The Fluffy Assassin Part 4 [By Bread]
Word gets around when you offer a unique service like Weston’s. He really wished it didn’t sometimes, but it got him work often enough. There was a small, growing amount of people online that talked about his work. Message board retards debating the legality of assassinating fluffy pony pets. He’d gotten a kick out of being talked about, but stopped reading up on himself when they started questioning if he was really just some sick fuck that really wanted to do some sick stuff to fluffies. It was more having to read their fucking degenerate ideas than it being about him.
The big thing was, he was making a living finally. He still had debts and problems and very little savings built up so far, but he was finally not feeling like a jobless loser, and enjoyed his job to boot.
Part of what kept him from having more savings was he was so fucking bad with his money. He had to celebrate every gig with some shit he didn’t need. Pizza, a new microwave, all that junk he could write off as needed anyway, a man’s gotta eat! The cigar he was lighting up on his balcony? Not so much, but fuck it, cigars seemed cool and he’d always wanted to smoke them. He’d gotten past the coughing, ‘oh fuck what am I breathing?’ step and was five cigars into his box. It gave him a nice reason to sit on his balcony and just relax, watch the city, listen to neighbors. It was a good time.
He looked over to the balcony on his right when he heard the sound of giggles and childish voices. That balcony was totally retrofitted to be safe for fluffies. Reinforced railing, hard plastic chicken wire to fill in the gaps, and to top it all of, secure netting around the entire outside of the railing. The good kind that kept the bugs out too, not just kept fluffies from trying to fly with their useless wings and end up on your neighbor’s car a splattered mess. Though it did that too.
He didn’t know any of the fluffies, but he’d pieced together the big guy was pancakes, his special friend was syrup, and they’d had babies not too long ago. Those babies were walking around, talking, and playing. It was kinda cute to watch, really. Didn’t make him want one of the fuckers, but still cute from afar. Pancakes was a big stallion with golden brown fur that was a bit more brown than gold, and white mane and tail. That one was made for the name pancakes. His mate Syrup was a little more of a stretch, a burnt caramel fur and washed out pink mane and tail. Still, it worked too.
Why the breakfast names? His neighbor was this nice lady that always really went in for breakfast. That and breakfast for dinner. He smelled bacon, pancakes, and fresh baked pastries basically everyday when he went out on his balcony in the morning. And when he caught her in the building, she liked to talk about some new, foreign breakfast she was trying. Nice lady. He’d pieced together she was a mom with adult kids, and was hurting from the whole empty nest thing. Filling it up with Fluffies and making breakfast like she used to for her kids. Healthy? Fuck if he knew, but she was a solid neighbor.
“Nuuu! Babbeh! Nu du!” Syrup started shouting, and seconds later the smell hit him. Rancid, horrible fluffy shit. With a curious lean forward for a better view, and a plugged nose, Weston saw her chiding her babbeh for a fresh steaming pile of bad poopies right on the balcony, in the middle of their play structure. “Babbeh! Nu can makies bad poopies!”
“Sawsihg nu wan gu stupih widdeh box! Wan pway!” the high pitched little voice shouted back. The balls on that little shitrat. The generosity of calling him sausage when he was blatantly the color of a turd was completely lost on him. Looked like he got a double dose of the brown colors from the parents.
“Sawsihg! Is baddies! Make mummah mad!” Pancakes chimed in, “Haf use widdeh boxie! Be gud babbeh!”
“Nu wan! Nu cawe!”
The back and forth kept going, and finally the smell and whining shouts go to him, and he just head inside. Putting out what was left of his cigar and saving it for later. He needed to figure out dinner anyway.
Over the next week though, it kept happening. He’d go off, take care of a job since he was getting a number of simple ones lately, usually taking out an annoying neighborhood fluffy or some slippery stray, and then come home usually with some takeout. He just wanted to enjoy some time on his balcony, and constantly, he was now getting the rancid smell of fluffy shit. His neighbor looked more and more annoyed when he saw her. And constantly he heard that stupid fucking back and forth between the fluffy parents and stupid fluffy babbeh.
