The Better Fluffy Project 6: Taking a Hike [Lupusam]

[First] The BFP 1: Setbacks

[Previous] The BFP 5: Sharing Data

Fluffy character Art

You are a wonderful fluffy pony who has had the worst bright time, and a terrible dark time. First some of your herd ran away and it took a while to find them, then when you found them there was a huge fat fluffy protecting them that you now think wasn’t really a fluffy at all but a munstah in disguise. The munstah fluffy killed the two toughies you brought with you and hurt you, and then a hoomin munstah appeared and put you in a sorry boxie, and you heard the traitorous run aways get good nummies. Then the hoomin munstah tortured you with the tool called a ‘bath’ while saying nono words to break down your resistance, and tried to bribe you with tasty kibble nummies.

When that didn’t work the munstah put the dead toughies in nasty boxes and you in a new darker sorry boxie inside her housie, and then things were quiet for a few forevers. Then there was a hoomin munstah with many nasty pokies, who kept calling you a ‘bwave boi’ and prodded you all over, like the dummeh hoomin at the shelter did. He told you one of your toughies wasn’t dead! That had to be a lie, so it proved he was a munstah too.

Now you can hear lots of banging and clattering, which must be the hoomin munstahs readying more tortures to inflict on you! But you are the blue pointy-fluffy Cloud, the smarty of the ‘Shinese Noodwe Boxie Hewd’, who led the escape from the meanie shelter, and you’re not going to surrender to hoomins no matter what!

The box opens and the first hoomin is looking down at you. “Hungry?”

You curl up and refuse to answer. She reaches in and lifts you up. “Bad upsies.” No weight behind it, but you couldn’t stop yourself completely.

“You sure? Most fluffies would be begging for nummies by now.”

You want to say something to her about most fluffies being dummehs, but hoomins don’t listen to fluffies, so you don’t say anything. Behind her you see other hoomins with metal tools and wooden sticks. If you had any poop in you some might have escaped at the sight.

“Well, you’re coming with me for now.” She lowers you towards another boxie, this one with lots of little holes and a handle on top. You don’t fight her, going limp as she manoeuvres you into it, but watch carefully as she latches the door on the front shut. A simple latch, you think you understand how it works.

The box shifts uncomfortably as she picks it up, and you’re carried past the hoomins with tools. Then you hear the noisies of a phone, a hoomin device they talk to sometimes, that can make flashing lights or talk back.

“Claire Banks. Yes, I understand. Uh-huh. I’ll be there. Three pee-em? Certainly. I will. Arnold’s letting them stay during the work. Yes, the fence work. See you soon.”

You’re not certain, but you think the hoomin was uncomfortable. Could you use that? Hide her phone to use as a distraction next time it rings? Hmm.

“Last chance to get some food and water before I put you in the hot car.”


“Water.” She puts the cage down in a room that smells of nummies, more noises happen where you can’t see, then she comes back with a bottle and some lettuce leaves. The bottle is left open enough to dribble as she opens the door and gives it to you. The lettuce leaves are left on the floor of the boxie.

Again you watch carefully as the door is opened and closed, and you’re sure the latch is the same as the shelter cages had. It will be a pain to open from this side, but you’ve managed it before. The lady picks up the boxie and carries you to her vroom vroom munstah, putting you in the backmost section. You’ve never been in a vroom vroom before, you don’t know how you’d leave, so this is a bad time to try to open the cage.

You hold the bottle upright for the journey, sometimes tilting it to lap at the bottle. A forever later, the vroom vroom stops moving, stops growling, and the lady gets out. She’s not looking at you, she’s walking away from the sleeping vroom vroom, now’s your chance!

You approach the door, and get as close as you can to the latch. The wires are too close together to get your muzzle through, but if you twist your mouth right your lips touch it briefly. Tugging with your lips is painful and slow, but eventually you get the door open and step into the wider space of the vroom vroom munstah. Now how do these doors work… you can’t see any obvious handle on the back wall that lifts open, just strange plastic shapes. You do see a handle looking past the seats into the middle section, but the seats are far too tall to climb. Your best options appears to be squeezing through the bit between the seat and the door, but there’s a dangling metal thing that could be a metal hissy munstah! You turn in circles considering, but then you see your time is up, the munstah lady is walking back towards the vroom vroom! Hide!

You rush back into the carrying boxie, and grip one of the wires with your front teeth to swing it closed. You made it! You hear a door of the vroom vroom open, and through a hole in the box can catch a glimpse of the hoomin getting inside. A few bumps and clicks later, and the vroom vroom wakes up with a growl again.

