“Hey, Mary!” You winced, hearing Maryam’s smug voice. “You fuck up or something?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
She grinned. “You’re back in the ER with us now. You piss someone off up there?”
You blinked… “What?” You mentally scrolled through all the things you could have done. There was the lab raid, of course, but wouldn’t that lead to something a little more drastic than a demotion? Did Walters rat on you? No, then he would be ratting himself out, that would be stupid even for him.
Maryam giggled, but before she could reply Dr. Landry entered the room. “We have some overflow from an emergency this morning. This is not a punishment.” Maryam shrunk slightly at his sharp tone.
“What happened?” You asked, clipping your badge to your scrubs.
“Mass poisoning. Nasty affair, but most patients should survive just fine after charcoal and Ipecac are provided.”
A low groan echoed around the room at the thought of fluffies being made to vomit. With a human you could provide a bucket or bag but fluffies never seemed to understand the idea of a designated place to vomit. The hospital briefly tried a sort of feed bag style muzzle that would contain the mess but fluffies being fluffies found this to be an ideal way to die. Between shoving their hooves into the air holes trying to get it off and them panicking and drowning in their own vomit it was declared a failure and discontinued. Now you were just supposed to try not to let them vomit directly on you and clean it up when they were done. It was a pain. If there were any abused or domestic fluffies they tended to panic about making a mess and try to run away and thus make even more of a mess.
“Enough.” Landry held his hand up, silencing the room. “Get prepared and get out on the floor, the next ambulance arrives in ten.” He then turned on his heel and left, the residents around you jumping into action and rushing out.
With a small sigh you joined them. You had kinda missed the ER floor, in all its stress and chaos, and you were in some small way happy to be able to avoid the psych wing today. You struggled to maintain your composure in there, Walters couldn’t look you in the eye and though the other doctors were acting normal Victor had pulled you aside to ask if everything was going alright. You had lied, saying you had a sick cousin. He had offered his condolences and let you know you could take time off whenever you needed it. It seemed he believed you, but you had no idea if that was true. You’d seen how he shifted tone, how well he had convinced Ella’s owner. Still, it was the best you could do on the spot. You would just have to have her make a miraculous recovery to avoid the requests for obituaries or places to send flowers.
“Romero to station three, Daniels to four…” The head nurse was directing the residents around as cart after cart of limp fluffies was pushed in by fluff control workers.
“LaRue!” You jumped nearly out of your skin as a gruff voice barked your name. Standing to the side you saw Major Anderson. “Good to see ya, girl! There’s a difficult patient down here, my boys are struggling to get him under control, think you can handle it?”
“Uh, yes, sir!”
“Atta girl!” He clapped a firm hand on your shoulder. “Rodrigez! Take Miss LaRue here to that little bastard.”
“Yes sir!” A young woman in a grey uniform turned sharply down the hall, you followed after her.
Anderson remembered you, which was equal parts exciting and stressful. You had no doubt he knew exactly what was going on in his hospital, in the labs attached. The amount of military rank mentioned in the files you stole from the labs assured you of that. The sudden influx of residents in crisp grey scrubs must be military as well, going off their distinct haircuts and Rodrigez’s tight bun. However, he still thought highly of you. So clearly your activities were still staying unnoticed.
“He’s in here, we couldn’t get him to take the medication.” She opened one of the exam room doors, and the smell of fluffy shit nearly knocked you off your feet. “I know.” She shot you a pained look. “I think he’s out of ammunition now, but be careful.”
Great. That sort of problem. You stepped into the filthy room, seeing the perfect silhouette of someone’s legs painted on the wall in a fine brown spray. The artist was nowhere to be seen, you carefully scanned the room as you pulled some gloves on. “Where you at, buddy?”
You heard a small gasp, and turned to see the tip of a purple tail sticking out from behind the biowaste bin.
“Hey, do you want some nummies?” You approached slowly.
“Nu! Yu wan taek nummies!” A high pitched voice replied to you, sounding somewhat out of breath.