So color him surprised when one day, as he sat enjoying an after dinner cigar, he heard a quiet little voice call out, “H-hewwo? Nice mistah?” then a couple coughs as the wind blew his smoke towards the fluffy. “H-hewwo?”
He looked over, and there was Pancakes. An adorable chubby dude climbed up to the top of the play structure, getting at close to the edge of the balcony as he dared to try and get Weston’s attention. “U-um…hewwo…” he coughed some more and looked real nervous, “Can um…can fwuffy tawkies wif nice mistah? Me namesies am Pancakes.”
“…I mean…sure?”
“Otay! Um…mummah said you am bestest at um…make bad fwuffy go way.” The chubby little guy was real timid. Now he knew why. Weston had kinda dressed up what he was doing for work a bit, taking care of ‘problem fluffies’ and such. Said something about, getting rid of fluffies for owners without making them be the ones to abandon them. It wasn’t…untrue.
“…I might be. Is that why you’re scared to talk to me? Are you a bad fluffy?”
Pancakes gasped, “N-nu! Nu! Am gud fwuffy! Pwomise! Make gud poopies in widdeh boxie. Awways put toysies away. Awways wisten to mummah! A-and and-” Pancakes kept going for a bit before Weston finally cut him off.
“I get it. You sound like a good fluffy.” Pancakes visibly relaxed at that. “Now what do you want?”
“U-um…Pancakes…wan hiwe yu.”
“…” Weston wasn’t sure he understood anything he just heard, and took a long drag on the cigar to think it over. Then he blew the smoke directly towards the fluffy, making him cough a bit. “Come again?”
“Pancakes wan hiwe nice mistah tu makies bad fwuffy gu way…”
Visions of those constant murder porn shows on tv popped into his head. ‘Here’s how I killed my husband in graphic, reenacted detail’ type shit. Did this little fucker want to off his special friend? He might take that job just to have a story to tell.
“You know you have to pay me to do that, right?”
“Yus! But um…nu hav special pappew wike mummah. But! Can give wots of huggies! A-and and…can gib tweats! And…e-even…even give bestest most special skettie nummies when mummah gib to fwuffy?” He fluffy looked a bit hesitant to offer such a godlike, fluffy ambrosia like sketties as payment, but he was offering nonetheless.
Weston whistled. “Wow. You’re offering sketties? The best nummy? This must be one dangerous job.”
“N-nu! Nu am dangea-dangewww…um…nu. But is job fo mummah. Nu wan mummah be saddies and maddies.”
That was…unexpected. “I’ll bite. Go on.”
The fluffy gasped, then cowered, “Nu! Pwease nu bities Pancakes! Nu am nummies! Pancakes is jus namesies! Am fwuffy fwend!”
Weston chuckles, “No, no…okay, bad choice of words. I’m saying I’m interested to hear more. Tell me what you want.”
Pancakes took a moment, looked relieved again but more unsure. And did make a glance at his escape route just in case, for some reason, Weston tried to get him over two railings, the gap between their balconies, and the netting. “O-oh. Otay…um…Pancakes and speshuw fwend hab wots of babbehs. Wub babbehs. Bu…bu one babbeh am be bad babbeh. Nu wisten tu Pancakes! A-an nu wisten tu speshuw fwend! O-ow eben tu mummah!”
“…is that the little fucker that keeps making it smell like shit out here?”
“Y-yus! Babbeh keep make bad poopies on bawcony! And in housie! A-an dwink aww da miwkies fwom Sywup! Sywup nu stoppies, bu odda babbehs aways hungies! Sywup nu wisten, she nu wan be bad mummah. But babbeh is makies mummah and Sywup saddies, and be meanies to odda babbehs an-an-an-” he struggle before continuing to babble. But either way, Weston got the point. The little fluffy sounded like he was showing signs of being a smarty, a greedy one too, though, that might be redundant.
