It’s been a few forevers since your encounter with the Bone Fluff. You don’t know how many forevers a “week” is, but you remember the promise you made about the smarty and the chikken nummies.
You haven’t told the herd that you met the Bone Fluff. You’re worried that if you do, you’ll accidentally tell the smarty what’s going to happen to him. And you made a promise!
You’re not sure that anyone will believe you, anyway. Feral fluffies are more skeptical than house fluffies, and a lot of fluffies don’t believe the Bone Fluff is even real. But you saw him, so you know he’s real! You couldn’t imagine something like that!
You did confide in one friend, though. Your fellow toughy, white with black mane and tail, and your best friend in the herd. You know you can trust him to keep a secret. You know it in your heart.
Right now, your herd is out scavenging for nummies, away from the nestie. Only the mummahs, soon-mummahs and too-little babbehs who still need milkies stay in the den under the big tree. Everyone else has to forage for nummies, even the walkie-talkie babbehs who just stopped drinking milkies, and the smarty keeps an eye on everyone.
“Wemembew, fwuffies, if fwuffy fine bestest nummies, nu num! Caww smawty! Bestest nummies awe fow bestest smawty!” the fat, puke green smarty orders, in the bossiest tone a fluffy can muster. You think he’s had enough bestest nummies and should try the leafy nummies for a change, and have to suppress a giggle before he notices. You can’t stand him. But you remember what the Bone Fluff said is going to happen, and head turned away from the smarty, you grin.
A few very short forevers later, it happens.
“BABBEH FINE BESTEST NUMMIES! SMAWTY! BABBEH FINE BESTEST NUMMIES!” a small brown filly cries, near the big flat thing hoomins call the “woad”, but not so close that any metal munstahs passing through can hit her.
“OWTTA DA WAY! SMAWTY CUMMIN FWU!” the smarty roars, knocking two other babbehs who just found an “appwe-coaw” out of his way. As they start crying, the smawty ignores them and waddles very slowly over to the brown filly’s discovery, and finally, his jaw drops.
It’s a big round thing made of papery stuff, with red and white stripes on the outside, and some of those weird scribbly shapes that hoomins put on everything, you don’t know why, and a picture of an old hoomin you don’t recognize. It’s open on one side, and inside, there are nummies.
Suddenly, everything turns dark and purple-y and blue-y, but you can still see, but everything has stopped moving. You see the Bone Fluff, and he winks at you before he disappears, and things go back to normal.
Those are the chikkin nummies, you know it, and you look at your toughy best friend, both of you trying not to smile. You both know what will happen if he nums them, and you don’t want to prevent it.
“Bestest nummies fow bestest smawty!” the smarty proclaims, waddling into the papery thing to claim his loot.
“Um, smawty…” the little filly says.
The smarty waddles back out, it takes a while, and glares at the filly, nosie-holes flaring. “Whut.”
“Sins… sins babbeh hewp s-smawty fine bestest nummies, can babbeh… can babbeh num sum bestest nummies tuu? Pwease?”
A few moments pass, and then the smarty kicks the filly to the ground, and she starts sobbing.
“Nu. Babbeh am poopie babbeh. Poopie babbeh onwy num poopies. Bestest nummies onwy fow bestest smawty.”
Between the sobs, the filly manages to get some words out.
“D-daddeh… huu… pwease… huu, huu… babbeh nu wan num poop-EEE! WAI HUWT BABBEH? AM ONWY WIDDWE BABBEH!”
The smarty gives the filly, his own babbeh, sorry hoofsies. “SMAWTY SAY POOPIE BABBEH NU CAWW SMAWTY DADDEH! NAO GO WAY OW SMAWTY GIB FOWEBA SWEEPIES!”
Sobbing, shaking, and bruised, the filly stumbles towards the den.
The smarty goes back into the papery thing, and drags out one of the biggest pieces of chikkin, and starts to devour it whole.
The other fluffies have gone back to work. Some of them have snuck off to follow the brown filly and give her huggies. You and your best friend saw, but you aren’t telling the smarty. You’re too busy watching him num, even though watching him num always makes you want to make sickie wawas.
“Nummies am um num num bestest nummies fow num num bestest smawty of num num bestest hewd–ghk”
The smarty stops numming, shaking and making little ghk noises. The few fluffies that have noticed don’t seem to care. You’re not the only one who can’t stand him.
