Thanks for the comments and feedback! I already have the story planned out and plan on updating until it’s done, but realizing people are actually reading this got me to write a little faster. Enjoy…?
Laszlo gave the foal its brain-scrambling in the early afternoon, and by the time dinnertime rolled around he was starting to wonder if maybe he hadn’t shot himself in the dick, just a little bit. He thought it wouldn’t shut up before - now the peeping was constant, rhythmic, like a mostly-deflated klaxon. He’d been nursing a headphone headache from binging video essays to block out the noise. Silver linings, he was learning a lot about orphan sources this evening.
Through the thin wall separating their rooms, he’d heard Nicki start up the Shortenin’ Bread Special to calm the foal down. When twenty fucking minutes of that awful jingle didn’t do the trick, she started cajoling it. Sweet-talking it like it could hear her and understand.
Pipipipi-pii!
“What’s wrong?”
Piip!
“Oh, you made another mess…is that it?”
Piip! PIIP! PIIIIIP!
“Babbeh nu wike bad poopies? Is okay, mummuh will clean you.”
PIIIIIIIII-!
“Will that make you feel better? Please, please feel better…*
Laszlo, to his credit, behaved and stayed in his room, chewing the inside of his cheek to suppress the shadenfreude-chuckling that threatened to slip out as Nicki tried to soothe the damaged merchandise. For fuck’s sake, she sounded like she was three seconds away from asking it if Timmy fell in a well again. Even with a full set of marbles, it couldn’t have given her a straight answer to save its life.
It actually made different noises now - quicker, almost off-key sounding. It reminded him of those cheap walking-dog toys he used to see in the malls before Hasbio screwed the pooch and everything pet-related became fluffy-related. He wondered if he’d deafened the thing during his little procedure. It wasn’t like he was a neurosurgeon, after all. He really should have gone in through the eye, but the foal’s eyes were barely the size of corn-kernels. Pop one of those suckers and the jig would be up before it properly started.
PIP! PIP! PIP! PIIIIIIIIP!
“Would you shut that fucking thing up?” Amelie’s voice thundered through the house like holy trumpets. “Goddamnit, Nicki! I go in at 4!”
Hearing not just one, but two swears in a loud voice set the foal off so bad that Laszlo drew blood biting on the inside of his cheek, hands flexed into claws. This was it. His pulse pounded. He didn’t know what to call the emotion - it was an oozing bright-red exhilaration undercut with fear, smooth, featureless, hard and sparkling as opal, ready to burn like high-grade coal, heavy and jagged-edged amidst his ribs. Excitement’s deranged brother, maybe, or else fear’s son that went no-contact.
Was it going to shake out this way? Was Amelie going to kill it? It wouldn’t be drawn out. She’d probably rip it out of Nicki’s hands and, if that alone didn’t do it, whatever angered action she’d do next would.
Laszlo silently, slowly got out of his chair. No walking, no sir, he practically hovered over to the door. He put his ear to the wood, nails digging into his palms, breath a solid chunk in his lungs. This was it. Oh, buddy, this could be it. This was faster than he’d planned on but this would do the trick just fine. What would Amelie do? Maybe she’d throw it. Maybe she’d stomp it. Maybe she’d give it a fucking kick -
Time rubberbanded. A second, two heartbeats? Might as well be that aeons passed as Laszlo listened for whatever was about to happen next. Unaware of how much of a fuss it was making, the foal let out another huu huu huu. Fucking fluffies.
Something hit the wall across the house, from Amelie’s room. Nothing that could shatter, thankfully. “I’ll throw it in the road, so help me!”
Nicki’s door flew open, a slamming counterpoint to the tantrum that loud sack of flesh was throwing. Laszlo didn’t flinch, but cold wire ran through his guts and up his spine. “Relax, okay?!”
“You’ve got two seconds -”
“I’m taking care of it!” Laszlo heard Nicki scurry to the kitchen. He could taste metal in his mouth. So much noise in this little house in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Ah, well. It wasn’t like they had neighbors close enough to hear. Even if they did…well, who gave a shit? The person getting paid to care was one of the ones yelling. “Fucking relax! She’s a baby, cut her some slack!”
Keep sweet, keep sweet. Keep sweet, keep sweet, keep sweet. You gotta kill ‘em with kindness. Laszlo shoveled the words into the back of his mind like wood for the stove. That dark fire was flaring, singing him.
