Maison de Fluffy. A stately square building overlooking the french quarter, housing the leading experts in fluffy medicine. A prestigious institute where biotoys received the highest possible medical care possible. Hundreds of medical students applied every year for just the chance of entering these halls. Only a handful were selected, and you were one of the lucky few to receive that glorious acceptance letter.
Why, then, were you still in the parking lot? Why were you slumped in the seat, pressing your forehead firmly into the stitched leather of your steering wheel, trying with all your might to get yourself to leave the car?
With a heavy sigh, you straightened yourself, looking blankly forward. This was an honor. One that came with endless long shifts and sleepless nights of studying, but an honor. Most importantly, you chose this. You worked your ass off in college, you filled out the application, you decided this was a good idea. Twisting your grimace into the best smile you could, you forced yourself to open the door of the car.
The staff door was a high-tech affair, it’s facial recognition system was something so impressive to you when you first started but now you were just annoyed. Standing outside the door, waiting for the system to decide who you were gave you far too much time to daydream about different careers, ones that had a little more on the life side of a work-life balance.
[ENTRY APPROVED, WELCOME MS.LARUE]
Your first staff photo flashed on screen, your blue hair flopped over one eye in a style you thought would be manageable for a medical residency. Now you just pinned it back however you could. She smiled back at you, filled with adderall and the naive hope and the idea that this would be easy. A smile unbothered by weeks of sixteen hour shifts caring for screaming shit ra- fluffies.
The screen flicked black again, reflecting you as you were now. Tired. Scowling. Somewhat dead inside. Suffering from a distinct lack of stimulants.
The door slowly slid open, you squeezed through the half open gap and power walked down the hall. Your shoes squeaked on the pale tile floors, clearly freshly cleaned. One of the benefits of being in such a prestigious establishment, sanitation was taken very seriously. Something far too important to miss with creatures like fluffies.
In the locker room a few other residents chatted while getting ready for the day. You roughly tossed your things into your locker, slamming it shut behind you.
“Mary! How’d you get out of training?” Romero, a fellow resident called from across the room.
You stared at him, uncomprehendingly, until the gears in your head whirred to life. “Live subject training is today??”
“Oooooohhh…” He grimaced in sympathy. “It was today, girly. I thought you called in sick or something.”
FuckfuckfuckFUCKFUCK! You grabbed your badge and sprinted off to the training rooms, praying you weren’t too late.
“I hope Landry doesn’t eat you alive!” Romero called after you.
“And,” Dr. Landry continued, “focus on stabilizing, calming, and documenting. Your job is intake, you are the first step in the process of healing. Foundations are important, and the better job you do at this, the better chance we have at success.”
You peeked around the doorway, unable to see the doctor around the many residents in their pastel blue scrubs. Everyone’s back to the door suited you just fine, and you slowly crept into the room behind them. Landry had a tendency to close his eyes while he talked, and when he instructed he would spend full lessons with his eyes closed. The chances he even saw who all was in the room was slim, so you could just sneak into the back and claim you were here the whole-
“Nice of you to join us, Ms. LaRue.” The entire room turned to you, hunched in the doorway. “I assume you have a valid reason to be so late.”
“I… I was… caught in traffic?” You slowly straightened out of your stealthy crouch into a more dignified posture.
“Hm.” He crossed his arms, staring you down. He was a small man, fair and white haired, but what he lacked in stature he made up for in intimidation. Even the most boisterous of fluffies fell silent in his gaze. “See that you leave earlier, then.” You nodded, avoiding his gaze. “That’s all I have for you then. Check the schedule if you haven’t already, you all have further jobs.” He waved his hands in dismissal, and the residents filtered out of the room. You could feel his eyes on you, and stood in place as they passed around you.
After a long silence of the two of you in the room, you finally spoke. “Do… You have something for me?”
“I do. But I wonder if you even want it.” His words bit into you. “Do you not want to work here?”
“I do!” You snapped back.
“Then,” He tapped his fingers against his arm. “Why aren’t you here on time?”
“I-I-I… Traffic…” you stuttered, trying to hold eye contact.
He didn’t blink, didn’t waiver, didn’t even twitch… “Yes, I heard you. You do know can leave anytime you want.”
“I don’t! I want this!” And… you did. However much it sucked, it was your suck. Your misery. “I want to do this, sir.”
“Then show me.” He pointed to a canister against the wall, laying on a blue tarp. One of many in the room, but the only one that was still closed. “One left, stabilize it and prep it for further treatment.” He clicked his pen, setting the tip expectantly against his clipboard.