Another shifting, swaying journey, and the vroom vroom stops once more, this time a place with trees visible through the windows. You grab the door of your cage that’s started swinging open to close it once more. Then the hoomin opens the back of the vroom vroom and puts a cup that smells of nummies on top of the boxie you’re in, with a big sack of something under her other arm.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” You still say nothing. She picks up the cage with the nummie cup still on top, and carries you to one of the housies, knocking on the door.

The door opens to reveal the hoomin mister that poked you with pointies! He’s back to give you more owwies!

“Hey Claire, I thought you’d be quicker. Oh, is that my yogurt?”

“No, I bought it for me.”

The hoomin lady puts your boxie down inside, then hands the nummie cup to the mister. A thump of the nummie bag next to you causes you to shake. Wait, that’s the giant not-fluffy, besides an ugly pointy fluffy!

“Daddeh, hoo dat?”

“This is our new guest, Lian.”

“Neew frend?”

You scowl at her, she squeals and backpedals, and the not-fluffy scowls back.

“Cawowyn wemembew dis dummeh.”

“Caroline, be gentle.” The munstah lady commands the big not-fluffy. You must stay in the boxie a little longer, pretend to be too scared of them. It will make finding an escape harder, but you won’t get as hurt in the meantime.

“So the meeting?”

“Three oh-clock.”

The munstah mister nods, and picks up the big nummie bag. He turns away while the munstah lady leaves through the door again. Now it’s just you in the boxie and the huumin fluffies, and the not-fluffy.

“Am Hewianshus. Who am ‘ou?” The smaller one approaches again.

“Cwoud nu wan’ tawk tu dummeh ugweh fwuffy.”

“Hewianshus nu am ugwy, am pwetty! Nu am dummeh, am smawty! Cwoud am meanie!”

“Hewian’ am smawty?” You scoff at her. “Hewian’ am big dummeh. Fwuffies dat obay hoomins awways dummehs, an Hewian’ ekstwa dummeh.” You watch the not-fluffy from the corner of your eye, but she’s not reacting like you expected.

“Hewianshus am bestest smawtiest pwettiest fwuffy evah! Dummeh Cwoud Nu tawkie nu mowe!” The mare stomps her hooves at you in anger. Now that you’ve had more time to examine her, she looks pretty nice in all, except for her mane that looks like flowing piss to you. Her horn is an ugly colour too, but not the worst. Still, throwing a tantrum like this is so much like a house fluffy, she’d need some nights alone learning how helpless she is before you’d let her into your herd.

“Dummie Hewie nevie smartie.” You make a bit of a song out of it, and hear the not-fluffy start to laugh.

“Nuu! Smawtiest smawty! Bestest Fwuffy! Hewianshus hab mus’ am!”

“What dis?” Another voice, from a small yellow fluffy that’s turned up. “Smawty am bad wordsies.” This one looks small enough to be a runt maybe, but isn’t talking to Lian/Hewianshus/whatever her name is like a runt would to a smarty. And the way he looked at you had a depth…

“Dis am dummeh smawty.” The not-fluffy rumbles.

“Hewianshus nu cawe! Am bestest!”

“Dis weadew of outsies fwuffies?” The little stallion has started ignoring Helianthus, who sputters and leaves. You nod to the question. “Hewwo. Am Pauw.” Something about him is definitely odd.

“Hewwo Pauw. Am Cwoud.”

“Nu am smawty?”

“Nu am smawty hewe.”

Pauw considers for a moment. “Why am Cwoud in sowwy boxie?”

“Cwoud am stuck.”

“But doowsie am open. Doowsie am scwaped.” How did he see that?

You squint at him, then you nudge the door to set it slowly swinging open.

“Boxie open?”

“Pauw nu am beweive Cwoud. How Cwoud du dat?”

“If Pauw su smawty, why pauw stay wid huumins?”

“Mummah am gud hooman. Gib Pauw meh-dee-sin uf be in-tewwie-gend, nu smawty.”

“Meh-dee-sin uf in-tewwie-gend?” It’s probably all human tricks. “Hewian hab in-tewwie-gend meh-dee-sin tu?”

“Nu, Hewianfuss hab ‘goot-ayd’ meh-dee-sin. Cawowyn hab bwoot meh-dee-sin.”

“Cawowyn be fat- be bigger dan fwuffies wid meh-dee-sin?”