“I’ll cut that fluffy’s goddamn tongue out if you don’t SHUT IT UP!”
Bing! went the microwave. Nicki was rummaging with something - something plastic? You could do a lot with a plastic bag. “I never complain when you make noise!”
“I’m work my ass off for you ingrates! Shut that thing up!”
“I’m WORKING on it!”
The microwave slammed shut. He could hear her punching the buttons, thanks to practice, old-model appliances, and Nicki’s poor emotional regulation. Oh, Nicki. Just shut up and accept the situation you’re in. Laszlo licked the cut-up inside of his mouth and shook his head. Never meet them head on when they have more power than you, everyone knows that. But here she was, screaming back. Not keeping sweet at all. Sooner or later, she was gonna pay for that. It wasn’t going to be him, unless that’s how it shook out, but it’d be someone or something eventually.
Laszlo didn’t want a telenovela, he wanted the Binding of Isaac. But instead, salvation came by way of the microwave doing its magic. Nicki stomped back to her room. Laszlo leaned back, giving himself about an inch of space milliseconds before Nicki slammed her fist against his bedroom door.
“Fuck you!”
The door slammed. There was the sound of alarmed churring, and then the living squeaker-toy next room over finally shut the fuck up.
Just like that. Laszlo blinked. Sure, he could hear some sounds, but the peeping? The crying and slurred screeches? Gone. Laszlo strained his ears and couldn’t make anything out beyond the ringing in his ears. The moment still felt pulled-taut. Body weightless, he drifted over to the common wall and put ear to it.
Faintly, he caught a sound not unlike an old man slamming a pudding cup. Low gulps and a rhythmic cooing, interspersed with little gasps for air and soft sucking noises. Laszlo’s nose wrinkled at the sound and he stopped listening. She must have given it a bottle to get it to be quiet.
The tension snapped, and Laszlo felt his back relax. Well, fuck. That was one of the less violent ways he was thinking this could work out, but that was one of the possibilities he’d hoped for. She’d pop a bottle in to get it to stop crying, it’d stop crying, and that tried-and-true method would do the rest of the work for him.
Just like that, it was back to normal. Real normal, without the fluffy. The kind of normal that had him expecting heat lightning to arc through the house at any moment. Through the wall, he heard quiet sobbing, this time from human lungs.
Laszlo shook his head. What did she expect to happen? Sitting back down at his computer chair, he put his headphones on and went back to watching his videos.
The rest of the night went by silently. Sure, there were a few bouts of shouting through walls, but it never got back to that previous peak. The fluffy was quiet. Whatever Nicki was feeding the foal had its attention.
The next morning was heavy with promise, but Laszlo’s body felt light and at ease. It was a breezy day in late August and he was already planning on spending as much of it as possible out of the house. He’d found what looked like the entrance to an animal burrow while turkey-hunting yesterday, and today he figured he’d investigate it further, this time with better supplies.
Chances are it was a groundhog or wild rabbit, but you never knew. There’d been plenty of information online on how to deal with feral infestations. If he did some rooting around, he’d probably be able to find more fluffies. Fluffies that nobody would care about. Fluffies that people would much rather pretend don’t exist or else want away from their good fluffies. Suddenly he had reason to care about those protests at Lake George.
Laszlo got out of bed. He stretched, felt his back pop luxuriously…and there it was, faint but present. The sound of a fluffy foal in distress.
Fuck. Laszlo closed his eyes and contented himself with imagining the foal skewered through with one of his broadheads. But then, almost immediately after, he heard Nicki’s door open.
“Shh shh shh. It’s okay, it’s okay.”
He heard the door to Nicki’s room squeak open. Nicki was shushing something, voice thin and tight. Reedy, pleading noises answered her, inarticulate and panicked. “I’m coming back, I prommy, just give mummuh a second -”
Pip! Pipipipi -
“It’s okay Peaches, it’s okay…”
Peaches. Laszlo could understand the name choice, but it seemed…unoriginal. Then again, he wouldn’t have bothered giving the thing a name in the first place. It wasn’t like it’d ever learn to come when called.
“Mummuh wubs you Peaches.”
