Don’ Juhs-teen wan’ make wots an wots of speshul huggies wit’ wots an’ wots of big stwong stawwions???”
Justine was mortified by the thought. She covered up her ears with her hooves the best she could (they wouldn’t reach all the way), and told the small, fur-covered wench, “Nuuu!! Nebah make speshul huggies wit’ anee fwuffie buh’ speshul fwen! Gu 'way Joo-wee-at! Yu am… Yu am wechewous!”
Juliette didn’t know what that word meant, but she still puffed her cheeks at it. Without promising to see each other again, Juliette skipped away and out the front door, and Justine began rebuilding her blockie tower.
The next few days were less-than-comfortable. Autumn had begun, and cold winds were drafting into the shelter. The power had been cut, so there was no heat from the vents, and the lack of nightlights made dark-times terrifying. The litter boxes were all filled, and even the best fluffies were forced to make bad poopies. Food had been no issue at first, as a smartie managed to rip open the kibble bag, but it was disappearing quickly, despite the fact that nearly half the herd had left and more were leaving every day. Things got worse.
Local kids figured out the shelter was abandoned, and every window was promptly busted open with rocks or bottles. The fluffies were safe from any direct abuse (most kids are psychos) beyond insults, but the broken glass posed danger- something most of them had never faced before. A few nights later, a posse of raccoons entered the shelter. Justine witnessed it all, from within the safety of a pillow fort.
When the beady-eyed “monsters” crawled in through the doorway, almost every fluffy ran to the back wall, screaming and shitting in fear. Almost. One fluffy was paralyzed in fear, a pink, rescued surplus mare from Hasbio’s Mummah Surprise! line. Her newborn foals were chirping and cheeping rapidly, terrified after all the screaming. Her pupils shrink down to pinpricks as nature’s bandits surrounded her.
One raccoon grabbed two foals; one that was resting on the mummah’s back-fluff, and another that he caught trying to weakly wobble away. The mare weakly protested, “P-pwease kitteh-munstahs… Nu tae’ babbehs…”
Another grabbed three foals; two chirpies from her back, and a plump “bestest” that was resting under the mummah’s chin. The mare, slowly coming out of her fear trance, “Nu! Nu, nu, nu! PWEASE nu tae’ bes’ babbeh! H-he am tuu wit’tow tu be nummies!”
The largest raccoon simply took the mare herself. As she was dragged out of the shelter, she relaxed and began babbling, “O-oh! Mummah un-ah-stan’ nao! Kitteh-munstahs jus’ be nyu daddehs? Mummah am suu happeh!”
The fourth raccoon, the smallest, stood alone now, scanning the herd of fluffies. His friends had gotten their prizes, but he was empty-handed as always. He was about to give up and join the rest outside, when suddenly, a little green foal ran away from the terrified herd and right up to the raccoon, with a weak “Nuuuu, babbeh!” from its mother.
With a great deal of effort, the foal stood on his hind legs and began wiggling and singing:
“Hewwo kitteh-munstah, be nyu Daddeh?
Nee’ nyu homesies, an’ nyu Daddeh!
Babbeh am danceh babbeh, dance fo’w Daddeh!
Babbeh nu wub Mummah, onwy wub Daddeh!”
The fat foal panted heavily as it shuffled and mumbled, and the raccoon thought, It will fill my stomach, at least. The animal grabbed the bio-toy in his teeth and scurried out the door.
Justine felt vindicated. She was right to stay at the shelter- just look at how many fluffies just found new homes! She almost felt jealous that she wasn’t smart enough to go with the kitty-monsters herself! She’d seen the Furry Friends! FluffTV special, and she knew that doggies and kitties could be friends too, and if they were really really good! Anyway, the next evening, when the local kids would come again to throw bottles and rocks at the abandoned shelter, they would be disgusted to find the half-eaten corpse of a fluffy mare and the leftover viscera of half-a-dozen foals. A few secretly agreed meet their that night.
When a few boys stormed into the shelter that night, kicking open the already-open door, a pageant played out much like the previous night. Screaming, shitting, retreating to the back wall. Justine left her pillow fort, though. She was ecstatic to see humans! To her, humans were perfect, infallible arch-angels that provided safety, comfort, and nourishment. She trotted up to the biggest boy of the bunch, all smiles, humming. She sat at his feet, and stood on her hind legs. With her massive eyes gleaming, she asked in her cutest and sweetest voice:
“Hewwo, nice mistah! Be nyu Daddeh fo’w Juhs-teen?”