You are Surge the Tenrec, and today you’ve decided to do some good ol’ hunting.
Walking down the streets of your city and checking every alley you came across - sometimes twice, doubling back when you thought you’d heard something - you anxiously cracked your knuckles, gritting your bear-trap teeth. You needed something, anything; you found that once you got a taste for Fluffy violence you couldn’t stop. Your own was safe, of course; no matter how violent your thoughts got, somehow you found yourself swayed by Lil Asskicker. His little mowhawk you gave him, the way he floats on his back in the kiddie pool you gave him-
You found yourself smiling despite yourself, thinking of picking up a can of spaghetti-o’s on your way home just because, when finally you heard the sound you’d been craving all morning. The peeps of foals, and the babble of a fluffy mare. You felt yourself speeding up, dashing straight to the alleyway the sounds emanated from, and your heart beat in your chest. Now calm down, you thought to yourself; no need to go all out. It’s still early in the day, and there’s PLENTY of alleys to go. You walked partway in and saw a bit of bright pink fluff sticking from a box, rubbing your hands together. “Aw man, it sure would be nice to have some huggies right now.” you said, and the babble stopped for a moment. “It’s been soooooo long since i’ve gotten huggies, those would just make this the best day EVER.”
On cue, the pink fluff shuffled back from the cardboard box, looking up to meet your gaze. For the first month or two that fluffies had arrived in your dimension, they’d been scared of your species; the big heads, big hands, and too many with weird powers. Now, though? They had come to trust you all, just like they had the humans of their past homes.
The fools.
“Nyu mummah wan’ huggies? Fwuffy can gib huggies!” the pink atrocity said, waddling over slowly, her bright green tail flicking back and forth. “Awww, aren’t you just the sweetest little thing?” you asked, stifling a chuckle. “A sweet little fluffy like you has babbehs, doesn’t she?” The mare looked skeptical at first, but then nodded. “Yus! Fwuffy hab the bestest babbehs ebah!” She turned and waddled back towards the box, leading you closer. Within the box sat four little foals; a red, a blue, and a yellow, with a fat light pink one laying atop the others. Your eyes shone as they awoke, the first three struggling until the light pink one finally rolled off them. “Dummeh bwuddahs an’ sissie, wake bestest! Was habin’ gud sweepies!” the pink one yelled at the other three, before turning to it’s mother and noticing you, blinking in the light. “GASP Nyu mummah?? Gon’ gib housie??” it asked excitedly. Perfect.
“Oh wow, is that one your Bestest?” you asked the mummah, and the larger pink mare swelled with pride. “Yus! Am Bestest babbeh ebah! Udda babbehs gud babbehs, bu’ dat wun am BESTEST!” she says, tail flicking merrily behind her. You checked further in the box, and around it as well. “Wut am nyu mummah wookie foh?” the mare asked, already deciding on calling you it’s mummah. “Oh, i’m just making sure you don’t have other babbehs hiding anywhere. You don’t have any Poopie babbehs, right? You can tell me.” you say reassuringly. The mare smiles, shaking her head. “Nu, nyu mummah! Hab poopie babbeh, buh udda nyu daddeh aweady take! Now mummah onwy hab gud babbehs!”
You rose a brow, surprised that there would be others out here collecting these creatures. “Oh? You let him give the poopie baby a new home?” you asked, to which the mare giggled; meanwhile, her Bestest had latched to a teat and began to suckle, the other three shuffling over to try and drink from the remaining tit. “Nu, siwwy mummah! Udda daddeh take poopie, say was foh get wid ob!” You mulled this over in your head for a moment, then shrugged; you’ll find your mystery other collector later. For now…
You grin and slowly reach down for the three babbehs fighting over a teat. Carefully you detach each one, amidst the mummah’s whining of “Cawefuh wif gud babbehs!”, and hold them up in your palms. You check them over; the red one has a pink mane, the yellow one has a blue mane, and the blue one had a lavender mane. Fairly basic colors, you thought, and certainly none worth keeping. But what to do with them…
Completely unbidden, a familiar smell wafts past you. Not one of these little shits shitting themselves, thank fuck, but from down the street a hot dog vendor opens their cart, and the smell of beef, mustard, and chili reach you. Slowly the gears in your mind turn, and you grin. “Would little babbehs like a new home?” you ask them, and they peep excitedly, wagging their tiny stubby tails at you. “Nyu homesie! Wub nyu homesie!” the red one squeaks, and the mummah down below claps her front hooves together, starting to sing one of it’s abysmal songs. “♪ Nyu housie foh good ba-bbehs, gud mummah find nyu housie~♪” “Now hold on there, i only said your babbehs could have a housie.” you tell her. The mummah’s song stops, and her face changes from one of pure joy to a look of confusion and sadness. “Wuh? Buh…buh babbehs nee’ mummah!” “Nah, don’t worry little mummah. I’ll take GOOD care of your babbehs. You want your babbehs to have a good housie, right? And besides, you have your Bestest.”