PIPIPIPIPI-
“I’m gonna get breakfast and be right back. I’ll be right back~” she sing-songed at it. He wasn’t the best at gauging tone, but Nicki sounded frustrated. Tired. Possibly annoyed, although that might be his own irritation at the noises the little spastic was making.
The door closed before Laszlo could hear the fluffy’s frantic response. There was a tired sigh and then footsteps.
Laszlo decided that he’d give it a minute before checking to see how his foster sister was doing. By the time he walked into the kitchen, she’d put something in the microwave that was filling the space with the smell of hot dairy product.
Laszlo opened the cabinet door, looked around at a whole bunch of nothing, and finally selected a packet of instant oatmeal from the lone box on one of the shelves. A brief, incandescent flash of emotion ripped through him. The fucking food pantry was on the way to the liquor store. Would it kill Amelie to do her scratch-offs in the parking lot and maybe bring back some food with her Franzia?
“Morning,” he said.
Nicki ignored him. She looked rumpled, hair unwashed and face drawn. Wordlessly, she opened the fridge and rummaged around before grabbing some cheese sticks. She lingered, fridge door still wide open.
“Hey.” He nodded to the refrigerator. “You gonna close that?”
“Can you shut up for three seconds, please.” Laszlo watched her deliberate before taking one of Amelie’s energy drinks for swing shifts. She cracked it open, took a swig, and grimaced at the aftertaste.
“That’s not yours,” Laszlo pointed out.
“Literally nothing is,” she shot back, taking another sip. “She hasn’t touched this one in like a week.”
“Maybe that’s her holdout.”
“No, she doesn’t like the flavor. She has this one because someone gave it to her at work.” Nicki drank more of her stolen goods, voice flat. “Try paying attention sometime, numbnuts.”
Laszlo quirked a brow at the insult. He checked the microwave: about forty seconds to go. Yeah, that’d be enough time to get some information. “I’m not her kid. Why would I care?” He leaned against the counter. “Why’re you so tired anyway? Up late playing Roblox?” he joked.
Nicki shot him a withering look. But all she said was, “no.”
Asking more would be uncharacteristic of him, so Laszlo said nothing. Instead, he waited. Nicki slurped more energy drink, glanced at the microwave, and then set the can down. Unwrapping a cheese stick, she stuffed it in her mouth and chewed quickly. Laszlo wondered why she was bothering to eat out here, around him, instead of immediately retreating to her room and her fluffy. Was she tired of it? He sure as shit was.
Part of him regretted this roundabout route he was taking. He could have just opened a window and let a fox or turkey buzzard take care of the fluffy foal. He could have gotten a syringe from the safe-exchange box at the library and injected it with an embolism. But then again…he wasn’t going to kill it.
Nicki finally broke the awkward lull, muttering something inaudible over the drone of the microwave. Laszlo craned his neck slightly. “What’d you say?”
“I need to use your card,” Nicki repeated. “I’ll Venmo you right after. I have the money.”
Laszlo huffed a laugh. “What money?”
"My money. Why do you care?" Nicki rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’m selling feet pics for it.”
“Then what are you doing?”
Nicki peered at him, probably gauging his intent. Laszlo didn’t really like Nicki - he had no reason to - but he could appreciate that he wasn’t being fostered alongside some dumbass. “I do people’s assignments for them at school,” she admitted. Her lip curled. “If you tell Amelie -”
Laszlo lazily waved the thought away. “I don’t need her hounding us both because you want to have a little side-hustle.” That, at least, was true. “Why don’t you use Venmo?”
Now Nicki looked hesitant to answer, not just annoyed. “…telehealth doesn’t take Venmo.”
Laszlo already knew damn well that it wasn’t human telehealth she was talking about, but he still had to pretend like he thought it was. He wrinkled his nose. “Are you sick?”
“No,” Nicki said, and was that an accusatory tone? “Peaches is.” When Laszlo stared at her, she made a frustrated noise. “My fluffy?”
“Oh,” Laszlo said. He turned to face the microwave in case he gave some hint of the satisfaction he felt. “You named it after Mario Kart?”
“No, it’s because she’s the color and size of a peach - Low, can I use your card or are you going to be a dick?”
Huh. She really sounded worried. Laszlo watched the timer count down. “Don’t call me 'Low’,” he said. When Nicki gave a frustrated sigh, he held up a hand, adding, “fine. But I get a processing fee.”
