Part Six
Later that evening, the pair of foals looked at their new saferoom in a mixture of awe and confusion, but both of these were almost buried under a deep layer of exhaustion. It’d been a tiring day for the two, especially the brown foal, whose leg was now in a cast. Fortunately, the fractures hadn’t been too severe, so it should heal fairly quickly and she would probably regain full use of the leg.
For now, the pair were too tired to even try to play with the toys in the saferoom, merely staggering over to the bed that they’d have to share for the time being. The bestest babbeh was too exhausted and focused on sleep to bother kicking the brown foal out of the nest, so they huddled together and rested. The sudden change in their fortune, from loved (or in the case of the brown foal, tolerated) babbehs to nummie-babbehs to ultimately pets, had taken a toll. Still, as far as outcomes went this was probably the best they could have hoped for.
As soon as Rob was sure the pair were asleep, he left the saferoom. He had a few concerns, which the sight of the pair sleeping peacefully didn’t relieve, but for now it was fine. In the meantime, he sent a text. “Found one. Brown color. Should be ready and conditioned by the time the foals are born.”
…
“Rise and shine!”
The pair of foals awoke, the bestest languid and unworried while the brown one rapidly raised her head, preparing for the worst. She’d been used as a distraction for angry or cruel humans before, and only her quick movements and small size had let her escape unscathed. As she remembered the previous day’s events, however, she calmed. She was safe with a new daddeh, one who’d helped her with her hurt leg and even let her sleep in a nice housie. Her mummah wasn’t here to kick her or num her.
“Alright, listen up, you two. If you’re going to be living here there are some rules, okay?”
“Otay.”
“Bestest babbeh du wut bestest babbeh wan.”
“Looks like someone needs to learn what happens if you break the rules.”
“SCREEEEEEE!” the bestest wailed, as the heavy sorry stick brutally slammed into her. In reality, it was a light tap from a cardboard tube, but the foal had never experienced any form of punishment before.
“If you break the rules, you get the sorry stick. Now, are you ready to hear the rules?”
“Pwease nu mowe owwies! Bestest babbeh wiww wisten!”
“Good. The first rule is No FIghting. At all. That includes saying mean things.”
“Bu’ wut if bestest babbeh wan gib poopie bab-SCREEEEEE!”
“I said no mean things, that includes calling your sister poopie. The next rule is that all your waste goes in the litter-box. If you make a mess, you get the sorry stick.”
“Babbeh am sowwy! Nu mean maek bad poopies!”
“You didn’t know, so it’s fine.” This drew a glare of anger from the bestest babbeh, who’d just been punished twice for unknowingly breaking rules. “The third rule is so talking back or making demands. If you’re very good and don’t break any rules, you can have sketties once every few days. Do you understand?”
“Babbeh undastan’.”
“Bestest babbeh wan sketties NAO! Nu wan fowwow dummeh wuwes!”
This time, rather than a light tap, there was a bit of force behind the strike. The yielding cardboard didn’t do much, but it was still enough to throw the foal into a fit, rolling around on the floor wailing and crying.
“Bestest babbeh undastan’! Pwease nu mowe owwies!”
“Good. Now, there’s one more rule that you two need to know. If you’re very, very bad babbehs, your leggies will run away, and you’re be no-leggies fluffies.”
The pair cowered in terror. “Good. Now, how about I give you two some names?”
“Poopie babbeh can hab namesies?”
“Nu! Namesies am onwy fow gud babbehs! Nu am fow poopie babbehs!”
CRACK! This time the strike wasn’t with the soft cardboard tube, but with a thin whip-like sorry-stick that left a bleeding welt down the bald foal’s side. The cry of pain was ear-piercing, as was the cry of terror from the other foal as she looked up and saw their daddeh shaking with fury.
“SCREEEE! EEEEEE! EEE! Biggest owwies! Bestest babbeh am huwt! Nee’ huggies!”
“From now on, you’re name is Syrup,” their daddeh said to Syrup, his voice quivering with anger. “And you. Since you don’t seem to be willing to learn anything, I’m going to call you Blockhead.”
“Tank 'ou, daddeh! Sywup wub nyu namesies!” Syrup cried as Blockhead wailed. “Nu wan meanie namesies! Bestest babbeh nee’ bestest namesies!” But their daddeh merely stormed out, still shaking with anger.
