This was inspired by Fallen Angel by @Za. I really liked the concept of a foal-in-a-can machine being forgotten so I decided to do something short with the idea too.
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The big lighty box flickered and glowered in the basement where it had sat for years. Forgotten by humans long ago but not due to any cataclysmic event or tragedy. The department store that housed it had started to fail, and it’d simply been relocated down here when the shops started to go under and misremembered when everything was being liquidated. The shops might be empty and full of only empty shelves where products had once been hawked but down in the basement it was quite lively.
A fluffy herd numbering perhaps twenty full-grown individuals were thriving down here. They were fed on pallets of various foods that had been left down here, the stuff they could manage to break open anyways. A leaking pipe that caused a puddle to form on the floor served to meet their water purposes. For nesting materials they had all manners of items: Christmas tree skirts, old blankets, advertising leaflets. There were even various stuffed animals and children’s toys that they could play with. In short? It was a paradise to a fluffy, even if there were only two sources of light: The red fire-exit emergency sign hanging over a door which was propped open slightly, and of course the foal-in-a-can machine.
The machine held a special purpose to them. Each member of the herd could recite the things it chirped in it’s electronic voice to one another almost perfectly.
“Hewwo! Pwease make sewecshun!” Bramble, a brown and green fluffy greeted his special friend.
“Bwing home bwand nyu fwend!” The puke green & off blue mare named Olive chirruped back down to him. Their similarly shit colored foals all scampered and played in the dusky neon glow that the vending machine gave off. It was of such importance that they all laid things beside it: Nummies, pretty flowers that they found while adventuring outside, the best of toys.
This machine was the center of their universe. Not only did it allow them to function down here by illuminating the area and teaching them ‘important words’, it produced every leader the herd ever had. As far back as any of the short-spanned memory idiots could remember anyways. They were pretty fluffies. They were the prettiest and bestest fluffies. The fluffies were currently without a leader though: Their last had gone fowebbah sweepies.
“Pwease gib bestest fwuffy nice-box?” Queried a dull orange & piss yellow stallion.
“Yis! Fwuffys ‘nee bestest!” Exclaimed a green mare named Pea who had her entire back covered with chirpies.
“Nu wan gib sowwy poopies, buh…” A rather raucous upstart named Cookie started in. They all gasped. Give the nice-box sorry poopies? No! There had to be another way. They just had to use their think places!
Bramble wandered over from his family to excited collection of voices. They were suggesting things like giving the box wicky-cweanies, huggies, and Cookie kept on with the idea that maybe they should cover it with sorry poopies.
“M-Mehbe gud bwite box ‘nee bebbeh. Bebbeh ‘fo bebbeh?” It was a suggestion because he knew about the places where you could drop a foal in for skettis. None of the fluffies here had ever used it before because they were quite comfortable, but it’s existence was known at least.
“Babbeh ‘fo babbeh? Yis! Dat am su smawties!” The group that had gather to consult over the issue agreed on the issue all at once. For fluffies it was the closest thing to approaching logic. If you could exchange a foal for goods or services at one place, maybe you could at another.
“Buh wha babbeh? Nu wan gib babbehs!” Pea said in a wary tone, scuffling her hooves back cautiously. There were only two groups that had foals at the moment: Her and Bramble’s family. Giving a shake of his tail, the brown stallion lowered his head a bit.
“Bwambew ‘n Owib hab gud babbehs. Bestest babbehs ‘fo bestest bwite box!” He said, though he didn’t want to have any of them go away. Still, they needed a smarty. The fluffies who were dispensed from the bright talky box were the smartest, prettiest, bestest fluffies. None of them could be the leader. In fact, his own foals hadn’t even been named yet. The herd leader had named everyone standing here. It was just how things were: They knew more words.
“Owib…” Bramble went back over to his special friend who was looking at him as if he’d gone crazy. Their foals had skirted behind her, perhaps warned that he was going to do something bad. “Bwite box nee’ babbeh. Hewd nee’ nyu smawty.”
Olive shook her head fiercely! Stamped a foot down! “Nu! Yew nu am hab babbehs! Dey am gud babbehs! Meanie Bwambew!” The foals all looked up to him, their eyes big and full of innocence. Some suckled on their hooves, others questioned what was going on.
“Mummah? Daddeh am meanie daddeh?” One asked, hugging against her hind leg.