“Dat why Cawowyn nu tawk big an’ fight swow when fight?”

“Mae-be am.”

“Cawowyn weawn dat from Pauw. Nu use bweafies on tawkies when nee’ movin’.” She’d gone so long without talking, no inane thoughts coming out randomly. Either she was very scared of you or these fluffies are very weird.

“Dat am smawty fightin’.”

“Mummah nu wike dat wordsie.” The two say this so close together.

“Nu wike fightin’?” You’re sure you caught what they actually meant when Pauw came in.

“Nu wike Smawty. Dummehs que-ick tu says am smawty, fwuffy twy be in-tewwie-gend ins’ead.”

You consider playing dumb again, but you’re pretty sure the little fluffy can tell when you’re lying.

“Dat am… dat am good weawning. Dummeh smawties nu ged it, wan act smawty mowe dan weawwy be smawty. ‘Ou ged it.”

“Sso. Is Cwoud am Smawty?”

“Cwoud am smawty fow hewd, but… Cwoud am Weader. Cwoud am finkies fow dummies. Cwoud mus’ be in-tewwie-gend dat dummie fwuffies wiww ged.” You watch as Pauw gets closer as he listens to you. “But hoomins nu wan in-tewwie-gend fwuffies. Hoomins wike dummehs, fow twicks, for huwties, fow make weak.” Pauw is closer, almost close enough. “If Pauw an’ Cawowyn am in-tewwie-gend, why stay wid hoomins?”

“Mummah gib foodies, warm nestie, nu gib huwties. Stweets am wowse den dat.”

“Stweet wivin’ nu sound pwetty.” Cawowyn adds.

“Cwoud nu wan hoomins. Wan gu bak tu hewd. Hewd nee’ Cwoud. Pauw hewp Cwoud weave?”

“Pauw nu shouwd…” You interrupt, kicking the cage door open. Pauw rears back as it brushes just past his nose, panicking, and you jump forward. Cawowyn might be too strong to fight, but she can’t attack you if you keep Pauw between you-

Something hits you from the side, and you vaguely see black and brown feathers in the flashing, rolling world. You skid across the scratchy floor not-fluff, and struggle to find your feet before you become an easy target.

Trotting unevenly as your momentum settles, you see a new orange fluffy with dark wings outstretched in front of Pauw. Where the fluff did they come from? They look like Vawensia at first glance, like how Vawensia would look without all the burn scars. Is this Valensia healed? You don’t have enough time for the question, Cawowyn is hopping around looking to charge you as soon as she’s got a line around the wings, and now there’s heavy stomping of hoomin feet from behind the wall.

“What is happening there? Curb?”

Stress. You can’t fight a hoomin, fluffies that try die. You can’t fight Cawowyn, she’s a munstah of a tuffie. You think you can fight the pegasus, but they slammed into you so fast you’re not sure how fast they actually move. You can’t get out, the door was closed behind you. You can’t go through a window when you can’t see any.

Stress. You can’t deal with this. You can’t be here. You. Are. Going. To. Die.

Stress. Light with no origin. And you are outside, by the trees you saw from the vroom vroom munstah. You need to go. You need to find your herd. You need to hide. You need to cry for your mummah.

Only one of the instincts pushes through the haze of fear and gets you moving, and you trot quickly past the sleeping vroom vrooms.

“Whewe Cwoud goin’?”

What the fluff? The small stallion is behind you, and the orange wingie fluffy next to him. How did they get out here? How- no. “Goin’ tu hewd. Nu ged in Cwoud’s way.”

“We nu ged in way. Can we fowwow?”

You snort at them, puffing your cheeks. “Onwy fwuffies in hewd am shown big hewd nestie. Dummeh house fwuffies wan join hewd?”

The two look at each other, and the orange one that you now think is a stallion does some sort of wriggle. Pauw turns back to you “If Cwoud ekspwain othew stehp?”

“Ovah wha?”

“Stehp dat nu am stehp, am how Cwoud weave housie.”

“Dat… Cloud was…” How did you do that? It’s not the first time, you know that, but trying to think about it hurts. Just trying to think of when it happened before hurts. Like a throbbing in your thinkie place that pushes the knowledge away.

“‘Ou tu?” You snarl at Pauw, but he doesn’t retreat. You hate when fluffies look at you with pity.

“Shuddup!” You need something else to focus on. The orange wingie fluffy. “Who ‘ou?”