…
Rob had to walk away from the pair, barely suppressing the laughter that threatened to burst out. Seeing how stupid the so-called bestest babbeh was, and seeing her suffer for her stupidity, felt so good. Almost as good as knowing what he had planned for them. Almost as good as having a truly corrupted bestest babbeh to play with.
He fetched a pair of bottles, full of fluffy formula, from his kitchen. Not flour-water-hot-sauce mix this time, the good stuff. He had plans for the two and they were way more long-term than his game with Sky had been, so they needed to be healthy and at least moderately happy.
As he walked back into the saferoom, he saw Syrup trying to clean up the mess she’d made the previous night, and he almost gagged. It was one thing to force a fluffy to eat shit, and another to see a fluffy he had no intention of inflicting suffering on doing it as if it was a normal thing. “Syrup!” he called, causing her to jump. “Stop!”
“Bu’ Sywup nee’ cwean mess su daddeh wiww nu be angwy.”
“I’m not angry. I don’t want you eating that and getting sick. Come here, I have milk for both of you.”
“Sywup can hab miwkies?”
“For a while. You two are both almost ready to eat big-fluffy food, but for now you need milk. Come on.”
Blockhead came over sullenly, glaring at her sister. As soon as they tasted the formula, however, they began sucking greedily. Syrup had probably never had anything besides trash or poopies to eat before, and even Blockhead probably hadn’t really appreciated their diseased gutter-trash of a mummah’s garbage-milk. This was probably the best thing either of them had ever tasted.
Rob walked away, out of the saferoom and around the corner, before stopping and waiting. He knew it wouldn’t be long. Blockhead clearly wasn’t the type to learn from her mistakes, even compared to a normal fluffy. Under his breath he counted. “Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…”
Before he’d even reached zero, there was a wail of pain from the saferoom, and he burst around the corner. Blockhead was kicking her sister’s splinted leg, drawing shrieks of agony as each kick jarred the fractured bones within. Syrup was cowered, screaming out in pain with each kick but desperately begging in the brief intervals between.
“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?” Rob roared.
“Pwease! Sywup am sowwy! Nu nyo miwkies were nu fow Sywup!”
“Bestest babbeh am gib dummeh poopie babbeh bestest sowwy-hoofsies fow taek miwkie! Miwkies am onwy fow bestest babbeh!”
“That’s three lashes.”
“Nu! Pwease nu gib Sywup sowwy-stick! Sywup am sowwy! Wiww nebah num miwkies 'gain! Sywup am onwy poopie babbeh!”
“Dummeh poopie babbeh gon git wowstest oww-SCREEEEEEEE!”
After the third lash, Blockhead had a criss-cross of horrible bleeding welts across her back and sides. She sobbed and wailed, unable to even roll around from the pain. Rob reached into a pocket and pulled out some soothing anti-septic gel. Not out of mercy, just because he didn’t need Blockhead dying from infection. Not yet, anyway.
“SYRUP!”
“Pwease, daddeh!”
“Drink the milk. Now.”
“Wut?”
“Drink your milk. You both get milk. And never, ever call yourself a poopie babbeh again! Understood?”
“Nu sowwy-stick?”
“No. You didn’t do anything wrong. Now drink. You’re half-starved and I don’t want you to get sick. After you two eat it’s time for a bath.”
“Nu wan baff!”
“Too bad. You two are filthy. Eat.”
…
Rob washed Syrup gently as she murmured sounds of appreciation for the warm water. She was a little afraid of the water, but she’d soon relaxed. As he towelled her fluff dry she giggled happily, trying her best to sniff herself and marvel at the lack of the foul smells she was accustomed to as a feral foal. “Smeww pwetty! Sywup nebah smeww pwetty 'fowe!”
As much as Rob wanted to use scalding-hot water when it came time for Blockhead’s bath, he resisted the urge. He could wait a few minutes for something far more hurtful, and drastically more frightening, to happen to the foal. Something that she wouldn’t blame him for.
“All done!” he said cheerily as he dried Blockhead off. “Do you want to see how you look without all that nastiness in your fluff?”
“Sywup wan see!” He lifted her up to see the mirror, and she chirped happily. She’d seen herself in puddles before, but seeing herself not matted in grime and filth made her happy. She looked so pretty!
“Bestest babbeh am pwettiest babbeh ebah! Wan wook!” Rob grinned to himself. Here came the fun part. He raised Blockhead up to the mirror.
