Serving Entree
By: Turboencabulator
The lights in the basement kitchen flicked on, and Entree blinked, bleary-eyed, trying to paw
at his face before he remembered. It had been so many forevers since the monster human had
offered him a deal, and Entree had refused. He didn’t remember his name before that, or what
clean water felt like, or solid food.
The only things for Entree was the harness he was suspended in, the tubes taking away his waste,
and the machine that pumped food into his tummy. He missed running, and the feeling of wind on
his snout, and being able to yell at things. He loved yelling at things. Even if they were
usually dummy and didn’t listen, it was the yelling that was important to him.
He watched as the monster human came in, with a big wooden boxie full of delicious-looking
vegetables and colorful jars of leaves and powders. The soft music that was the background for
Entree’s personal hell came on, and he unsubtly shat through a tube in anticipation.
The monster was making his special nummies again today. There was something Entree was trying to remember. It was important too.
Sam lugged the box from the greenhouses down to the kitchen, shouldering the door open and
awkwardly poking the Brubeck playlist on. He walked over and dropped a whole cob of sweetcorn
into Entree’s grinder, giving the pink unicorn a scratching at the edge of the harness, enough
to make the former smarty start to close his eyes, but not enough to be satisfying.
“Entree, today’s a special day.”
The unicorn blinked, watching Sam, unsure and squirming in the harness. He had gotten fat and
his muscles were atrophied, but the nightmares gave him some exercise.
“Today, you get to die!”
He watched as the unicorn blinked a few times, then started choking on the feeding tube,
crying, struggling again. Lightning jumped up to a chair, the to his pad on the end of the
butcher’s block, grinning over at Entree for a moment before turning to the Kindle set on a
stand for him.
“Entwee seems in gud spiwits today.”
Sam chuckled and set out the vegetables and herbs on the prep surface. “That’s going to be a
pun later.”
Lightning gave Sam a puzzled expression, then turned back to reading The Phantom Tollbooth.
“Hewwo speciaw fwiend!”
Entree opened his eyes, bleary, bloodshot from his most recent attack of agitation. Then they
snapped open, watching the moss green mare wave at him from a low-walled cloth pen near where the strange streaky fluffy was watching his glowy-plate. He weakly waved back, and let a small smile come out. Even though their first meeting had been strange, to say the least, he liked
the slightly doofy mare. The monster human named her Amoos-boosh, but she always called herself Moosie, and talked to him a lot when she was out in the kitchen area.
He watched as she turned back and said something in the pen. She wasn’t always able to stand up
on her hind legs, was she? That would be hard with the babies in her.
The monster human went over to Moosie’s pen and rolled it over to Entree.
“Entree, Amuse-bouche has a surprise for you.”
He looked down into the pen and saw eight little wiggling, peeping babies, all the colors from
a vibrant pink like him to a dull but still quite pleasing moss color. Moosie had two on her
teats, sitting up and humming almost correctly along with the smooth jazz. Entree watched as
Sam helped feed another with a bottle. He already felt like he had to protect his children from
this monster human, but he couldn’t.
He could just hang there.
Moosie looked up at Sam. “Mistew Sam, how wong tiww namesies fow babbies?”
With a chuckle, Sam helped rotate the last two babies onto her teats. The other six were
already tightly bundled in a fluff-pile of little wiggling, cooing chirpies. “Well, traditionally we wait until they’re walky-talky babies to give names. But that should be in just a few days, so it’s real soon now.”
Moosie wiggled, going half-dancie, and smiled widely at Entree. “Speciaw fwiend, gun hab
namesies fow babbies soon!”
Entree could only watch as Sam wheeled the pen back over to the end of the kitchen island. “Ok,
Amuse-bouche, time to make good poopies and have a bath. You and the little ones.”
Nine baths of varying sizes later and Sam watched as Amuse-bouche carefully groomed each chirpy herself, placing them carefully together in a lightly warmed, padded bed, letting the fluffpile
wiggle together again.
She sat heavily on her buttocks, hind legs splayed out, and just watched her young sleep,
cooing and making little milky burps. She was so, so tired. The hormones that Sam had been
slipping into her feed had made it all the way through to her milk well ahead of the birth. Delaying their development, and increasing their hunger and metabolism. They were fat, and weak, and ready.
Sam began washing vegetables, trimming off the ends he didn’t want. The sound of the knife on
the chopping board made the fluffy’s ears twitch with each sibilant crunch of celery or
carrot. After putting a small board of fresh veggies and dry-cured italian sausages next to
Lightning, he uncorked a bottle of red and poured himself a glass.