“What? No, I just want to give you a sweet treat!” The ipecac the hospital stocked came in the form of soft white gummies, usually very easy to get fluffies to eat. When it came to toxins time was of the essence and as you had no idea what he’d been given you couldn’t waste too much time.
“Pauwy saw yu gib bad nummies to oddah fwuffies! Taek nummie sketties out dey tummies!! Pauwy nu be twicked!!” He replied.
Fuck. Explained why he got a private room, couldn’t have him yelling to the other ferals about what the treats were. Lies were out then, maybe it was time to try some honesty.
You pulled the bin aside and frowned at the pale purple fluffy lying on the ground. He was bloated, nearly pregnant looking, and his eyes were fixed on you with his chin lying on the ground. A small puddle of frothy spit lay under his head and you could hear his rasping breath. You did not have a ton of time.
“Hey buddy, you’re not feeling so good, are you?” You crouched down next to him, avoiding as much of the filth on the ground as possible.
“…Nu…” He answered carefully, scooting away from you.
“I can help you feel better.”
“Yu wan taek sketties.” he spat back.
“Nope.” You shook your head. “Doctors like me don’t like sketties.” A small lie, you weren’t fond of the stuff after smelling it all day but you would eat it on occasion. You certainly didn’t like the sort of sketty he would be given.
“Den… wai gib bad sweetie nummies??”
“See, you were given some bad sketties by a monster out there. The sketties are what’s making you feel so bad right now, so we need to get the bad sketties out of you.”
Pauly coughed, spitting up another glob of foamy spittle. “Wai… gib bad sketties?”
“I don’t know. Some people just like to be mean.” You stood and started looking through the upper cabinets of the exam room. “How about this, you eat the treats for me and when you’re done puking I’ll get you some good sketties.” You pulled out the can of sketty and the container of ipecac gummies. “No tricks, I promise.”
Pauly took a long moment to think everything over, looking between the gummies, the can of sketty, and you. You smiled at him, letting him take his time. Your time in the psych ward had taught you quite a bit about how these creatures thought and how best to get them to go along with treatment. With stubborn cases if you couldn’t convince them it was their idea you had a lot of luck just telling them the truth. He would probably counter this with wanting two, maybe even three cans of sketty and you would reluctantly agree to make him feel like he was winning here. It was a delicate balance to strike, but one you had really felt like you mastered.
“Nu.”
“What?!”
“Nu wan!” He snapped, coughing out another glob of foam. “Meany wady jus’ wan Pauwy’s sketti!”
“You stupid rat, I don’t want your second hand pasta!” You snapped at him. “We don’t have fucking time for this, you’re dying you idiot!”
“Yu did sumting tu Pauwy!” He pointed an accusing hoof at you.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. You couldn’t fail this, Major Anderson himself assigned you this fluffy. Pauly coughed out more foam, this somewhat pink tinted. You didn’t have time to be nice anymore.
“Fine, we’ll do this my way then.” You grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and slammed him down on the exam table. A small dribble of shit squirted out of him as he yelped. “You’re going to eat the damn gummies.”
“Nu!!! Nu wan!!!” He struggled feebly against you as you opened up the pill container. Thankfully your time at the hospital had gotten you good at opening childproof containers with one hand.
You plopped the first of the gummies down in front of him, he closed his mouth tightly and turned his head away.
“Eat the gummy.” you growled.
“Mhhhm!” He made a defiant noise, eyes closed. You watched his eyes shoot back open as your fist closed tightly around his testicles.
“Eat the gummy or lose your lumps.” You stated coldly. He stared at you with panic in his eyes. You tightened your grip until tears rolled down his cheeks. “What’s it going to be, I’m not going to wait forever.” You pulled on them slightly, careful not to cause any real damage while inflicting maximum pain.
“Wiww… Wiww eat… nu taek wumps.” He whimpered, setting his head down on the table. You loosened your grasp slightly as he gently took the gummy in his mouth, chewed and swallowed.
“Good boy.” You popped open the container, dropping another in front of him. “One down, two to go.”