“Wowstest daddeh?” Another queried, tearing up.
It didn’t matter what Olive said though, and it didn’t matter which foal he chose because he loved ALL of them just like she did. Pushing past her and nipping up a colt which was brown just like him, he watched the little male squirm around and cry.
“Nuuu! Nu wan bad uppies! Nu wan bwite boxsie! Wan mummah! SCAWDIES!”
Bramble teared up but this was for the best. The herd needed a new smarty or they couldn’t continue living in such a nice place. Morosely stepping over to the vending machine, he set his foal down and placed a hoof down on his tail so he wouldn’t be able to run away. Olive tried to get over to the two but the rest of the herd fanned in around her to stop her progress.
“Hewe, nice-box. Dis am Bwambew babbeh. Gud babbeh.” Looking up to the bright box with a mist of tears still clinging in his eyes, it didn’t appear to want to give up it’s contents yet.
“Daddeh, pwease! Pwease nu gib babbeh tu boxsie! Nu wan! NU!” His colt wailed out sadly, piddle puddling out on the ground at his feet in his extreme fear.
‘Please make a selection’ the bright box told him in it’s calm electronic monotone. Normally it relaxed Bramble to hear the voice. It was kind of like having a second mummah around. Today it filled him with dreadful anticipation.
“Gib babbeh fowebbah sweepies!” Cookie spat out while slapping a hoof out at Olive who was freaking at fully at this point, trying to break through the crowd to save her foal.
“Nu, speciaw fwend! Nu gib babbeh fowebbah sweepies! Gud babbeh! SPECIAW FWEND!” She called out to him hopelessly. This was all happening so fast. At this point he very much regretted even making the suggestion. In the ignorance all fluffies were possessed of, he’d hoped maybe just showing the good bright box the foal would be enough.
There was chanting from all around him. They didn’t know why, but they all agreed that fowebba sweepies was the best thing. Perhaps it was some ingrained memory from their own mummahs and daddehs. A collective, shared thing special to the herd. They were unable to say why, but it felt right.
“Pwease daddeh…babbeh wub yew. Yew am bestest daddeh…!” His colt tried to plead again. Bramble knew he was a good boy. The foal always played nice with his brothers and sisters, and liked kicking a ball around. He made good poopies and didn’t complain.
“Sowwy, babbeh.” Bramble whimpered, the hounding of ‘fowebba sweepies!’ growing around him as the herd were growing was growing chaotic. Raising one of his hooves, he shoved it down onto the foal’s back and forced him down onto the ground. Continuing to press down as the poor thing screeched and flailed around, there was a pop as it’s spine broke and a sickening squelching noise as it’s tummy skettis were shoved right through his mouth.
“BABBEH! BAAABBBBEEHHH!” Olive howled with despair, finally being knocked to the ground by the herd. Bramble shook as her pitiful cries filled the basement, looking up to the bright box expectantly. He’d had to do something horrible. It would work, right? It had to. If not…well he didn’t want to think about that.
For the first time as long as he could remember, the bright box did something different. Every one of the fluffies here had heard it’s entire repertoire yet none of them had seen it do what it would next.
With several chimes and beeps, the foal-in-a-can machine registered that a fluffy corpse of an appropriate age was in front of it. It was designed to allow for returns: Fluffies weren’t exactly expensive and the profit from these machines was insane.
We at Hasbio are sorry that your new friend has gone to Skettiland. Please insert it and enjoy your new companion the machine told the herd, a happy jingle playing as compartment swung out the front. A chute that looked an awful lot like the ones you could use to exchange foals for skettis. Sniffling a bit, Bramble scooped up his son. Gave him one final huggy, marched over to the chute.
“Sowwy, gud babbeh.” He told the corpse, dropping the foal down the cold metal that led down into the machine. Registering that it had received the corpse, the chute closed and the machine gave a dazzling light show. It was unlike anything the herd had ever seen before: This was the impressive performance the machine gave when a purchase or return had been made. A hypnotic sea of lights flashed out over the basement, a rainbow sea that pierced through the darkness and illuminated everything. There was even a catchy little song:
A new friend, a cute foal!
Lots of fun, now your life is whole!
With a hiss of cold air and thumping sound, the machine deposited one of it’s occupants down. A sense of wonder overtook Bramble: The thought of his son was a distant one at the moment as he curiously pushed open the little slat that housed the tube with the foal inside of it. Gingerly taking the container up in his mouth, he took it out to examine what had been given to the herd.
