You are Sunflower! You have a human mummah, and a couple of weeks ago, she started acting weird. Today, you found out why.
“Sunflower, guess what? Mommy has a baby in her tummy! Aren’t you excited for it to come soon?” Mummah asks, holding her inflated stomach and smiling.
“Wha? Buh, Sunfwowa 'ou babbeh! Nu wan nyew babbeh!” You shout, stomping your hooves.
“Sunflower, mommy is going to have this baby, whether you like it or not.” Mummah exacts, flicking you on the nose softly.
“Nu! Nu, nu, nu! Hay-te mummah! Hay-te dummeh babbeh!” You yell, giving sorry-hoofies to your mummah’s leg.
“Now, Sunflower. That means no sketties today, and the sorry box. You’re being a very bad fluffy right now.” Mummah says, picking you up and putting you in a dark box.
“Nu! Wet Sunfwowa gu! Hay-te 'ou!” You scream, slamming into the walls of the box with your hooves.
You are Dr. Harriet Roseman, and you adopted a fluffy a week ago. You’re not actually pregnant (you just have a fake belly on to appear that way), but you want to see what happens when a fluffy’s spot as the baby of the house is being threatened.
“FV-0446, I almost forgot you were made bigger by my co-worker! Can you talk to Sunflower to me? You know, a baby-to-baby talk?” You ask the heavily enlarged virus, currently watching it try to differentiate its left “arm” from its right.
“Peep! Squeak, peep! Peep!” It peeps, showing you the fluffy-originated ‘wan upsies’ pose.
“I assume that’ll be a yes. Come on, I’ll put you downstairs.” You say, picking it up and putting it on the downstairs carpet by the sorry box, watching the whole thing just in case things don’t go how you want them to.
You are Sunflower, and you are so mad at mummah! She’s being such a meanie, and- What’s that? It has little light-blue things coming out of it? Is it a monster?
“Who 'ou? Wook scawy!” You squeal, trying to back away from it.
“Peep! Peep! Squeak, squeak! Peep!” It peeped, crawling closer to you.
“Munstah babbeh! Git sowwy-poopies!” You yell, shitting all over its small face, and causing it to cry again.
“Peep! Peeeeep! Squeak! Peeep! Squeak!” It squeaks, flailing its arms for help.
“Sunflower! Did you make bad poopies on mommy’s baby virus friend?” Your mummah gasps, picking it up carefully.
“Nu, babbeh du it! Sunfwowa see du it, tuu!” You lie, panicking slightly.
“That’s funny, because mommy knows that’s not how viruses work. You’re staying in the sorry-box tonight.” Your mummah rolls her eyes, walking off to clean the… thing.
You are Dr. Harriet Roseman, and you’re now bent over the sink, cleaning FV-0446, and dealing with your bratty fluffy all at once.
“Peep! Squeak, squeak! Peep! Peep! Peep!” FV-0446 peeps, wiggling as you put it in the sink.
“I know your partial fluffy genetics are telling you water is bad, but it’s not! Well, for you? Kinda. But, you’re really big now! You can’t go down the drain!” You reassure it, scrubing it with a hand-towel.
“Peep… Peep! Peep!” It continues peeping, though less alarmed-sounding this time.
“Sunfwowa wan out NYOW! Wet out!” You hear Sunflower shout from downstairs, then the noise of the sorry-box opening.
Oh, no. How’d she find out how to open it?
“FV-0446, we have to end bathtime early. Mommy will be right back to wrap you up.” You say, running downstairs in panic as Sunflower shits on your walls and tries to knock over your TV.
“Dummeh mummah hab babbeh an’ nu eben teww Sunfwowa! Wan be babbeh! Wan be babbeh! Wan be babbeh!” Sunflower yells, shitting on the carpet some more.
“You wanna be a baby, huh?” You ask, picking Sunflower up.
“Es! Wan be babbeh, dummeh mummah!” Sunflower shouts, kicking her hooves around.
“Then, let’s make you one.”