After a few very short forevers, he lets out one last gurgle and falls face down on the chikkin. You know he’s not just sleeping.
Everything goes dark and purple-y again, everything has stopped moving, and there’s the Bone Fluff. And… the smarty? But the smarty’s lying down over there, too! And this smarty is see-through! The ghostly smarty and his former residence are connected by a shiny stringie.
The Bone Fluff holds a sharp sorry stick in his mouth.
SMAWTY?
The see-through smarty, who has only just realised what’s going on, looks at the Bone Fluff. He’s terrified of him.
“Y-y-y-yus?”
BAD FWUFFY.
He cuts the stringie, and the see-through smarty disappears. The Bone Fluff turns to you, a huge, happy grin on his face. You can tell he’s happy, even though he always kind of looks like he’s grinning.
WEWW DUN, BWUEBEWWY. YU WEMEMBEWED. YU KEPT YU PWOMISE. AM PWOWD OF YU.
You’re confused. Did he just call you Blueberry?
“Fwuffy nu am Bwuebewwy. Fwuffy nu haf namesie. Am jus fwuffy.”
He shakes his skeletal head.
YU NU KNU DIS, BUT YU HAD A WIFE BEFOWE DIS WUN. DEN YU WENT FOWEBA SWEEPIES, AN WUZ BOWN AGAIN. IN YU OWD WIFE, YU WAS CAWWED BWUEBEWWY.
You reel at this.
“Fwuffy wuz… udda fwuffy?”
YUS.
“Wuz fwuffy gud fwuffy in wast wife?”
The Bone Fluff shrugs.
YU CUD HAF BEEN BETTEW.
Oh.
BUT YU WUZ GIBBEN A SECOND CHAWNCE. AN DEATH OF FWUFFIES FINK YU DOIN MUCH BETTEW SU FAW.
Well that’s a relief.
AN DEATH OF FWUFFIES AWSO FINK YU GUN BE MUCH BETTEW SMAWTY DAN DIS SOWWY SACK OF POOPIES, he says, gesturing at the corpse formerly known as smarty. YU ACK-SHU-AWWY CAWE ABOUWT YU HEWD, FOW WUN.
How did he know about you wanting to be smarty? You ask him.
DEATH OF FWUFFIES HAF AN… UNUSUAW MEMOWY, he explains. DEATH OF FWUFFIES CAN WEMEMBEW FINGS BEFOWE DEY HAPPUN. PAWST, PWESENT, FYOOCHUW, DEY AWW WUN AN DA SAMESIES TU DEATH OF FWUFFIES.
You don’t really understand it, but you don’t need to. He says you’re going to be a good smarty, and you aren’t going to let him down.
AN NAO, DEATH OF FWUFFIES MUS WEAVE YU. DEWE A FWUFFY IN DA SITTY WHO GUN WEAWN WAI FWUFFIES SHUD NEBA GIB WICKIES TO POWAH SOKKIT. IT GUN BE AN IW-WU-MIN-AYY-TIN WESSON.
The pitiful attempt at humor is lost on you. Even the corniest knock-knock jokes tend to fly over fluffies’ heads.
GOOD WUCK, BWUEBEWWY. BE A GUD SMAWTY. DEWE ENUFF BAD SMAWTIES IN DIS WOWWD.
He walks over and actually gives you a hug, a cold, chilly hug, but still a hug, before he disappears again and everything returns to normal.
Blueberry. That’s a nice namesie. You think you’ll keep it. And you are blue, so it’ll make sense.
You look at your predecessor, next to the papery thing full of chikkin. You decide to leave them there. If a munstah doesn’t get him, it’ll serve as a reminder of what happens when fluffies num the bad chikkin nummies. You’re going to talk to the fluffies, and bring them back here, and show them, just so they get the point. Chikkin nummies are bad nummies, and dummeh fluffies who num them go forever sleepies. It won’t be hard. Your herd has learned by now, that not all nummies are good nummies. Like the pretty white berries that made the fluffy who nummed them go booboo-juice poopies until he went forever sleepies.
By now, the fluffies still searching for nummies have noticed the now-former smarty, who is starting to smell a bit not-pretty in the warm sunlight. A puddle of poopies spreads under his fat bottom. You already knew that fluffies going poopies after going forever sleepies can happen. Your toughy best friend looks at you, grinning. You grin, too.
There’s going to be some changes around here.