To the herd, it would be a fluffy of stunning beauty. This was a foal direct from Hasbio when they’d still been cloning their kind and had excellent quality control. A tiny alicorn filly with creamy white fur, a mane and tail the color of booboo wawa. The pinpricks of her wings were white, tinged with the same brilliant scarlet as her mane and tail.
“Bwambew get babbeh out…” Carefully, so carefully, he pressed a hoof down on the container so that the material became covered with spiderwebs of cracks until it finally shattered. Once it had, the babbeh would begin struggling around and peeping. Making sure he didn’t give the babbeh huwties with the pokey-pieces, Bramble pulled the alicorn from the canister.
“Su pwetty!” The herd remarked. There were only two mares nursing at the moment and Bramble wouldn’t dare even try bringing the foal over to Olive. She was still pinned on the floor, looking to her special friend with a grimace of utmost betrayal on her face. Instead he trotted over to Pea, placing the hungry little chirpy down.
“Bestest gud babbeh nee’ miwkies.” He told her, and there wasn’t much convincing he needed to do. They all needed this foal to grow up. It was very important to them.
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Snowdrop sat at on a throne of pillows and comfortable blankets. A collection of the best toysies surrounded her, and the tastiest of nummies. The alicorn mare was waited on by every fluffy here: In this basement she was the center of attention that rivaled only the foal-in-a-can machine.
For every decision or important matter, they came to her. This had been the situation ever since she’d been a talky-babbeh. Even while still a chirpy, she had been preprogrammed with knowledge of the world that these ferals could never hope to have. The best names for a fluffy? She’d had to name herself, the thing suddenly popping into her think-place when asked about it. What were good things to eat? She knew to some degree what could make a fluffy sick. How to solve simple puzzles? This too. It was a ‘direct from the factory’ knowledge that fluffies these days simply seemed to lack. They weren’t pure like her.
“Daddeh, wewe am yew?” She asked, hopping down from the pillow mountain. The herd was somewhat larger these days. With a smarty around again they were making better choices and their survival had been upped dramatically. Different fluffies moved out of the way as she searched around for her daddeh, finally finding him off in a corner.
“Hewwo.” Bramble said, lapping up water from the floor. Snowdrop was his babbeh, even if she was much bigger now. There was nobody around to contest it: He had been the one to give up a babbeh. Olive had left with his other foals shortly after that had happened. The outside world was very scary and dangerous, but they were just gone one day. It gave him saddies but there wasn’t much he could do about it.
“Snowdwop wan babbehs tu.” The alicorn pouted a bit. All day, she’d watched mares running around with their foals. An ultimate goal of any mare was to have some of their own. She wasn’t some filly anymore and she should be able to if she wanted!
Bramble gave a slow shake of his head. “Nu. Yew am speciaw fwuffy. Hewd ‘nee yew. Bestest Snowdwop nu nee’ babbehs.” This had been a discussion they’d had before. Mares could get hurt when they had foals. It happened here frequently enough. If that occurred, what would happen? Everything would fall into dysfunction again.
Snowdrop puffed out her cheeks and brattily stamped a hoof down. “Den make bwite-box GIB babbeh!” She knew that the brightly lit machine dispensed foals. Supposedly, that’s where she’d come from! If that was the case, then she wanted one too!
Glancing down to the floor, the stallion sniffled a bit and dragged his hoof along the ground. “N-Nu. Omwy nee’ yew. Yew am omwy smawty.” Though he’d explained she came from there, he hadn’t told her what it had involved. That she only came to them because he had to do something very bad. Snowdrop gave an angry flutter of her wings, a ruffle of her tail.
“YEW AM WOWSTEST DADDEH! WAN BABBEH! HAECHU DADDEH!” The alicorn turned and ran off toward her pillow pile, diving into it and crying. With a small ‘huu’, Bramble returned to licking water off the floor. Though she was currently throwing a tantrum, Snowdrop was a very good fluffy who helped everyone. If she knew what had gone into bringing her here, how would it make her feel?
There only needed to be one smarty. Just like he said. The good bright box didn’t need to num one of their babbehs right now. They were all good babbehs. Nobody needed to go fowebba sweepies and nobody needed to lose a special friend.