“Buh Pauwy did wha- eep!” Your fingers tightened again, and the tears returned to his eyes.
“You missed your chance to make a deal, dumbass. Eat. The damn. Gummy.”
Pauly gobbled down the one you placed in front of him, and then the next without hesitation. You released his testicles, and he curled up on the table sniffling softly.
“This is why you need to listen.” You pulled off a glove so you could put the can of sketty away without getting any of the feral filth on it. He was covered in the layer of street grime most ferals had, but with a name like Pauly you theorized he might be a runaway domestic. Odd that he still had his testicles, neutering was the law for all domestic fluffies.
“Pauwy… wan sketti…” he moaned.
“Well, you should have been good. We could have been friends, you could have just done what I asked of you and you’d be eating sketty right now.” You kept your tone cold and impersonal.
“Buh… Buh… BWAGGGHHH…” You turned back to see him vomiting large amounts of partially chewed sketty onto the table. With your one gloved hand you rubbed his back gently as he heaved, the pile of vomit growing around him.
“There you go. You’ll start feeling better soon.” You could see small blue flecks in the vomit, remnants from whatever poison was used. Rat poison? Maybe, it didn’t look like any of the fluffy specific toxins you were trained on. Almost all of them were banned in the city, the few remaining were more along the lines of abortifacients and sterilization measures than outright toxins.
“Meanie…” Pauly mumbled between dry heaves. “Meanie wady…”
You lifted him up gently by the scruff with your gloved hand, looking him in the eye as a small amount of vomit dripped from his chin. “I could have been very nice. I gave you the choice, and you chose this. Remember that.” You dropped him back down on the table, stroking your hand down his back. “And remember…” Your fingers closed over his testicles again. “I can always come back for these if you decide to be a pain again.”
Pauly trembled under your grasp, putting his hooves over his head. “Wiww… wiww be guud…”
“Good boy.” You scruffed him again and gently set him on one of the few shit free spots on the floor. “I will be back for you in a minute.” You left him shivering on the floor of the filthy exam room as you left to go find cleaning supplies.
“You need backup, LaRue?” Anderson asked as the door clicked shut behind you.
“Oh, no, sir.” You pulled off your remaining glove. “He’s empty, just need to clean up after him.”
“Look at you, girl! Perfectly clean, only needed a single glove!” He clapped you firmly on the back as you looked down on yourself, unsure as to how you managed to not get any filth on your scrubs. “I’ll find someone less talented to clean up in there for you, don’t worry about it.”
“Oh! Thank you sir!”
“Go figure out who needs ya!” He gave you a shove towards the ER stations, and you jogged into the chaos. Talented. Another adjective to hang on your fridge next to Best And Brightest.
“Yeah, so he just snapped I guess.” You said, waiting for the light to change. “Glad he took it out on fluffies and not, like, kids or something.”
“Still weird to take out the decline of your career on fluffies, man. Though I bet they were constantly harassing his dumpsters, dude had the last Italian place in the city.” Romero replied over the hands free Bluetooth in your car. “I would do meth too if I had to deal with that sort of bullshit every day after work.”
“Meth? I thought it was coke.” The light turned green finally, and you accelerated into the night.
“Oh, coke would make more sense. ‘Bump it up a notch’ has a whole new meaning now.”
“I know right? I really shouldn’t be surprised that a chef is doing coke but he was just so friendly looking.”
“Did you see the arrest footage?”
“No, I’m nearly home though.”
“Pull it up right away, it’s so good. He tries to pull this whole ‘I’m Evril Legasi, you can’t do this to me!!’ thing, and the cops just straight up don’t give a shit.”
