“Fuck me this hurts!” Dave thought as he lay in his hospital bed. It had been a day since he had been shot and, as he later found out, had his fluffies stolen. He’d managed to call 911 before passing out, but the only thing he remembered after being shot was the man who shot him stepping over him, going into his house. Police had found no trace of the man, or Dave’s fluffies for that matter, and had concluded that the man was just there for them, and had grabbed them and left before the police arrived.
Dave was still fuming though, jackass had done the armed robbery equivalent of sucker punching someone, and then he stole fluffies, of all things. That dude had better hope the police got to him first, as Dave had hired every PI for two hundred miles to hunt him down, and had been very clear that he wanted the man alive so they could have a little ‘chat’ together.
Earlier-
Jave had just put her head down, nestled in her mother’s warm fluff when she had heard two thuds. Not knowing what they were, she lifted her head again to look around but, seeing nothing she settled back down just in time to be roughly grabbed and shoved into a bag.
“Wowstest owwies!” Jave shouted as all of her siblings were thrown into the bag on top of her. She never considered it, but she was very lucky that her assailant had brought two bags and put the adult fluffies in the other one. There were a lot of fluffy voices complaining and wailing by the time the bag started moving, bouncing up and down roughly as the person carrying them ran. It wasn’t long before one of the other babbehs collided with Jave head to head and they were both knocked out.
At the same time, but slightly to the left-
Pistol knew that he was being moved somewhere, but he was more concerned about Sally. Whoever had grabbed them had punched Sally in the face when she had demanded that he “Nu take Sawwy babbehs!” Now Sally was a blubbering wreck, clinging to Pistol as if her life depended on it. Pistol held her tightly, promising her it would be okay.
Shift POV up and to the right-
Shane Evans was almost out of breath by the time he got to his car. After popping the trunk and shoving two bags of loud-ass fluffies in it, Shane hopped behind the wheel and got out of there. He was pleasantly surprised at how well it had all gone. Starting with little more than overhearing a conversation with an offhanded mention of a fluffy curing a smarty, Shane had then stolen a single phone, still unlocked from its owner’s hand, and from there he had found an address. From there it had been easy, and after stealing the nambu pistol his grandfather had brought back from japan, the robbery had practically committed itself. Two shots and the dude went down, and a minute later Shane was back out the door, running for his car.
By the time Shane had made it home, the sky was showing the faintest hints of brightening, and Shane was pooped. Grabbing the bags of fluffies, he shoved his way into his grandfather’s house, kicking one of the dogs out of the way. His granddad was very nearly deaf, and predictably did not awaken or ask what the commotion was. Shane thought it was almost sad, for as large as the run-down old ranch house was, Kendall Evans rarely left his room, except to use the bathroom and eat, instead just watching reruns of old shows all day. At 102 years old, he hardly knew where he was at any given moment, and really should have been in assisted living a decade ago. However, as long as Ken lived at home, Shane got to live there for free, and was free to spend Ken’s pension and social security checks as he pleased. For Shane it was almost trivial, just make sure that there was plenty of food in the fridge, keep paying the few bills to keep the house going and occasionally deal with one of Ken’s dementia freak-outs.
In one of the many cold, spare rooms far away from Ken’s bedroom, Shane locked the door behind him before dumping both bags of fluffies onto the dusty old bed his grandmother had died on. It was an old hospital style bed with rails on both sides, and someone had put a sheet of plastic over it long ago. With the fluffies viewable, Shane quickly took count again. Still sixteen fluffies, but they were all clearly terrified, with most of them trying to hide in each other’s fluff. He could see the blue mare trying to nurse the foals, but the scared foals paid her teats no attention. Only two of them were not cowering and trying to hide, with the purple alicorn and the white alicorn foals flanking the green unicorn stallion. All three of them stood defensively, almost proudly, and glared fluffy daggers into Shane.
“Hello there!” Shane started, “I’m your new owner, Shane. What are your names?”
Pistol let a harsh jet of air from his nose, not unlike a bull about to charge. “Nu wan new ownah. Where am Dave-Daddeh?” Pistol stood his ground as best as any fluffy ever had. The alicorns on his side, seeing Pistol’s resolve, flared their wings, with the purple colt even growling at Shane.
“Easy you guys, Dave had to go away for a while and asked me to look after you guys.” Shane lied sweetly, hoping they would buy it and not put up a fuss.
The purple colt briefly glanced at Pistol before Pistol spoke, “Pistow nu bewebe yu. If yu jus watch fwuffies fow Dave-Daddeh, den why yu put fwuffies in sowwy baggie?”
“Shit umm” Shane thought fast “Dave told me that the dark bags would help you relax on your way here.”
Shane had hardly finished his latest lie when Pistol rebutted, “Dawk baggie nu wewaxin’ fow fwuffies, onwy ebah jus scawe fwuffies. An’ Dave-Daddeh nu dummy ‘nuff to tink odah-wise.” When Shane didn’t respond for a moment, Pistol continued, “An’ why yu hab owwie juice on yu?” He asked, pointing at the hand Shane had used to shove Dave aside after shooting him.
“Well then. I tried.” Shane said, before pointing to the items on the floor of the room. “That is your litterbox, that is your food dish, that’s your water dispenser, and there’s a dog bed for you.” He then pulled up on the plastic behind the fluffies, sending them tumbling from the low bed, down the plastic sheet, into a pile on the ground. “Don’t poop outside of the litterbox or there will be trouble. I’ll be back later.” Shane said as he slammed the door behind him.
As soon as the door closed, Pistol ran over to Sally. “Am Sawwy okay?” He asked, all the harshness in his voice replaced with love and concern.
Sally nodded, “Sawwy am okay, bu babbehs nee miwkies!”
Almost as if they had been waiting to be cued, all the foals, even the normally stoic alicorns started voicing their hunger. It took a bit longer than usual, but eventually they were all fed, as Shane had at least left an amount of kibble suitable for a nursing mother.
As she finished nursing the purple and white alicorns, who had insisted on eating last, Sally voiced her thoughts. “Sawwy nu wike dis, Sawwy wan Dave-Daddeh, wan wawm safewoom.” After reflecting for another moment, she said softly so only Pistol could hear, “Sawwy scawed.”
Pistol hugged her tightly. “Pistow am scawed tuu.”