Finally, the poor guy babbling on and on, trying harder to sell Weston on the job than a used car salesman, he finally just took a long drag, and blew the smoke over at him to get him to cough and stop talking for a second. “Alright. I’ll help. You want me to take your little ‘sausage’ away forever?”
“…y-yus…” Pancakes immediately deflated, looking sad to even be asking, “Makies me bad daddeh…b-bu be wowstest if nu help odda babbehs! Dey wan nu wisten wike Sawsage, an be bad tu! M-mummah maybe takies aww dem if nu stoppies!”
“Alright…I could probably cut a hole in that netting and let him fall?”
Pancakes gasped at that, “Nu! Pwease, nu huwties bad babbeh. Bu…bu nu can stay hewe. Can nice mistah getties a big munstah to takies away Sawsage? N-nee odda babbehs tu sees wha happen tu bad babbehs. D-dat munstahs come an take to nom!”
“…got it…” for a fluffy, the guy had really thought this through. Well, not really, but Weston was surprised it was anything more complicated than just, ‘please throw my foal out a window’ or something. “…okay, I’ll do it. But only cause I like your mummah.”
“T-tank yu! Tank yu su muchies nice mistah!” Pancakes said much too loudly. Weston shooshed him.
“Quiet down…you gotta tell me when your mummah isn’t home. She won’t like me coming in her apartment…don’t like doing it either. But she’s been in a real bad mood cause of your stupid shit baby.”
Pancakes frowned, looking sad to hear his baby referred to like that, but didn’t argue. Well, Weston guessed it was still his kid, even if he was asking to get rid of it. If the guy didn’t care about him at least a little he’d be just as bad as the fluffies Weston usually got rid of.
So it was, the next day Weston waited until his neighbor was out for the day, signaled by his new client Pancakes the fluffy, and he got to work. He spent twenty minutes looking for an old Halloween costume he’d had years ago and held onto cause he thought he’d use it again sometime. He swore he would, really! He found…well, he found the important part. It was missing the glowing red eyes and the cloak, but he did have the faceless hood part! So, he donned an old raggy hoody, the faceless hood, got his leather gloves he’d started to use for work on, and got the loudest pair of boots he owned to stomp around in.
Half that shit had to come off when he got to the apartment door and started lockpicking it. Weston still wasn’t too good at this, but he got it enough that eventually he got in. Soon as it was open, he pulled the hood back down over his face, got the gloves back on, and started his part as the scary monster.
He quietly slipped inside, shut the door behind himself, then tried to walk a few steps in as quietly as his boots would allow. They longed to announce his arrival with every step on the hardwood floor, but he didn’t want them to know he came in from the front door. It was a better show if the monster just appeared without warning. That, and it would maybe let his neighbor not realize he broke into her home.
He listened for what was waiting up ahead of him. FluffTV was on, the stupid song playing made that clear. Happy giggles of playing, and the babble of fluffies talking amongst themselves.
He started stomping hard with each step then. Each loud thud echoing through the room, shaking things around him and making family pictures and paintings rattle on the walls. It only took a few steps to be standing in the doorway to the living room, where everyone of them had suddenly frozen in place at his horrible stomping. The moment they saw him, they went wide eyed in terror, even Pancakes.
To them, they saw a strange humanlike being, but that had no face. They saw him in a hood that didn’t have anything but black darkness beneath, and every bit of flesh was covered. Just to sell it, he stomped hard and made a truly autist level attempt at a monster cry. Something like a strained roar and a screech.
They all stood frozen in absolute terror, staring at their doom, as Weston searched over the room of flufflies looking for his target. Luckily, Sausage was the only one that ended up brown. The other three in the litter were a spitting image of Pancakes, then a vibrant blue and a deep orange one. But the moment he made to grab him, Pancakes, apparently just as stupid as any fluffy, shouted loudly, “M-m-munstah! Wun way!” making the room explode in panicked fluffies running for their lives.