Nicki’s shoulders slumped. “How much.”
“Hm.” Laszlo scratched his chin for effect. “ATMs charge two-fifty, right? How about three dollars.”
“Oh.” Nicki was mollified by that - Laszlo knew how to use a simple dickish action to distract. “Sure, fine. Whatever. Can I have it now?”
“Impatient,” Laszlo quipped, but he still took out his wallet. Holding his debit card out to her, he lifted it up and out of her reach when she made to grab it. “Remember, you owe me three dollars plus the cost.”
“Fine.”
“So I’m gonna want a copy of the bill. They’ll send one of those, won’t they?”
“Ugh, fine.” Nicki made a claw motion with her hands. “Give it.”
Laszlo grinned. “What’s the magic word?”
“Abra-ca-fuck you, Laszlo.”
Laszlo had to laugh at that. He handed the card off to Nicki, who promptly grabbed her energy drink and hit the button on the microwave. She withdrew something that looked like…
“Is that a microwavable tit?”
“It’s a Miwk Mare.” Milk Mare? She even said it like one of those things would. She hefted it, liquid audibly sloshing inside and threatening to leak out of the ripper nipple poking out of the side. She pinched it shut, grimacing as some got on her fingertips. It smelled like the drink mix in a McBognals machine - fat and lactose and chemicals. Before Laszlo could comment further, she cleared out of there. He heard the brief squealing of the fluffy before the sound of Nicki’s voice, trying to calm it but to no avail.
“It’s okay, Peaches…”
Pipipipipipipipipipi-!
On top of sounding different, It also didn’t stop when Nicki made sounds, which wasn’t great. If he’d accidentally deafened the foal…well, what was the first rule of history? Unintended consequences?
It might work in his favor, it might not. Time would tell. Laszlo breathed hard to get the smell of fluffy feed out of his nose and got to cooking his oatmeal. Rather than eat in earshot of the foal, he decided to go out the back door and have his breakfast on the rotted-out porch.
As he ate, he took time to appreciate the beauty of the treeline, with its backdrop of blue sky. Most of the trees in the land out back behind the house were feral arborvitae, but there were a few oak trees and a scraggly maple that Laszlo had fantasized about tapping for sap to make syrup when he’d first moved in. That was about three, four years ago, now, wasn’t it? He was about Nicki’s age then, and leaving Four Winds for a picturesque cabin in the woods sounded like a dream come true. He could hunt, fish…even as a young child, Laszlo knew he had impulses that others wouldn’t approve of, and something in him had yearned for a chance at turning those dark urges into an honest living. He could live like a frontiersman, and kill game for his dinner every night. He’d get a job with the DEC and get paid to shoot bears in people’s yards.
Then, of course, reality firmly and calmly corrected his false notion of how life would go. The DEC wasn’t taking barely-legal rejects from the childcare system, and college was out of the question. The economy was shit. The local economy was especially shit, and half the jobs Laszlo could get relied on people-skills for decent pay. He wasn’t the kinda guy to wait tables or sit at a help desk, so that meant a trade program on a short bus. Could be worse, he supposed, but he also knew that others had it better.
Laszlo shoveled tasteless oatmeal into his mouth. It stuck in his craw. It had taken time, but he’d worked out a routine. If he needed to make something bleed, he could go bow-hunting, or fishing. Amelie never thanked him, but she kept sweet with him on the days he brought dinner home. It made counting down the weeks to his 18th birthday bearable.
Now he had something that was so temptingly easy to hurt carrying on less than six feet from where he slept. Not only that, but this happened when he was so close to leaping that final hurdle. So fucking close. It made it hard to resist the temptation to recreate the flowerpot technique using the little tumor. If he wasn’t hearing it screech and chirrup, he was listening to it repetitively peep like a dying fire alarm or explosively crap itself like an elderly celiac patient. But not for much longer, if he had his way.
Later on, he’d check his email for the bill. If he was lucky, it’d be itemized for whatever tests or advice this ‘telehealth’ fluff doctor gave Nicki and he’d be able to find out just what he’d done to the shitrat. If not, well - he’d sit tight, keep sweet, and see how Nicki’s current strategy for keeping it quiet worked out for her.
Thanks again for reading. Seriously, it’s wild to read comments from people whose art and stories I really enjoy. Until next time?