With a deep breath you approached the canister. There was a fluffy transport stretcher set up next to it, with the standard medical supplies you would expect for intake. Gauze, sutures, a few different healing gels, along with a series of carefully labeled syringes. You set the canister on end next to the stretcher, pulling the tag out.
INTAKE #583117
NAME: Urbi
TYPE: F Earth, 5 yo, Chipped
OWNER: Patricia Benoit
BRIEF: Attacked by adolescents in park, taken in by FEMT. Severe damage to pelvis, lower back, and hind limbs. Severe emotional distress due to foals being attacked during the event. Foals determined to be DOA, not included. Sedatives given at the scene.
You clicked the small recorder attached to your badge on, and started setting up the supplies. “Mary Sue LaRue, intake number 583117. Subject is a five year old domestic earthie named Urbi, expecting severe trauma to pelvis and surrounding area as well as emotional distress. Subject was brought to Maison de Fluffy in a standard issue cryotank, preparing for stabilization.”
Gloves put on, you flipped the big red switch on the side of the tank, and there was a hiss as a cloud of fog was released into the room. The cryotanks were another thing that was a marvel of technology when you started, now just a normal part of the job. The lid popped with a click, and you lifted it by the handle, pulling out a brown fluffy carefully strapped to it.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEeeee……” She gasped, suddenly pulled from her stasis. “Wh…Whewe… mummah… fwuffy… hewp…” Her eyes darted wildly around the room before fixing on you. You laid her gently on the stretcher, her hind legs hanging limply behind her.
“Subject is aware and alert after relief of stasis, cognitive status seems to be normal.” You pulled out a penlight and shined it into her wild eyes. “Pupil dilation is normal. No sign of head trauma.”
You peeled the velcro straps from across her back, pulling a small amount of fluff out with them. When you got to the straps around her hips you were more delicate, running your finger under each one first to free the soft fur before ripping it off. Her legs lay at unnatural angles and her tail was a nearly unrecognizable pile of gore. “Pelvis seems to be broken, a compound fracture.” You gently handled each leg, feeling the muscles and joints. “Fracture to right hind leg, left leg is dislocated but unbroken.” You quickly scribbled this down on the small intake sheet.
“Whewe… wha…” Urbi continued muttering to herself.
You gently poked her tail with your penlight, watching for her response. She continued her confused muttering, and you poked a little higher. You worked your way up her spine until about halfway up her fluff twitched, and she turned her head.
“Nice… wady…?”
“Subject shows no pain response until the-” You poked her back again, and she made a small squeak. “-T10 vertebrae, suggests spinal damage. X-ray required for further diagnosis.” You made a note of this as well, checking a few boxes on the sheet.
“Babbehs… babbehs?” Urbi stirred, trying to pull herself to her hooves. You placed a gentle hand on her back to hold her in place. “Whewe… babbehs??” She struggled against your hand.
“Subject is distressed, sedatives given at scene but may require more at this time. Administering.”
You reached for the blue labeled syringe, uncapping it with one hand. Suddenly Urbi jumped, knocking the syringe out of your grasp.
“WHEWE BABBEHS?!” She cried, trying to get her limp legs under her. You swore under your breath and tried to gently restrain her. “BABBEHS NEE MUMMAH!!!”
“Sedatives…Uh…” You looked at the uncapped syringe on the floor. “Unavailable.”
“BABBEHS HAB HUWTIES!!” She snapped her jaws at your hands, eyes wide and fearful.
“Calm down! Calm down!” She flailed in your grasp, kicking as hard as she could.
“NU! NEE BABBEHS!!”
“Uh…” You looked around for anything that would help you. The room was a mess of medical supplies and stretchers and you could see other sedative syringes, but if you let go of her to grab one you were sure she would launch herself off the stretcher. Behind you, Dr. Landry was writing quickly on his clipboard. “Hey, hey, listen to me.” You leaned down and looked her in the eyes, spit foaming on the corners of her mouth. “You are hurt, okay? You need to be still.”
“NEE BABBIES! BABBEEEEHS!” She squealed, you winced at the volume.
“Your babies are okay! I’ll bring you to them!”
“BABBEHS! Babbehs…” She breathed heavily for a moment. “Babbehs… am otay…”
“Yes. they are okay.” You heaved a sigh of relief, your lie believed. “You need to let me take care of you, so you… don’t give your hurties to your babies.”
Urbi continued her heavy breathing, but nodded softly.
