Was inspired by @SouthernKilling and their post Rack 'em up.
Hefting the box of peeping foals, Samantha did a quick double-check, making sure that she had counted correctly. Nodding to herself, the Fluffmart worker was pleased that there were indeed fifteen tiny foals chirping and peeping within, with all having recently opened their eyes.
“*chirp…*chirp…mu’mah! *chirp…*chirp…wewe mu’mah?”
“*chirp…*chirp…*chirp…ba’beh hun’gy! *chirp…*chirp…*chirp…nee’ miwkies!”
“*chirp…chirp…nu wan gu! *chirp…*chirp…ba’beh nu wan!”
They were all clearly distressed, chirping and waddling anxiously around the cardboard box. Separated from their families for the first time in their short lives, the tiny foals were confused and desperate for the comfort of their missing mothers. It saddened Samantha a little to see how upset they were, but she knew it was in their best interest. Adoptions had been steadily declining as of late and with budget cuts and the like, the store simply couldn’t keep as many fluffies as it once could or for as long. As of last week, the new orders were to move the age that foals were culled from three months to one.
It was a sad truth that generally, only foals were adopted. People who were into the whole fluff craze enjoyed the idea of raising them from near birth, some merely obsessed with how cute baby fluffies were, and others wanting a long term companion. It was the primary reason that the shop focused on birthing mares and studs, keeping a continuous cycle of foals born for weaning and sale. But with the dip in profits caused by a lull in foal purchases, now Samantha was worried for the poor things, their chance for a loving home and happy life cut by two-thirds.
Which was why she was so happy to hear that someone was willing to purchase not one or even two foals, but fifteen! A brief discussion revealed that the buyer was a small rancher who lived just outside the city. He had a small breeding herd on his property and wanted to expand their numbers with fresh mating stock for the future. Happy that at least these foals would be spared from the incinerator, Samantha finished the final touches of packaging the rambunctious fluffs before sealing the box shut and handing it off to the young gentleman who came in lieu of the rancher. Smiling as she accepted his cash for the purchase, the Fluffmart worker silently wished the foals a long and happy life as the man walked out of the store.
Chuckling to himself as he walked out the door, Simon walked the box of chirping foals to his car, placing them in the backseat carefully. Based on how loud they were, he assumed they were good and healthy, which meant a decent payday for him. Pulling out his phone, he sent a quick message, assuring the real buyer that his product was on the way. It was a profitable business, proxy buying fluffies, with many would be buyers wanting the additional layer of anonymity. It wasn’t illegal to purchase fluffies for more nefarious purposes but some of the wealthier enjoyers of the hobby simply didn’t want to draw undue attention to themselves. And Simon had done gangbusters by acting as an inbetween, even going as far as to create a series of fake business cards when engaged in his minor grifts. Starting his car, he smiled to himself as he drove the foals to their final destination.
It was an hour’s drive to the buyer’s home, a more than modest estate two towns over. Once Simon arrived, there was already someone at the end of the long driveway at the bottom of the hill to meet him. A quick exchange of of cash and Simon handed the box to the aging servant, the older gentleman opening the lid just long enough to both count the foals within and ensure that they were healthy enough for his ward’s purposes. Shrieking from the box moving and shaking, the peeping within lightened as the darkness within was replaced with warm sunshine.
“*chirp…*chirp…wewe am ba’behs? *chirp…*chirp…”
“*chirp…*chirp…*chirp…nyu fwen? *chirp…*chirp…*chirp…nyu da’deh?!”
“*chirp…*chirp…wewe mu’mah?! *chirp…*chirp…wan mu’mah!”
“*Hmph…Loathsome creatures…” Placing the lid back on the box, the peeps and chirps grew far more rapid as the butler made his way uphill. Taking a moment to catch his breath once he was at the threshold, the servant then walked the long path around the home, finding his way to the backyard where the young master and his guest were awaiting him. “Your package has arrived, Sir.”
“Thanks Dodelson. That’ll be all for now…” Placing the box near the young men, the butler left them and headed inside, with the home’s owner reaching over and lifting it upward, displaying to his guest. “Okay Scott, now the fun can start.”
“It sounds like…like foals? I though we were gonna play some pool, Max…I brought some serious cash and everything…”
Walking towards the smaller building adjacent to the main home, Max beckoned his perplexed friend to follow him. “Oh we are, that I promise. We just have to get my pool supplies first…” Scott gave his wealthy friend a strange look, unsure of why he seemed so amused, but simply shrugged and accompanied Max to the modest shed. Clearly once a pool house, once Max entered and turned on the overhead light, Scott saw that most of the space was occupied by a sturdy, slate billiards table. It was clearly custom made, and was a gorgeous speckled granite color, albeit with the occasional muted stains of deep, dark red.