The mummah looks down, then back up. “Weww…whu ‘bout…gib Bestest housie? Weab babbehs wif mummah, an’ gib Bestest, bestest housie?” she asks. You feel your blood boil for a moment, but then you settle down. “Aren’t you a GOOD mummah though? You have THREE babbehs going to a new house, but you only want ONE to go?” You can almost see the steam leaking from the mummah’s head as trying to do simple math, in conjunction with trying to choose between her Bestest rat and her three ‘normal’ foals, is nearly overloading the thing’s brain. “Wan…wan babbehs tu hab gud housie…buh…Bestest desewb bestest housie. Can…can fin’ nyu housie foh udda gud babbehs.”
You mull it over, and the Bestest finally unlatches itself from the teat, burping and wandering over to the poopie pile to do it’s business. About halfway back to it’s mummah, you place your boot on it’s back and hold it in place. “Well now…that’s not very nice, is it?” you ask as her Bestest begins to squeak in fear. “Mummah! Hewp Bestest! Pwease wet Bestest gu!” “Nuuu, nu huwt Bestest!!” the mare says, waddling over to try and push your boot off it. “Pwease, nyu mummah, wet Bestest gu, big wady-hoofsie makin’ scawdy!” You grin down, and press a bit more. “I asked you a question, little rat. You aren’t a NICE mummah, are you?” “Nuuuu, am nice mummah! Am gud mummah! Wub babbeh, wub Bestest babbeh! Wan’ Bestest foh bestest housie, and wan babbeh foh gud housie!!”
The foals in your hands chirp, hugging each other as their mother’s frantic cries make them tremble and peep in fear. Carefully you hold all three in one hand, making sure they don’t fall, and tug a plastic bag out from your pocket, unfurling it. The flapping makes the mummah and babies scree, and you quickly dump the three into the bag before they make scaredy-poopies, crying as they soil themselves and each other. “Well, i can’t have that. See, what you are is a BAD mummah. you only want the best for your Bestest. But mummahs who have a Bestest are BAD mummahs.” you explain, causing the mare to gasp, hugging the part of her Bestest she can reach. “Nu am twue, nu am twue! Am gud mummah, gib aww babbehs gud miwkies an wub an huggies!” “But you let someone else take your poopie babbeh, didn’t you? So you didn’t give ALL your babbehs milkies.” you said, leaning down to face her, resting your elbow on your semi-raised knee; this increased the pressure of your boot on the Bestest, and you could feel it creak beneath the weight, making it squeak even more. “Tell you what. I’m gonna give your Bestest worst hurties.” you say, and the mummah squeals. “NUUUUU, NU GIB BESTEST HUWTIES!!” “Let me FINISH, YOU LITTLE RAT.”
She squeaks as you yell, and you continue. “Do you know which way left is?” you ask her. Carefully, she raises her left hoof, and points to her left. “Good. Now then. I’m gonna give your Bestest hurties. And if you really love him, if you REALLY want the best housie for him, you’re gonna carry him down to the sidewalk. You’re gonna turn left, and the very next place like this alley, you go left again. Down at the end, you’ll find the bestest housie, and it’ll take ALL the owies away.” You chuckle to yourself; you’d passed by it earlier, and thought it would make for a perfect setup. “You better move fast tho, if you don’t want forever sleepies for your Bestest.”
With that, you stood back up, and put your full weight down on the Bestest. You felt it’s ribs crack, it’s spine snap, and it let out a strained gurgle as blood and viscera were squeezed from it’s mouth, ruined organs dangling from it’s jaws. On the other side, blood and shit spewed from it’s tiny rear, coating the poopie pile. The mummah SCREECHED, and as you lifted your boot, noting the imprint you left on the Bestest, she ran over and gave it the best huggies she could. “Better move fast, mummah. Remember; left, then another left, to get to the housie at the faaar back.” With that you turned and sped off, three little babbehs in a bag in tow.