“Will do, I’ll text you after I feed Yam.” You hung up as you pulled into your assigned parking spot. You didn’t have a great apartment, but it had reserved parking which made the nightly neighbor fights worth it. You guessed being able to house Romero’s fluffy was an added bonus, though there was going to be a few favors he’d owe you once this was done. Yam was a sweet fluffy, but she was still as high maintenance as they were known to be. You’d struggled to get her sleeping through the night and already gotten two complaints from your loud ass neighbors about her whining while you were gone. Real rich coming from the couple that spent every night screaming at each other about who was cheating on who. Cowards also couldn’t say it to your face, instead opting to put a passive aggressive note in the hallway addressed to “whoever is neglecting their fluffy”. You sneered at it as you passed. Some part of you wanted to rip it down but that would be seen as an admission of guilt. If you had to deal with their nightly fights they could deal with a sad fluffy. How could her quiet whines be worse than their screaming?
“Yam, I’m home!” You called as you opened your door. There was no reply as you hung up your bag. She must be napping, you were happy to see her finally catching up on sleep. Then maybe she could shake this weird illness.
You grabbed a can of sketti chow, popping the can open as you turned to her bowl. It still contained the remains of breakfast, which you scraped into the trash. She had eaten more than the day before, maybe she was finally coming around. You dumped the puck of food onto the plate, popping open a new can of formula and pouring a small amount over the top.
“Yam! Dinner!” You called, setting the bowl down. After a moment of silence, you started making your way down the hall towards the office turned saferoom. “Yam? Time to wake up!” You shook your head as you stepped into the office. “Silly girl, sleeping the day away-”
Yam lay in the middle of the office, twitching on the rug. Her wide eyes stared blankly forward, unseeing. You dove to her side, trying to figure out the cause. Had she eaten something?? You looked frantically around the room, you’d gone over the place with a fine toothed comb before letting her loose, you even pulled all the cables up against the wall to keep her from nibbling on them.
“Yam, honey, can you hear me??” You put your hand on her side, feeling the muscles pulled taut. Her blank eyes stared forward, a small amount of drool dripping down her muzzle.
A seizure. Without thinking you rolled her onto her side, struggling with her stiff limbs. You pried her mouth open, sweeping your fingers through to feel for anything lodged in her mouth. You didn’t feel anything, but your fingers returned with a coating of blood from her biting her tongue.
“It’s going to be okay honey, I’ll take you to the hospital and-”
And what? What would you tell them? What if they knew where she came from?
Yam’s limbs began to flail, and you quickly bundled her under your arm with her head down to keep her from choking on her own saliva. You didn’t care about the risk. If you did nothing she would die, if they found out where she came from she would die. You had to take the slim chance of them believing she was a feral. You ran across your apartment, knocking your bag to the floor in your haste to grab your keys. You dropped to the ground, fumbling with the stupid fucking bag, now of all times!
Your heart dropped as you felt Yam stiffen suddenly, then fall limp.
Kneeling on the floor of your entryway with shaking hands you set her down in front of you. “…Yam…?”
She lay perfectly still, eyes staring blankly forward.
“Yam… honey…” your hand rested lightly on her side. “Please… wake up…” You choked out. “Romero is coming to visit this weekend… he’s so… excited to see you…”
Your fingers dug into her fluff, feeling no motion. No breaths, no heartbeat, nothing. Just the cooling corpse of a good fluffy.
You sat there on the floor for a very long time. It wasn’t until you heard your phone buzz from your purse that you moved. You saw Romero’s name at the top of the text and hit the call button, trying to control your breathing as it rang.
“Mary! Did you see the one on the front page of Fox? He’s yelling at the cop from the hood of the car!”
“Romero…”
His tone softened immediately. “Mary? What’s wrong?”
“I…. I’m… I’m sorry…”
“… what? Are you okay? Do you need me to come over??”
You took a deep breath. “I… Yam is… dead.”
A few hours after the hardest phone call of your life you were slowly making your way to the dumpster. Romero assured you, over and over, that it wasn’t your fault, that there was nothing you could do. You could hear it in his voice though, the slight waiver of tears. You said you didn’t need him tonight, that you’d figure out what to do with her in the morning. Yam’s body was wrapped in her blanket in your freezer. It didn’t make sense to wrap her up in a blanket but you just… couldn’t think about her being cold in there. She needed a blanket. As you cleaned up the mess your neighbors started up and you just couldn’t handle it. You made your way across the parking lot in the cool night, still feeling numb.