“That’s a good fluffy. I’m going to give you some… uh… pointy hurties, but they’ll make you feel better, okay?” She nodded again, and you slipped the pain relief syringe into her shoulder. “Administering 4cc Selyidine.” You gently stroked her mane as her breathing slowed, her head lowering on to the stretcher. You scribbled down the dosage on the sheet next to you.
“How… time tiww… babbehs…?” She muttered.
You forced a smile. “Not long at all. If you take a nap it will be even shorter.” She nodded, eyes sliding shut. You made a quick note on the sheet of the dosage you gave her, and then looked her over one last time. She had some clotted blood on what remained of her tail, and you gently applied a small amount of healing gel to it just in case the scab broke during transport. Pulling your voice recorder to your mouth, you spoke softly into it. “Subject stable. Expecting to see foals soon, will need to be dealt with by psych. No further injuries noted, however the subject’s underside has not been properly assessed due to spinal damage.” You clicked it off, and filled out the rest of the intake sheet, signing your name at the bottom.
Dr. Landry tapped your shoulder and silently pointed to the small door on the wall. The hospital was equipped with a state of the art fluffy transport system, something akin to the vacuum tubes used at banks. You gently slid the stretcher into it and inserted the intake sheet into the slot. There was a soft ding to let you know it read it properly, and the door slid shut. A soft whirr of mechanical parts, and then the fluffy was no longer your patient.
You took a moment to breathe, feeling for the first time how hard your heart was pounding. Your hands were sweaty as you peeled back the gloves, and you tried to get your own breathing under control. The training room was silent other than Dr. Landry’s pen scribbling across the page and your blood pounding in your ears. With a sharp dot, he finished his notes and spoke.
“You need better bedside manor.” Curt, matter of factly, as if he didn’t just watch the situation you dealt with. You struggled to find a reply, opening and closing your mouth. “You could have had her calmed from the beginning. You knew she was distressed.”
Silence. Your hands tightened to fists at your sides. There was a small twitch at the corner of the doctor’s lips.
“You did do well enough for me to pass you, however.” He tucked his pen into his pocket. “I will forgive your tardiness this once, please don’t let it become a pattern.”
“Thank you, sir.” You managed to choke out.
“Now,” He gestured to the room. “I assume you were not late to the sanitation training? When you’re done cleaning, disregard the schedule and report to intake.”
You sighed. “Yes, sir.”
“And you lived?!” Romero said, shocked.
After cleaning the training room, it was a short jog to the ER, where you were stationed with a familiar face, thankfully. The two of you leaned against the table in your room, waiting for a fluffy to come in.
“I mean, It’s not like he’s actually going to kill me”
“I don’t know, I could see him on dateline. Did you hear he made Maryam cry?” Romero pulled himself up to sit on the table. “She didn’t even do anything!”
“Get off of there before you get me in more trouble.” You gave him a small shove. “And she ate my lunch from the breakroom, I assumed it had something to do with that.”
He pursed his lips. “Hm… Maybe.”
You heard commotion down the hall, and stuck your head out into the hallway. A woman was sobbing, being held back by the staff as what is presumably her fluffy is pushed away from her on the stretcher.
“Ooooh, hope that’s not coming towards us.” Romero said.
The resident pushing the stretcher makes full eye contact with you. “God damnit, why do you always say shit like that? You know it is.” You turn back to him, poking your finger into his chest. “I swear to god, if you say the Q word next I will neuter you.” He pantomimed zipping his lips as the stretcher was pushed into your station.
“Got one for you, this is Reba.” The emaciated fluffy on the stretcher doesn’t respond. The resident reads off a packet of paper, “Domestic, picked up by the fluffy patrol. Mistreated by a feral herd that kidnapped her. It’s all in the packet, she’s pretty messed up.” She pats the small despondent mare on the side. “The woman out there is her momma, we’re going to get her calmed down as best we can before she comes back here.” She gives you both a sympathetic look as she leaves.
“I’ll do the assessment, you look through the notes.” Romero bends down to the clearly starved fluffy, smiling. “Hi sweety! I’m Romero, that’s my friend Mary, and we’re going to take care of you!” His smile falters slightly as she continues to stare blankly forward.
Her history is… something, to say the least. According to her owner, she went missing over eight months ago. She was found on a routine feral roundup, living under the deck of a bar and serving as the herds designated shit eater and fuck toy. The leader was pretty glib, explaining that she had birthed several litters of “enfie-nummie babbehs”. Disgusting. Her owner (who was still wailing in the waiting room) had the good sense to have her chipped but not spayed, unfortunately. After capture of the smarty, the pick up of the rest of the herd went south, leading to what the packet called rather coldly, “mass termination”.