You are a mummah fluffy. Your Bestest is in SO much pain, the WORSTEST hurties! Huggies don’t work, and as the green meanie mummah runs away, you remember the task. “It am otay, Bestest. Mummah gon’ hewp!” you reassure him through your tears; there’s so much boo-boo juice, and not-pretty-smells, but you HAVE to help your Bestest. Quickly you pick him up and toss him on your back, and waddle as fast as you can to the end of the alley. You remember; left, and…left. You take the first left and waddle down the walk, avoiding the few people walking past. One of them notices your squished babbeh, and lets out a small “Holy shit-”, but you ignore the no-no words as you come to the next alley. You take the left, and run down; there’s no boxie-housies down here, not even any big trash cans to find nummies. You almost think that the big meanie lady lied, until you see it.
Gleaming against the wall with pretty lights is a big, shiny metal box. On one side is an opening atop a slide, and on the other, a small glass panel. There’s pictures on it; happy fluffies and sketti blink on and off in bright neon lights. You hear a nice lady as you draw closer; “Foals for sketties. Put foal in, and get sketties.” she says, and you look up at the chute, sniffling. “Pwease, nice wady, Bestest nee’ hewp, hab wowstest huwties.” you try to tell her, but she just says it again. “Foals for sketties. Put foal in, and get sketties.” You realize this must be how they help; you can put Bestest in, and not only will they help, but the nice lady promises sketti! You sob and carefully take your Bestest from your back. “It be otay, Bestest, nice wady hewp.” you tell him, and carefully push him up and drop him into the small chute at the top. The chute suddenly closes, and a green light turns on. “High caloric intake detected. Is this: Bestest Babbeh?” the lady asks, and you nod. “Yus! Dat am mummahs Bestest babbeh! Pwease, hewp Bestest!”
“Bestest detected. Thank you.” the nice lady says. There a scary whirring sound from within; you can hear a small metal whine that moves from left to right, and a small black bar slowly fills with green light. When the light reaches the end, the glass door opens…and SKETTIS come out! You gasp in delight as they scoot towards you, and for a moment you forget why you were there. You dig into the tasty sketti, licking up all the tasty saucies, and the even TASTIER chew-bits on top, licking your lips. This would make GREAT food for…BESTEST. “Bestest!” you call into the machine. The glass door closes, and the chute opens again. “Bestest, come out! Nice wady gib sketties, am yu aww bettah??”
For the rest of the night you wait for your Bestest to return. You eat all the Skettis, promising you’ll save all the bestest sketti-milkies for Bestest, whenever he returns…
You are Surge the Tenrec again.
About half an hour after you got home, the smell of boiling water and way too many spices fill the air of your home. You dump the babbehs in the bag out into the sink, making them all squeak, and you carefully wash them all. At first they squeal their typical “WAWA BAD FOH FUWFFY!”, but as the water gets warm, they coo and hug your fingers. When they’re nice and clean they look up at you from the counter as you mash seven cloves of garlic under a hammer and add them to the pot. “Wha am mummah doin’?” the blue one asks, and you grin as you take out a chopping knife. “I thought i’d try my hand at making some sketti sauce from scratch. I’ve got tomatoes, tomato sauce, garlic, some rosemary and chives…i THINK that’s how you make it.”
The little foals are excited for sketti, and hug each other atop the cutting board you’ve placed them on. One by one you lay them down, and they look curiously up at you as you raise the knife. “N-nyu mummah…what am…”
You start by cutting off their legs. They scree and squeal in pain and fear; luckily, while you washed them, you squeezed them out to make sure they wouldn’t shit anymore. Next, to save yourself a headache, one swift chop takes off their heads. You dice them as best you know how, and dump the pieces into the pot. That looked about right. You hadn’t ever cooked before, but you were sure this’d work!
About half an hour later, you and Lil Asskicker are sitting in your living room. He makes a face, and tries to wipe the sauce off the noodle on his sketti. “Mummah, saucies nu pwetty.” the rust-colored bowl fluff says, and you take a bite of your own. “Ehhh…mighta put too much garlic in. Sorry buddy.” You watch him take a chunk of meat and devour it, and his tail wags. “Meatie-bits am gud tho, mummah! Mebbe du moh meaty, wess saucie nex’ time?” You smille at him, and pet through his little mowhawk mane.
“Sure, Lil guy. Next time…more meat.”