“SCREEEE! Wai am bestest babbeh ugwy babbeh? Bestest am pwetty babbeh! Nu wan be ugwy nu-fwuff babbeh!”
“Maybe your mummah just lied to you. Maybe you’ve always been ugly.”
“NU! Dis am dummeh daddeh’s fauwt! Maek buzzy-munstah num bestest babbeh’s fwuff!”
“What do you mean? The buzzy-monster only eats bad, ugly fluffy’s fluff. Watch.” Rob held his phone, which was playing buzzing audio similar to that of the shaver, to Syrup’s fluff. Although she trembled in fear, no fluff fell off. “See? Only bad fluffies lose their fluff. If you lost your fluff to the buzzy-monster, that means you must be a bad babbeh. And bad babbehs get the sorry-stick!”
“Bestest babbeh wewe onwy bein’ siwwy! Bestest babbeh nebah hab fwuff. Nu-fwuff babbeh am bestest.”
“Okay. I’ll believe you. Come on, now that you two have had baths, it’s time for you two to play.”
“Yay! Sywup wub pwayin’!” Syrup cried in joy. But Blockhead only stared at her, eyes full of hatred.
Rob left them in the saferoom, walking away to watch them on the cameras. His heart trembled with hope, and he prayed to whatever god would listen. He needed this part to go well. Needed for the right thing to happen.
…
Blockhead was seething. It was so unfair! She was a good babbeh, no, the bestest babbeh, so why was her new dummeh daddeh so mean to her? Why did he love a dummeh poopie babbeh more than her, the bestest? Why was she given barely enough milk to feel satisfied when she should have been given all the milk and the poopie babbeh could just num her poopies?
“Bwockhead wan pway?”
“Bestest babbeh nu am Bwockhead! Am bestest babbeh! Dummeh poopie babbeh nu caww bestest meanie namesies!”
“Sywup am sowwy. Nu wiww caww bestest Bwockhead 'gain!”
But Blockhead’s anger was not soothed. She sat there, raging internally at the injustice of it all. She was made to be treated better than worthless, good-only-for-numming babbehs like Syrup! She was the bestest, not matter what her dummeh daddeh thought! She hated him!
Rebellion and self-righteous anger consumed her, and she walked over to Syrup’s milk bottle. Turning around, she unleashed a torrent of filth onto it and the wall, the room immediately filling with a foul odor. Serves her right for drinking milkies that belonged to the bestest babbeh!
After a moment, though, her anger faded, and she realized what she’d done. Her daddeh was already angry at her. What would happen now? Maybe he’d be so angry he’d use the sorry stick again, not three times but many times! Maybe even three and two times! She quivered in terror, staring at her mistake. Surely there was something she could do, some way to escape the sorry-stick!
Suddenly inspiration struck. That was it! The mess was just poopies, and there was a poopie babbeh in the room with her. All she had to do was make the poopie babbeh clean up the mess and she’d be safe!
“Poopie babbeh! Num dose poopies!”
“Sywup nu am poopie babbeh! Nu wan num poopies nu mowe!”
“Dummeh poopie babbeh num poopies NAO!”
“Nu wan! Nu wan! NU WIWW!”
Blockhead’s anger returned, stronger than ever. This poopie babbeh had stolen her daddeh’s love, had stolen her milkies, and now wouldn’t even num her poopies! That was it! She charged, slamming into Syrup’s weakened back leg with a sharp crack, sending the smaller foal rolling away and howling in pain.
“DUMMEH POOPIE BABBEH!” Blockhead shrieked as she pummeled her struggling sister. “BESTEST BABBEH HATCHU! BESTEST BABBEH GIB BIGGEST OWWIES! GIB FOREBAH-SWEEPIES!”
“What did you just say?”
Blockhead froze. In her blind rage she hadn’t noticed her daddeh walking silently into the saferoom. All of her red-hot anger turned into sickening ice in her veins, and she collapsed to the floor in a shivering heap. “Bestest babbeh nu sae nuffin!”
“I heard what you said, shitrat.”
Blockhead began to crawl away as fast as she could, but she was grabbed and squeezed so tightly the air rushed from her lungs. “Did you think I was just going to leave you alone with Syrup? Did you think I was an idiot? Well, now you’ve fucked up beyond repair, so enjoy the consequences.”
“Pwease, daddeh! Bwockhead wiww be gud babbeh!”
“Too late.”
Part Eight
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Well, for once, I am glad Rob was around.
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