The blue foal immediately got itself stuck trying to dive under a nearby couch. Syrup, to her credit, grabbed the nearest foal in her mouth, the one that looked like Pancakes, and started running as fast as she could towards the balcony, thinking somehow she’d be safe there. Then there was the orange one, he bet that one was named OJ or something, and Sausage frozen, unmoving as Weston approached.
He bent over, reaching for Sausage, and suddenly the foal had the bright idea to move behind his orange sibling and push him towards Weston. “Munstah can hab stupih bwudda! Sawsage nu am nummies, he am nummies!” and then started running off, leaving his poor brother bawling and begging for his life in barely understandable babbles. Figuring this could be a good way to sell the message Pancakes wanted, he grabbed up OJ, no way he wasn’t called that, and pulled him up to his faceless hood.
Then in a low, growling voice that could only be intimidating to a fluffy, he asked it, “Are you a bad fluffy?”
“N-nuuuuu! Am-a-a-a-am guuuud fwuffyyyyyyyyy! Huhuhu!” It bawled, pissing and shitting itself as he held it tight in his hand. This is why the gloves were good.
He took a long moment to just scare the shit out of OJ and any fluffy watching, then gently placed him back down on the floor, and started stomping right after Sausage. Sausage had stopped when he reached the “safety” of a fluffy play tower and managed to crawl a few steps up, and turned to watch presumably his brother get eaten. Instead, he shit himself as he saw the monster stomp right back his other siblings, his mummah, and ignored his Daddeh Pancakes higher up on the play tower to bend down and grab Sausage in a sudden move.
“N-nuuuu! Nu am nummies fo stupih munstahs! Num bwudda! Num Mummah!”
He squeezed harder on this one so he’d shut up, getting the same mess on his glove as OJ had, and stood up straight, “You are a bad fluffy.” The fluffy tried to respond but got squeezed and lost all the air in his lungs, “I only eat BAD fluffies. Fluffies that don’t use the litter box, and drink all the milkies. And especially fluffies that are mean.”
“P-pwease nice m-munstah…n-nu num babbeh! He nu mean be bad babbeh…” Pancakes began to plead with him. He couldn’t believe the little shit was going back on his…wait no. “P-pancakes pwomise, am me fawlt. Nu am gud daddeh…” This little shit was playing brave, selfless dad for the others. Honestly? Based.
“Nu! Pancakes am bestest daddeh! Nu eat speshal fwend!” Syrup begged, having hidden away her carried off foal somewhere. “P-pwease munstah. Nu num f-famiwy!”
“I won’t. But I’m taking this bad babbeh. He doesn’t listen to your mummah, or his parents. He steals all the milkies. He’s mean to his family, and he makes bad poopies. Bad babies like this will make all the babies bad. Then I’d have to eat ALL of the babies. Maybe I should!”
“N-nu! Nununununu! Nu eat aww babbehs! Pwease!”
“N-nice munstah? C-can pwease…jus takies bad babbeh Sawsage? Odda babbehs nu be bad babbehs, pwomise!”
“Hmm…” he looked at Pancakes for a bit to be convincing, then nodded, “Fine. But if they are bad babies, I’ll come back and eat you too, Pancakes!”
Pancakes was frozen in terror, having trouble telling if this ‘munstah’ Weston had supposedly summoned would actually do that. Then, just like that, he turned and stomped out of the apartment, careful not to stomp on OJ, and made his way back to his own apartment.
He threw the foal into a little carrier he’d gotten just for stuffing foals into, since that was becoming more and more common of a side part of his jobs, foals left to be abandoned if he didn’t bring them elsewhere, and got changed out of his little monster disguise. Washed off his now gross glove, then covered the carrier with a dark cloth to block out the light inside, and went for a walk with it.
He kept getting complaints about it being too dark, and the dumb little shit couldn’t stop trying to walk around in a moving carrier, so he kept tumbling around inside, hurting himself. But well, that didn’t really matter much. The guy’s fate wasn’t a bright one.