“Damn dude…That’s one fine ass pool-table…But why keep it out here?”
Making his way to a large cabinet near the end of the table, Max could only grin at the question. Placing the box down for the moment, he opened the cabinet doors, followed almost instantly by a weakened series of frightened peeps.
"*chirp… … …*chirp… … …n…nu mowe…*chirp… … …*chirp… … …pwe’…jus’…jus’ wet scwatch die…*chirp… … …*chirp… … …"
Within the cabinet were a pair of standard pool cues, as well as colored chalk blocks and a sturdy wooden triangle rack. But below those was a small translucent orb, the sullen foal within, and a small box. Reaching down, Max lifted the orb in his hand, prompting the foal to cheep slightly faster despite his clear weakened state. “Now Scratch, that’s not a very nice thing to say to daddy…Don’t you appreciate how much I take care of you?!” It was hard for Max to hide his blatant sarcasm, with the encapsulated foal only mewling slightly as his owner took him and the small box towards the table, waving Scott over to join him.
“What the fuck is that?! Is that a foal? What the hell is it stuck in?”
Opening the small box as Scott walked closer, his curiosity peaked, Max took a small dropper and a bit of dry formula, mixing a miniscule portion of the off colored foal milk. “This is Scratch, and he will be our cue ball for the evening.” His look of confusion slowly replaced with one of grim amusement, Scott started to chuckle as he looked towards the foal in Max’s hand, and then to the box of foals on the floor.
“Oh man…Max that is sick and I love it! But how do you play pool with fluffies?”
“You’ll see…But first we gotta set up…” Taking the now filled dropper, Max turned the small plastic compartment atop Scratch’s ball, the foal whimpering as he weakly tried to squeeze against the bottom of the plastic sphere, clearly desperate to avoid whatever Max had planned. Taking the dropper, Max let the smallest of drops fall from the pipet, the milk falling near the colt’s muzzle as he shook his head away from it.
"*chirp… … …*chirp… … …n…nu wan…*chirp… … …*chirp… … …"
“Come on buddy, I know that isn’t true…” Max let another drop fall free, followed by another and another, with each one causing the colt to peep more frequently as he tried in vain to ignore the scent of food so close by. After the sixth bit of formula fell onto his head, Scratch started to sob uncontrollably as he forced his malnourished body upright and suckled on the end of the dropper.
“Jesus Max, why is he so upset about eating?”
Filling the pipet again as the weeping colt fed again, Max watched as Scratch tried to push the tip away from his mouth before suckling again, tears falling down his face. “Oh the sad little bastard went wan die a while back and I won’t let him. So he tries to starve himself but can’t. Helps me out though. I can’t feed him as much as a normal foal his age or he’d grow too fast and his ball would crush him.” After the hesitant colt had wolfed down five droppers worth of milk, Max put the feeding supplies away, retrieving a bit of the colored chalk and motioning for Scott to get the foal box for him. Placing it on the table for him, Max then opened the lid, a wicked grin slowly overtaking his face.
“*chirp…*chirp…ba’beh nee’ hugg’ees…**chirp…*chirp…”
“*chirp…*chirp…*chirp…nyu da’deh? *chirp…*chirp…*chirp…wewe mu’mah?”
“*chirp…*chirp…smew miwkies! *chirp…*chirp…wan miwkies!”
“Oh these’ll do wonderfully…” Reaching in, Max began to take the foals out of the box and placed them on the table, two by two. Once properly emptied, Max set the container aside before glancing down at the assortment of baby fluffs, slowly dividing them into two separate piles, with the lone black foal by itself.
“*chirp…*chirp…wewe siss’e gu?! *chirp…*chirp…gib siss’e back!”
“*chirp…*chirp…ba’beh scaw’d…*chirp…*chirp…”
“*chirp…*chirp…wai ba’beh 'wone? *chirp…*chirp…”
Once sorted, Max then began to take the foals from the leftmost pile and, one by one, marked them with the colored chalk, making a thick white ring along their waist, almost like a belt. Peeping in protest, the foals squirmed and shrieked as the coarse cube pulled roughly against their tender flesh. Watching with keen interest, Scott slowly caught on, realizing that Max was marking half the foals as stripes, with the other pile being solids.
“Okay…I think I get it now…But I assume that foals won’t roll or ricochet as well as standard balls…”
Putting down the last striped foal, Max then retrieved the pool cues, passing one to his inquisitive friend, chuckling cruelly at the question. “No…no they do not. But that’s half the fun when you’re playing with fluffies. Now, rules are similar to Eight Ball, but the game is for points. A foal of your ball is worth one point if you sink it, two if it dies or is dead when it lands. If you sink an opposing ball, then you lose that many points instead. You don’t have to sink the 8-Ball last in this version, but that little fucker is worth triple points, so he can still make or break the entire game. You follow so far?”
