Pistol awoke early, well, not that early for him as of late, but early enough that most fluffies, if asked, would insist that time didn’t go that early. He had been awoken by a smell of all things. He sniffed the air, drawing in a full breath, but while something was off, he just couldn’t place it. There was his own smell, now that Dave had given him a bath, Pistol could clearly smell the scent of a stallion in his prime, mixed confusingly with a bit of nursing mare, but that made sense, as Pistol was still lactating, and with so many foals, he was glad to be able to help cut down on Sally’s workload. There was Sally’s very strong scent of nursing mare, along with the last vestiges of filly scent, as she was only three months old. Then there were the mixed scents of the foals, each smelling of a slightly different mix of their parents plus a little uniqueness from each foal themselves. But hovering around all that was something foreign, and very strong. Paying close attention to his next sniff, Pistol risked red-lining his brain trying to match the smell with a memory. He would have died in the effort, but at that moment, Dave walked past on his way to the kitchen for a second midnight snack and Pistol knew- it was just Dave’s smelly face water smell. Relieved, and seeing that Sally’s kibble dish was still full and the litterbox empty, Pistol rested his head and fell back to sleep.
The next fluffy to rise was Red, not that any of the others knew his name. Red however, had a brilliant plan. He would tell each fluffy in his family that since his fluff was red, that he should be called Red, at which point they would start calling him Red, never realizing that Red had orchestrated the whole thing. He smiled as he congratulated himself on his brilliant plan while he started with the day’s first order of business- he needed to poop. While he knew that fluffies were supposed to use the litterbox, Red was also aware that he personally had yet to be told to use the litter box, and by this logic, he was free to shit wherever he pleased. After brief consideration, he decided to poop right on the brown unicorn filly’s face.
“PEEP PEEP-CHIRPEEP!” The predictable sound was followed immediately by a loud fart as Red ran out of his milky and not very solid ammunition. Before Sally or Pistol could get their bearings, Red had made it back to his slot in the fluffpile, and feigned sleep.
“Wha wong?” Sally asked once she had stood up and was approaching the tiny foghorn that was her daughter. “Nu time fow miwkies yet, ow aww babbehs wou make noisies. Ewww, dewe am poopies on babbeh.” With a grimmace, Sally leaned forward and picked up the soiled filly with her mouth, moving her away from the fluffpile and licking her clean. “Nu taste pwetty, bu babbeh stiww widdwe an nee mummeh cweanies. Dewe! Widdwe babbeh am cwean now.”
The commotion had awoken several other foals, but the purple alicorn suddenly started fussing loudly, crawling toward where it heard Sally’s voice. Sally was captivated and just watched as the tiny colt approached her.
“Cheep cheep-meep meem,” He then bumped into sally’s front leg, and hid his face in her leg fluff, gently rubbing his head into her fluff.
“Meem-mem, muum mumm-mumm, mummem, mummeh… MUMMEH! MUMMEH! MUMMEH!”
Sally gasped, “Babbeh am tawkies! Sawwy suu happy!”
The colt tilted his head up, revealing the pale blue irises typical of a young foal, seemingly having opened his eyes in the shelter of Sally’s leg hair. “Mummeh, mummeh am suu pwetty!” The tiny alicorn declared as he wrapped Sally’s leg in a hug.
“Pistow! Babbeh open eyesies an am tawkies!”
By the time Pistol had made his way over, two more alicorns were fussing loudly, and in the span of fifteen minutes, all five had opened their eyes, spoken their first words, and were in the beginning stage of trying to coordinate entirely too many legs (4) into somehow standing up.
Looking around after nuzzeling each standing foal in turn, Pistol saw that none of the other foals were doing anything but squirming and peeping for milk, with the exception of Red, who was trying to tell the white alicorn filly how pretty she was. This was less than successful as she was far more interested in trying to move a leg forward without tumbling to the ground.
By the time the whole litter had been fed, all five alicorns were walking, albeit clumsily. Red had finally gotten the attention of the white filly, who responded with an almost regally polite, “Tank yu, you hab vewwy pwetty fwuff tuu.” At which point she then went back to trying to walk without looking at her feet the entire time.
While Pistol rejoined the fluffpile, Sally had sat down amongst the stumbling alicorns, and by this point, the soiling of the brown unicorn had been entirely forgotten. While Red proceeded to explain his name to his newly talking siblings and slightly more talking-experienced parents, Dave, having been summoned by the commotion, finally made his way to the saferoom door.
On opening the door, Dave was surprised to have seven voices simultaneously informing him that the alicorns (and Red, as Red kept adding) were now- “Tawkie an’ wawkie babbehs!”
“What about the others, did they not get enough milk to grow like these six did?” Dave asked, feigning ignorance.
“Nu, it nu dat,” Pistol answered, raising his head from the fluffpile, “Dey just nu weddy yet. Wingy-pointy babbehs jus stawt wawkies an tawkies befowe da wingy, pointy, an eawfy babbehs make wawkies an tawkies. Pistow mummeh towd Pistow da Pistow was hew fiwst babbeh to make wawkies ow tawkies.”
“Fuck,” Dave thought, “I mean it wouldn’t have been game over for them if they didn’t know that, because that would be ending the game in poor faith, but still, I was at least hoping for some parental anguish.” However, out loud he said in a tone sweeter than a fluffy drowning in high fructose corn syrup, “Oh, I see. Well I was just stopping by to tell you and Sally that I’m going to be busy most of the day running errands and then working in my office. Please remember that when I’m in my office, you’re only allowed to interrupt me for emergencies. Oh, and before I forget, congratulations you two, you’re really taking to this whole ‘parenting’ thing.” Only throwing up in his own mouth a little bit at that last sentence, Dave headed out to his car, as he actually did have stuff to do that day.
Red was confused. Yesterday, he had been noticeably larger than any of the other foals, but now the other foals that were now walking and talking were nearly as large as Red was. It was at this point he finally took a good look at the wandering foals.
“M-M-M-MUNSTA! MUMMEH HEWP SMAWTY! MUNSTAS HEWE TU NUM WHOWE FAMWY!” Red shrieked as loudly as he could while sprint-stumbling back to the fluffpile to hide behind the other foals in the hope that the monsters would eat them instead of eating him. Amazingly he managed to reach the fluffpile without falling over, but when he tried to dive into the middle, he misjudged the distance and faceplanted onto the floor just short, although in his defense, this was his first time jumping at all, and only his second day of walking and sentience.
Pistol, who’s belly was two inches away from the epicenter of Red’s faceplant, picked up the terrified foal and held him in gentle but firm hooves as he explained.
“Dey nu am monstas, siwwy Wed, dey am yu bwuddas an sissies. Wook cwoswy, see da white one? Yu jus towd hew she wa pwetty, an she towd yu da yu wewe pwetty tuu. Dat nu sound wike a munsta tu Pistow. Eben tho dey hab hown an wingies, dey stiww fwuffies, an widdwe babbeh fwuffies at dat.”
Red was initially skeptical of this, and slowly peeked his head out from Pistol’s fluff and saw no monsters, but instead saw five very pretty foals, all of them looking at him with different expressions. The pure white filly stood tall and proud, holding her head high, but she couldn’t keep the betrayal she felt from showing on her face. The green colt and the blue filly stood side by side, the filly crying while the colt glared at Red. The yellow colt looked like he was ready to fight Red, while the purple colt just stood there stunned.