He couldn’t get a little shit like this adopted or given to a shelter. Shelters had enough trouble without a fucking poopie baby developing smarty syndrome to deal with. So, today there would be no mercy given, he would actually be taking care of things.
He walked a few blocks away to a local park on the border of sprawling forest, got a glove back on, then removed the cloth and opened up the carrier, pulling him out and dropping him unceremoniously onto the grass a few inches below. Sausage landed with an, “Oof!” and took a moment to sit up. “Wh-wha happen ti munstah?” he looked all around. “Why am on gwassies?”
“Well see, you’re a bad baby. You were so bad, your daddy Pancakes asked me to take you away forever.”
“Wha? Nu am bad babbeh! Am bestest babbeh! Yu am dummeh! Daddeh is dummeh! Bwing Sawsage tu housie wight nao!”
“Honestly, I should just bb your brains,” he ignored the little shit’s demanding, “but, I’ve got this idea you might still get a life out here if you’re lucky. Look over there.” Weston pointed off past some trees into the thick of the park. A small herd of colorful stray fluffies meandered around, eating grass and clover. No matter how many times you chase herds away from parks they will always show up again, he’d known they’d be here this time too.
“Wha? Why dewe su many fwuffy?”
“Cause they live out here. You better go ask to join.”
“Stupih dummeh. Sawsage hab housie! Nu nee eat dummeh gwassy nummies. Hab miwkies!”
“Oh really? Where’s home?”
A long pause. Then a very confused little fluffy looking all around, only to point at some random two story building nearby. “Dewe!”
“Nope.”
“Um…dewe!” this time it was a public bathroom for the park.
“Don’t think so bud. You can’t go home if you don’t know where it is, can you?”
“B-bu…bu Sawsage wan gu home! Bwing back nao!”
“Nope.” He gave Sausage a good shove with his foot towards the fluffy herd. “Fluffies love brown foals like you. I’m sure they’ll love having you join.”
“Owies!..B-bu-bu…” the little guy babbled, as Weston turned and left. “Good luck. Hope your attitude improves!” and, with just one more glance back to see Sausage sitting on his butt, unsure of what to do, Weston made his way back home. Was he being cruel, or offering a mercy? He wasn’t sure. He also wasn’t sure he cared. His neighbor deserved to relax at home, she had enough to deal with.
Later that day, he was enjoying some time outside on his balcony, no cigar since he was trying to enjoy them only when he really wanted them, browsing casually on his phone when a familiar soft voice spoke over to him. “Hewwo nice mistah. Fank yu fo findies munstah…was vewy scawy munstah…”
He looked over, and there on the same upper part of the play structure, Pancakes had laid a pile of pet grass, a nice colorful block, and even a few fluffy treats. “N-nu hab sketties today, bu pwomise gib when mummah gib dem!”
Honestly, he hadn’t been sure the little guy would actually pay up. He wasn’t especially sure he minded either way, but a fluffy of his word was nice to see. “That’s fine. How about you just give them to your mummah for me, hm? She deserves them more.”
“Weawwy? O-otay nice mistah!” Pancakes was all smiles then, “Pancakes gib bestest dancies, otay? Weast fwuffy can du!” Then he got a pathetic, but heartfelt fluffy dance from Pancakes. Enthusiastic, and truly putting his all into it.
Maybe having a fluffy next door wasn’t so bad.
You can thank @Royal_Rabbit for their idea of a fluffy taking out a contract on his foal. Took some liberties to make it work for me, but the more I thought about it, the more of a nice idea it was. He wanted it to be a sensitive babbeh that was an obvious drain on resources, but I wanted to play around with it some. Thanks for the idea man!
I went with this one first cause it’s easiest to do so early into him getting these contracts. Some of your suggestions are awesome but a bit over his level in the timeline so far. I’ll work others in too, so thanks! If you have any more ideas, save em, if I keep it going I’ll ask for more sometime.
Also, let me know what you think of Weston’s journey thus far. Thanks for reading! Feed me comments, it makes me want to keep writing Weston’s work.