“Sounds easy enough I guess…”
“You haven’t seen how much they move yet…” Taking the triangle rack, Max then started placing the foals in a pile again, moving them around until the stripes and solids alternated, with the black foal in the middle. Despite all the wriggling and peeping protests as they were herded and moved about, it took little time, with many of the frightened foals now clutching each other fervently, unsure what was happening, but now sure that this wasn’t their new home. Peering down, Max nodded at the positioning as he lifted the triangle above the chirping masses. “Only warning you’ll get…stay still…”
Too terrified and confused to heed his warning, the foals shrieked as the sturdy rack struck the stone table around them. One of the outer foals, a gray stripe had his head struck by the edge, falling to the ground as he lightly peeped, his head lulling to and fro. But the colt was lucky compared to a yellow solid that was unfortunate enough to have one of her small back nubs right where the triangle came down, the filly’s eyes widening as she screamed and flailed, her back leg crushed off by the sheer weight.
“*screeeeeee!!! *chirp…*chirp…”
“Tried to warn ya…” Wiggling the rack slightly until the foals were properly lined up, Max then grabbed Scratch’s ball, the white colt more alert due to his feeding, much to his chagrin. Walking to the table’s front, Max placed the ball down and gestured towards Scott. “So, you want to break or shall I?” As the newer player pondered his options, Scratch peered around, a frightened and sad warbled series of chirps coming from the distressed colt. Gazing past his translucent ball, the foal couldn’t help but see the newly racked pile of fluffs, their small forms shifting and squirming as much as possible within the rack. Hearing their evergrowing, frightened cheeps, Scratch’s breathing became uneven and shallow, the unfortunate foal knowing what was about to happen, wishing more than anything, that he were dead.
"*chirp…*chirp…nu wan huw’tees odah ba’behs…*chirp…*chirp…scwatch jus’ wan die…pwe’ jus’ wet scwatch…*screeeeeee!!!"
The poor colt’s quiet prayers were abruptly cut off, as Max lifted the triangle and Scott took his shot, the cue striking firm against his spherical prison, sending him barreling towards the confused and panicked foals.
"*screeeeeee!!! nuuuuuuu!!!"
“*screeeeeee!!!”
Unaware of what was happening, the foalpile was suddenly scattered as Scratch’s ball struck, connecting first with a pink stripe as she was sent careening across the table, followed by bowling through the center of the heap of now screaming and panic struck fluffs. Not quick or coordinated enough to properly run away, the foals tried to scatter as Scratch struck the end of the table, ricocheting violently as the unfortunate foal screamed, his ball already lightly streaked with blood. His peeps and chirps reaching a fervent pace as he spun within his ball, unable to warn the less observant fluffs that he was coming back round. As the majority were trying in vain to waddle to safety, there was a sickening crack as the ball collided head first with a green solid, the tiny foal spinning slightly from the impact before falling to the table, a small pool of blood trickling from his indented skull.
“*chirp… … …*chirp… … …he…hewp ba’beh…*chirp… … …*chirp… … …”
While not dead, it was clear that the injury was a mortal one, the foal only barely hanging on as it tried to plead for help, it’s head wobbling as it’s glassy eyes tried in vain to focus. After what seemed like an eternity of terror for the foals, Scratch finally came to a halt, his ball stopping inches from one of the outer pockets. Nodding to his friend, Max walked over and held his stick in position, preparing his shot as Scratch tried to balance himself within his ball, the intense spinning from before causing the tiny fluff severe vertigo. “Not a bad first shot. But you didn’t sink any so now I shoot…” His tiny nubs desperately scrambling against the plastic walls of his ball, Scratch had just enough time to stand upright as he turned around, unprepared for another nightmarish journey across the billiards table.
"nuuuuuuu!!! *screeeeeee!!!"
Taking advantage of Scott’s break, Max fired Scratch towards the side of the table, the screaming foal flying and bouncing past the screeching rogue fluffs trying to flee the hurty ball fluffy, and colliding with the injured pink solid who was crushed as she and Scratch fell into the corner pocket. “Fuck yeah!!!”
“Good shot dude…damn.”
Walking over, Max was pleased as he retrieved Scratch’s ball, the foal screaming as the pink fluff’s remains fell free from the clear plastic orb. “Okay so I have to choose solids and that’s two points for me…”
“Two points already…shit…”
“No worries man, the night is young and the game is just getting started…”