“Does anything hurt, honey?” Romero asked as he gently felt her over, running his gloved hands over her filthy fluff. Her bright yellow mane was missing huge chunks (fallen out due to malnutrition or pulled out?) where it wasn’t matted into knots. “Has she been given any sedatives or anything?”
“Uhhhh….” You flipped through the intake packet. “No, I think this is just trauma. There’s some… stuff in here.” Stuff as in rape, torture, cannibalism, and her captors being gunned down in front of her.
“Alright.” Romero put his hands on his hips. “Call psych, she seems awfully close to looping.” The wan-die loop was not something fluffies generally came back from. You dug in the drawers for a pager and sent a quick request off to the psychiatric department.
Returning to the intake sheet, “Any injuries?”
He lifted her front hoof and she gasped in pain, tears welling up in her empty eyes. “All four legs are broken. Can’t tell how bad, this could be bruising or just dirt.” He turned and opened a drawer. “I’m going to give her a little Selyidine, see if that will get her talking.” He pulled up her scruff and injected a small amount. You both stood back and watched her for a moment and as the drugs kicked in she started softly chirping.
“That’s either really good or really bad.” You set the packet aside, and pulled on some gloves. “I’ll check the sensitive bits.”
“Better to have another gal do it.” You rolled your eyes as Romero knelt down in front of her again. “My friend Mary is going to look at your special place real quick, It’s totally okay. Wont hurt at all.”
“Nu… Nu touch…” She whispered hoarsely.
“Oh! No, she won’t touch at all. I promise. Do you hurt anywhere?”
“Weggies… Whewe mummah?”
Romero smiled and set a gentle hand on her mane. “Your mummah is right outside, she’ll be in here in just a second!”
As gently as you could you lifted her tail, revealing her very bruised and swollen crotch. Her teats were swollen and somewhat purple, you noted down mastitis. As expected her vaginal area was heavily bruised, collaborating the smarty’s story. You noted a few bald patches revealing angry red skin, ringworm most likely. Lowering her tail, you patted her gently on the rump. “All done.”
“Reba?!” A heavyset blond woman rushed in, arms outstretched. Romero blocked her from hugging the mare, keeping her just out of reach. “Are you okay darling?! What happened??”
“She’s got some broken bones, please don’t touch her.” She hugged Romero tightly instead, who looked at you in confusion. You suppressed a smirk.
“We are going to give her the best possible care.” You said, taking off your gloves. “She’s been through a lot and is going to need some time to process it.”
“Mummah…” Reba groaned. “Weebah sowwy… fo… wun way… nu wan…”
“I know honey, mummah isn’t mad.” the woman said as she released Romero. “What happened to her…?”
“Um.” You cleared your throat, trying to figure out how to explain without retraumatizing her fluffy.
“Weebah wan fwends…” She spoke for you. “Wan pway wif fwuffies. Fwuffies nu wan pway… wan enfies…” Her owner gasped, covering her mouth. “Fwuffies gib huwties, Weebah twy wun way… gib wowstest stompies…” she hung her head, sobbing quietly. “Huu… Weebah wan gu home…”
“Oh Reba…” the woman cupped her face gently. “You’ll go home as soon as they make you all better, okay?” Reba nodded, rubbing her face into her owner’s hand. “How… how long will that be?” She asked you.
“We’re just residents, ma’am. Once we have a treatment plan from the doctors we’ll let you know.” She nodded, wiping a tear from her own cheek.
“Excuse me,” A white coated man. “Is this Reba?”
“Yep,” Romero ushered the doctor in. “Ma’am this is Dr. Davis, head of our Psychiatric department.”
He shook her hand firmly with a soothing smile. “We’re going to take care of her. I need to talk to her though, get a sense of where she is. If you could head back to the waiting room, I’ll have someone call you back when we have a treatment plan.”
The woman nodded and gave Reba a quick kiss on the head. “Mummah will be just outside, darling.”
You escorted her out of the room and stood outside while the doctor talked to her. “We always get the interesting ones, don’t we?” Romero quipped.
“You did this. You just HAD to comment on it.”
Romero rolled his eyes. “Oh come on. That’s a dumb superstition, it’s been qu-”
"DO NOT SAY IT. DO NOT SAY THAT WORD.” You clapped your hand over his mouth.