After seeing Lightning’s expression he poured some into the special gymbaled wine glass for
the fluff’s use. “Didn’t realize you liked wine that much.”
“Itz gwowing on me.” Lightning said, nosing the rim down and tasting the Malbec. “Qwite a bit.”
Sam grinned, and picked Amuse-bouche up. “Ok, uppsie time, gunna show you something new.”
She squealed and kicked a little in surprise, a little poot accompanying. “Suwpwise? Wub
suwpwises!”
Sam placed her on a fluffy-pad near Lightning, so she could see what Sam was doing. Lightning
gave her a big, not at all creepy smile. “Hewwo.”
Amuse-bouche was oblivious. “Hewwo. Yu vewwy big fow a fwuffy.” She said. It was true,
Lightning had three inches of height on the next largest stallion in the barn.
With a flourish, Sam began mincing celery, carrots, and red onion. “Now, what is the best thing
to eat?”
“SKETTY!”
“Right.” He said, putting a bowl of vegetable-ends in front of her. “And what makes sketty?”
“Eh…” She says, pausing. It was a very good question. Sam took the moment to walk over to
Entree and begin to unhook him.
“Let’s bring your special friend over so he can see this too.”
Entree gagged and finally coughed out the feeding tube as Sam slowly removed it. He couldn’t
talk, only hoarsely wheeze, and when Sam put him down next to Amuse-Bouche, his legs didn’t
function beyond slowly shifting him.
But he was out, and able to rest next to another fluffy. They nuzzled softly for a moment, and
Sam set a water bottle for Entree. He sucked down the water, eyes watering as it both stung and
relieved the soreness in his throat.
“So, spaghetti, as we humans say, is actually the name of the pasta.” Sam picks up a bundle of
home-made, dried noodles. “This is actually fettucine, but the difference is just these are
flat instead of round. So, this is one part, what’s the other?”
Amuse-bouche screwed up her face, thinking, slowly crunching on a celery head. “Is… is it
sawse?”
“That’s right, very good. So the sauce is where the big flavors are.” Sam said, continuing to
mince up the vegetables. “And a good red sauce starts with a good mirepoix.”
“Mirowat?”
“Mirepoix. It’s a finely minced mixture of vegetables.” Sam says, dropping a knob of smoked
bacon fat in a skillet and letting it melt, then sliding the minced vegetables in.
The smell immediately evolved, the frying vegetables and the bacon fat making the collected
fluffs start to have watery mouths. Sam worked carefully, adjusting the heat to soften the
vegetables. “Next, of course, we need to consider the meat. I usually do vegetarian sauces for
fluffies but this time it’s special.”
With a flourish, Sam sinks a short hairpin into the nape of Amuse-bouche’s neck. She blinks,
then whines. “Daddeh why gib pinchy-owwies to Moosie?”
Sam smiled and picked her paralyzed body up, shaving the fur off her over the sink. “Oh, don’t
worry. You don’t feel a thing, do you?”
She whined, trying to wiggle, but her body was no longer capable of motion on its own. “Daddeh,
pwease, why weggies dummy? Am scawed, why take nice fwuff?”
A brief moment later Sam had an elastic band around her mouth. Entree was watching, already
crestfallen. He knew what was going to happen.
Or he thought he did. Sam placed her back with Entree, a towel over her to keep her warm.
“Now, while the vegetables soften a bit more, let’s add some garlic and the tomato sauce.” Sam
busies himself with the ingredients, adding garlic, sauce, wine, beer, and some stock, and
setting it to simmer.
With a grin, he turns to Lightning. “Time for an appetizer, I think. Something special.”
Lightning looked up from his book, curious. He watched as Sam picked up the chirpies and lay
them one by one on the cutting board in front of their parents.
When he began flaying the first one, the reaction was immediate. High-pitched chirping screams,
accompanied by Amuse-Bouche trying to scream, wildly looking between her baby, Sam, and
Entree. The other chirpies began peeing in fear, mouths open and searching, weakly trying to
wiggle anywhere that felt warm and safe.
Sam finished, and moved on to the next, and the next, until eight skinned, alive chirpies were
writhing in agony. He rolled each one in a mixture of salt, sugar, and herbs, restarting the
screeching. Then, each one in turn had a fish-hook sunk through its nostrils, and tied to a
chopstick.
Each chirpy was suspended in a pint mason jar, and Sam carefully filled each one up to the
chirpie’s neck with Armagnac.
