Marvin hates living next to an italian restaurant. That’s not to say that he doesn’t like italian food, in fact he’s quite fond of it. He doesn’t mind the delivery trucks either, or even the noisy dinner guests that show up in droves every friday and saturday night. It’s not the restaurant itself he dislikes. It’s the vermin associated with it.
The mice, raccoons, and the occasional rat aren’t too bad, his dog and cat would make short work of anything that somehow wandered into his home. It’s the goddamn fluffies, the disgusting little feral shitbags that he hates. The pooping, squealing, singing fluffies are what Marvin finds absolutely abhorrent about living next to an italian restaurant.
About two months after the Hasbio incident was when he saw his first feral fluffy, a filthy orange earthie peering out from behind a dumpster in the alley he shared with the restaurant. Marvin didn’t pay it too much attention, but he thought he heard some high-pitched mumbling about “sketties” as he walked away. Since then, a steady stream of the homeless little pests came and went. It seemed like there were always at least a couple fluffs scavenging in the bins outside the kitchen doors, looking for stray noodles or bits of meatball. Whenever he walked by, he was assaulted with “Nyu daddeh? Nyu homesie?”, or some similarly inane nonsense. Try as he might, Marvin couldn’t bring himself to pity the creatures. They were too unnatural, too wrong, stuck in some foul limbo between man and animal. At first, he ignored them. After a few months, his patience wore out, and the kicking began.
Marvin’s campaign of violence, like many others, began with a smarty. As he was leaving his townhouse through the alley door, he was accosted by a sky-blue pegasis at his feet with the most puffed out cheeks he had ever seen. “No mowe num twashy sketties! Hoomin gib smawty bestest sketties nao, ow gib dummeh hoomin wowstest huwties!”
Marvin looked down in amazement, completely shocked and appalled by the fluffy’s arrogance. He stood there for a second, taking in the situation, before the smarty turned around, saying “gib sowwy poopies fow dummeh no-wisten hooman!” Marvin had seen enough fluffies to know what that meant. Out of sheer instinctual self-preservation, he booted the foolhardy fluff, hitting the perfect spot on its fat stomach to send it hurtling through the air, screeching as it careened towards an open dumpster. It slammed into the brick wall with an audible cracking sound before tumbling down into the bin.
Rushing over to the dumpster, Marvin saw a gristly sight. The smarty was laying sideways in an open bag of rotting vegetables, kicking its front legs and flapping its tiny wings as fast as it could. “Wowstest huwties! Why weggies no wowk? Why no feew weggies? Dummeh twashie nu smeww pwetty!” Seems like the impact left it partially paralyzed, Marvin thought. Nothing anybody could do for it now, other than close the lid to the bin to keep the noise down.
As Marvin walked away, still hearing faint huu-huus from the doomed fluffy, he felt something awaken inside him. So began his new passion.
From that day on, he kicked nearly every fluffy he could in that alley. Some would foolishly approach him (those generally got a fatal kick to the face), while others more wisely waddled away. Most of those fluffies still didn’t survive the encounter. At first, Marvin entertained himself by kicking them as hard as he could. When the novelty of hearing the crunch of broken bones wore thin, he had to get more creative. Never one to shy away from a minor legal infraction, he spray-painted targets all over the alley, on the brick wall of the restaurant and on the dumpsters against them. It was time to work on his aim.
The morning after his dubious “art session”, he left his apartment to find a red pegasus looking curiously at one of the targets. “Wha am dat? Wai ciwkews on waww of sketti pwace?” Little did it know, it was about to be closely acquainted with the wall it was studying. Sneaking up as quiet as he could, Marvin wound up and booted its behind,aiming just low enough to launch the fluffy airborne. It smashed into the target face first, almost hitting directly in the center of the bulls-eye. “SCREEEEE! Fayth huwtieth! Wai dawk? Thee pwathieth no wowk!” The fluffy didn’t die on impact, but by its speech and appearance, Marvin could tell it was gravely injured. Another swift kick to the face ended all that nonsense. As he began walking away, wishing another stupid fluff would appear out of nowhere, he heard from under a dumpster the telltale “scawy poopies, huu huu!” Man, they are dumb. Marvin realized he should have started doing this a long time ago.
After a few eventful weeks, the targets were so smeared with blood that the paint underneath was almost completely hidden. Having mastered his aim, Marvin began to raise the difficulty a bit: kicking them into open bins far down the alley, kicking them into each other, that sort of thing. He made the challenges more and more absurd until one day, he found a very pregnant mare- so pregnant that it could no longer walk, instead just laying in her nest behind a few open bags of trash. It gave itself away, of course, with a horrendous rendition of a “soon-mummah” song, which was just the sort of thing that made Marvin’s blood boil.
As soon as he saw it, a devilish idea popped into his head. He roughly scooped her up, ignoring her cries of “bad upsies! Meanie mistah!” He also made special care to point its rear away from himself, as it began shitting immediately. Absolutely disgusting. He hauled it out to the street and put it on the curb. Luckily it was early enough that nobody else was out yet. He waited a few minutes until he saw what he was looking for: a city bus had just turned the corner. The mare, still huu-huuing, had no idea what was coming. Marvin waited for the bus to come closer, closer, closer, until finally he punted it directly into the path of the bus. “SCREEE-” the last scream of the mare was cut short as the huge vehicle slammed into its bloated body.
The mare, of course, was immediately destroyed on impact. The unborn foals inside, however, were launched from the collision. Marvin saw at least 3 pink blobs fly past him. One smashed into the brick wall of the restaurant, where it exploded, leaving only a red smear behind. Another skidded along the curb until it fell helplessly into a gutter. The third fell twitching in the middle of the road, at least before it was flattened with a barely audible crunch by the very bus that freed it from the womb.
The childlike joy that bubbled up in Marvin was unmatched by any of his previous bootings- so intense was it, that he almost missed the cry of rage and fear behind him. “Speciaw fwiend! Wai munstah gib fowebah sweepies to speciaw fwiend?” As Marvin turned, the terrified fluffy stallion shat itself and began frantically waddling away, screaming about the meanie munstah and nu wan huwties. Marvin could only grin as he began walking towards the doomed fluffy, the next in a never-ending line of living kickballs.
A/N: thanks for reading. This is the first writing I’ve done in a really long time, so I know it’s pretty rough.