He wriggles at you, then looks at Pauw, and the smaller earthie speaks for him. “Cucuwbeeto nu talkies.”

“Am dummeh?”

“Am in-tewwie-gend runsies, but tawkie pwace nu am wowksies.”

“How am runsies be smawties?”

“Dat am, uh, wong tewwin’.” Cucuwbeeto shrugs at you. If paul is weird for not speaking, this fluffy that can’t speak is a little sad… but smarties can’t be sad, so you put it away. Smarties can’t be lost either.

“Smawty am go naow.” You see the glimpse between the two. “Cwoud am smawty, or ‘ou tu nu fowwow.” They don’t complain. Good.

You set off down the hill. You know the herd nestie place is in a low part of the city, so if you keep heading down slopes you should get there soon. The two stallions follow you, and listen to you, whenever you hide from hoomin munstahs they hide too.

Landmarks… the very tall housie where the young adult hoomans gather is over the little housies. Towards it you find the green leafy place with the big water and the meanie balls. It has been a long time since your herd lived near here. Continuing past it, you come to the bigger black flat place of many vroom-vrooms. You’ll need care to get passed the many smaller black flat places that connect to the bigger black flat place, but you’re only leading two obedient fluffies. This place has the biggest risks, as the young adult hoomins can be the kindest or the cruelest to wild fluffies.

You are crossing a black place, but the lights the vroom vroom munstahs obey change, and you get stuck in a small place! You’ll be trapped here, and cruel hoomins might arrive at any time! You lurk by the big pole that holds the lights, and your two followers sit next to you. Then a group of hoomins run through the vroom vrooms bravely, faster than you could manage, and one looks at you! No, this is the worst- wait what is Pauw doing?”

“Hewwo nice mistah!”

“This is gonna be fun, shitrat.”

“Fun? Nu can hab fun nice mistah, mummah am waiting!” Pauw leans back, shrugging his shoulders in a way that looks weird to you.

“Wait that’s a collar! You can’t fuck with someone’s property!”

“They’re runaways, a house fluffy wouldn’t be here right?”

“Mummah say Pauw am su smawty, Pauw can vee-sit pwetty fwowew housie aww by sewf! Bu’ onwy showt vee-sit! Mummah am waiting!” Pauw is giving the most oblivious speech you could imagine. “Can nice mista du hooman thingie so vroom vrooms nu rushsies an’ Pauw an’ Cucuwbeeto an’ Jes-tow can cwossie, pwease?”

“Well aren’t you a little charmer.” The hoomin doesn’t sound mean, you think. Is this working?

“Hey, why doesn’t Jester have a collar?”

“Jes-tow am wose pwetty cowwaw when bawkie munstah am meanies! Su sad. Mummah wiww wook fow cowwaw watew an’ teach meanie dog mannews!”

“I’m pretty sure that one’s feral.”

“Hmm. Hey, fluffy, are you a filthy feral?” You get nudged with a hoomin hoof in tough not-fluff.

“Nu am fewaw! Mummah am waitin’, fow Jess’taw!” You try not to cringe as you appeal to the monsters.

“That proves it.”


“Everyone knows fluffies call themselves fluffy when they’re lying.”

“Oh yeah, good catch. Here’s the button Paul. See ya lil’ guys.” One of the hoomans presses the little boxie that Cucuwbeeto has been staring at while you were waiting. Interesting.

The hoomins all run off, and shortly after the high up lights change and you can cross. “How Pauw du dat?”

“Am easy. Hoomans hab eks-peck-tay-shuns, an’ assume cwean cowwaw mean housie fwuff. Eben if munstah, nu wan make ovah hoomans angry.”

“Dat am in-tewwie-gend.”

“Dis am wong wawkies, am fwuffies cwose?”

“Vewy cwose.” You head away from the black flat place, into a narrow street vroom vrooms can’t use and hoomins avoid.

Pauw and Cucuwbeeto are looking around, trying to quickly understand your big nestie. You slow a little, feeling an urge to show off, but then you hear a voice that makes you angry.

“-an’ gib speshal huggies naow, dummeh munstah mawe!”

[Next] The BFP 7: Meeting the Families


And the plot thickens! Love it.


Good read!


Huh, Cloud actually sounds like a pretty good smarty-friend… at least in his own estimation of himself.


For the next chapter, I can continue this directly, or jump back to Valencia and Butter for how their morning has been and what they heard about Cloud’s arrival, I’m not sure which to do first.

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