“We can’t get Ortolans easily here, so we’ll make do.” Sam said, grinning over at
Lightning. “Once they marinade, we’ll fry and enjoy.”
Entree and Amuse-Bouche stared, horrified, as their skinned young wiggled and peeped weakly in
the warm brandy. Then Sam picked Amuse-Bouche up again and lay her on the cutting board.
Sam picked up a knife and began expertly carving the flesh off Amuse-Bouche’s body, taking
limbs, teats, and splitting her down until all that remained was a carcass. She didn’t feel a
thing, her lungs still working by dint of a quirk in fluffy neurology, until she slowly faded
out of life.
He nonchalantly began loading her meat in a grinder. “Entree, it’s a weird quirk of fluffy
biology, but if you hurt a fluffy before you eat it, it tastes better, and hurting them emotionally is the most potent. Your special friend is going to taste wonderful after seeing that.”
Turning on the grinder, he held a plate under the end as ground fluffy meat was forced through
the blades. As an afterthought he dropped two of the still-breathing chirpies in the grinder,
listening to them squeal, bones snapping. “That should add some lovely flavors, and she was
still nursing, so her milkie-places will add enough extra fat that will render out and help
cook the meat.”
Sam began frying out the fresh-ground meat. The smell made Lightning’s pupils dilate, and he
sat up, no longer able to pay attention to his book.
Entree watched as Sam assembled the fluffy bolognese, letting it simmer down and thicken. The
pasta went into boiling water soon after.
One at a time Sam pulled the weakly wiggling chirpies out of the brandy, used a syringe to
rinse them out with more brandy, and lay them in a hot pan of butter. They squealed, and
screeched, spasming from the heat as it slowly seared their exposed muscles and rendered the
fat in their bodies.
“Here.” Sam picked one up by the head, offering it to Lightning. The cannibal fluff carefully
bit it off at the neck, and sat back, eyes shut, slowly chewing the delicate meat and letting
the soft, chalky bones melt away. Sam followed suit, dropping the head on the cutting board.
“Oh.” He said, savoring the flavors. “That’s better than the damn birds.”
Then, Entree watched as Sam picked up another barely alive, fried chirpy. “Your turn,
Entree. You get real food.”
Entree tried to turn away, to keep his mouth shut, but Sam easily forced his jaws open, slid
one of his children in his mouth, and then forced his teeth together. The flavors were amazing,
and Entree was starving. He slowly chewed, watched by Sam, and swallowed.
Sam forced Entree to eat a second one, then the last two were shared between Sam and
Lightning.
Entree was silently sobbing. The sketty was the best thing he had ever smelled, and he watched
as Sam slowly served a great big bowl to him. The MSG garnish was just for Entree.
Sam served Lightning his own, normal sized portion, and leaned back against a counter with his
own, watching.
Entree took one little bite of the pasta and sauce. The flavors rolled through him, the
richness of the vegetables, the savory meat. Then the combination of MSG and being deprived of
a sense of taste for so long took hold. Entree plowed into the meal, horfing down as much as he
could in each bite. He didn’t notice as Sam continually refilled his bowl, letting the fluffy
gorge itself until finally, Entree belched up a few strands and specks, then passed out, face
down in the bowl.
Entree woke up a long time later. He could still taste his special friend and his chirpies in
the back of his throat. He hated that he liked it. Opening his eyes, he found he was on his
back. He tried wiggling, but found there was less to wiggle than before. His leggies were gone,
and he managed to crane his neck down to see Sam carefully lift his massively engorged, fatty
liver out of his tummy. Just like the first pillowfluff so many forevers ago.
Sam booped Entree on the nose. “Good morning sleepyhead. Look at your liver. Absolutely
wonderful.” He took the liver and put it in a jar, pouring the brandy used to marinade his
chirpies over it. “And now, you really are in good spirits.”
Lightning looked up from where he lay in a partial carb coma. He gave Sam a silent look of
judgement.
“Told you it’d be a pun.”
Lightning snorted and lay back down again, making happy full-fluffy noises.
With a chuckle, Sam turned back to Entree. “You seem to be a successful first attempt at fluffy
foie gras. Too bad you won’t enjoy yourself, but you had your last meal already.”
Sam slowly lifted Entree’s heart out onto his sternum and stepped back.
Entree watched, feeling his heart beat at the same time he saw it, hearing the blood rush in
his ears. Lightning got up and walked over, sitting with Entree.
They looked at each other. Entree started to shake his head, trying to make pleading words, but
stopped as Lightning picked up Entree’s heart in his teeth, staring Entree in the eyes.
Then Lightning bit down.