It hadn’t set in yet, that you were no longer taking care of the little russet fluffy. You didn’t like them, never wanted them as a pet but… you thought you could save her. From whatever that lab had done to her. Whatever they did had long term effects, clearly. Or… it was just bad luck. There was no way you could bring yourself to autopsy her, so there was no way you could ever truly know. All you had was a dead fluffy and a broken heart.
Why were you so stupid? Nothing good would ever have come of this. Even if she didn’t seize and die on your office floor, who knows how much longer she had left. Who knows what the tests did to her. Maybe there was something tracking her. Stupid stupid stupid. You set the trash bag next to the dumpster gate, reaching for the handle. You would remember this. You can’t get attached to them. It makes you stupid, and you can’t be stupid in this line of work.
“Gib nummies!” a shrill voice sounded off. You slowly turned to see a dark blue mare standing next to your trash bag.
“Fuck off.” You weren’t in the mood for this.
“Nu say bad wowdsies in fwont of babbehs, dummeh!” she snapped. A few dull colored blobs rested on her back, between her wings. With her pale mane and dark blue fluff she would have been a valuable pet had her personality been less shit.
“I don’t care. Go away.”
“Nu, dummeh! Yu gib Smawty Mummah nummies, an’ wet into nummie pwace!”
You stared down at the shitrat. Fucking horrible creature. Why did this one live while gentle Yam dies? Why does she get to go around, popping out ill tempered spawn while the polite little fuzzball died a painful death in your apartment. You stepped up to the mare, visions of justice dancing in your vision. You would make it even. Splatter her here on the pavement, leave nothing but a stain in memory of her. She cowered away from you slightly as you approached, but her cheeks remained puffed. You should have let that purple rat die today too. He deserved it, why do you work so hard to save these creatures when they work so hard to die? And demanding food from you, calling herself smarty, that’s asking for death. Anyone else in your place would feel the same.
No, what the fuck were you thinking? You couldn’t kill her for just being a bitch. You would be doing the world a favor by taking her out, but that was abuse. That was fucked. No matter how bad you felt, you couldn’t take it out on even the worst of fluffies. That shit was a slippery slope to ending up like Dr. Jackson.
You saw a glint of light from the top of the bag, the can of formula with the large warning label sat at the top of the bag, still mostly full. A cruel smile played across your lips. Maybe a little bit of withdrawal would teach her a lesson. That wasn’t abuse, no no. That would be a harsh lesson. One a mare would need to learn living on the street. Maybe even a push in the direction of being a better fluffy.
“I’m sorry, Smarty Mummah, if I let you in here you’d be stuck! And then the trash monsters will come for you!” She stared at you, defiant, as you pulled out the can. “But I’ll give you magic milkies, they’ll make you the bestest mummah!”
The mare stared suspiciously as you poured the milk out into a discarded fast food bowl. You stepped back, heaving the trash bag over the gate and into the dumpster.
“… If yu twick Smawty Mummah wiww gib wowstest stompies.” She sniffed at the milk carefully.
“Of course, I know better than to try to outsmart a smarty mummah!” You stepped back from the bowl as she began to lap at it, first tentatively then quickly as the flavor hit her tongue. “Goodbye, Smarty Mummah, I hope you find more nummies.”
“Wait!” The mare cried. “Yu gib homesie!”
“Oh, I don’t have one of those.” you lied. You assume that most homeless fluffies had seen at least one homeless person, what’s to say you weren’t one?
“Hmm…” The mare took another lick of the milk thoughtfully. “Den gib mowe miwkies.”
“That’s all I have tonight. If you come back tomorrow night I’ll have more for you though.”
“Den dummeh wady cum back. Nu make Smawty Mummah wait!”
“Of course.” You gave her an exaggerated bow before turning to cross the parking lot once again. You had many more cans of the laced milk and all the time in the world. Your sick cousin would have to take a turn for the worst tonight, you’d text Victor as soon as you got back. That would earn you a few days off to recover. And time for other activities.
