This is a commission for @TG_89 who I would like to thank heavily for the continued support. It means a lot man.
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Want a fluffy which is just right? Have you heard horror stories of rambunctious foals using the potty in their owners shoes or calling people a ‘dummeh’? With the Happy Box from Hasbio the average owner will never have to worry! With patented ‘Good Fluffy’ technology, any biopet that enters is guaranteed to be well-behaved and oh so lovable! Worries over ethics? Don’t concern yourself with it! The good scientists with the R&D department at Hasbio say that fluffies don’t feel pain the same way real animals do!
Buy today!
-A fluffy trade circular
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The Happy Box. A rather cheery looking contraption about the same size of a breadbox. Smooth edges, pink or blue sheet metal which feels light and cheap to the touch. It’s sides are decorated with whimsical rainbow stickers, fluffies playing, bright and inconsequential things that attract the eye. Small warnings or technical considerations are kept to the underside, because who wants to see that?
Each has a top designated by the presence of flimsy aluminum latches soldered to let it halve away to inspect inside. Of course, these things are rarely ever opened. Not by any except for those who purchase it. One fluffy apiece to each box, assigned there and kept away from the light of the waking world. Even when concerns of sustenance or clean-up is brought up, a Fluffmart employee needs only to remove canisters assigned to each side of the box. One side for eating (or the approximation of such), the other for the potty. Mess-free and easy. Why, it was actually quite similar to the Foal-in-a-Can!
This story concerns a filly named Paprika. Small, a faded mono red, the photo on her Happy Box shows a smiling face and eyes just yearning to know more about the world. Taken from her mother and siblings yet still full of excitement for what the world had in wait for her. Each of the boxes have similar cheerful smiles and giddy expressions but all we need is a look into one. They all feel the same now after all.
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To be fitted into a Happy Box, foals have their legs buckled in and cinched down. Uncomfortable at first though that slight discomfort becomes unbearable after even just half a day. Paprika couldn’t feel her weggies anymore. Had almost forgot they existed except when the wires came alive. You see, her body had been fitted with a suit consisting of flexible wires. This suit had one been somewhat slack against her furred body yet now after having done some growing it dug deeply into her. Not enough to leave marks, no, but it was a presence that was always there. To begin with, the fluffy had thought of it somewhat as a hug. It certainly was snug enough after all.
At random intervals, this wire suit encompassing her body flickered to life with a small hum. These boxes were fitted with a power supply which steadily supplied enough juice to feed the gadgets within and the suit was directly connected to it. Electricity scored through her body whenever it kicked on, burning tendrils that encompassed every inch around her. Legs that were usually dead to the world attempted to flop and twitch against the sheet metal under them. Her eyes flickered open and shut, the smell of burning fur rose up. It was never enough to actually mark her noticeably, though the flesh under her fur was marked with the scorching wire tracks.
When these randomly occurred she wanted to scream. It was impossible: A feeding tube was shoved past her teeth and emptied out in her throat. The waste disposal tube similarly shoved into her anus simply collected the scaredy poopies that always came so even that wasn’t any form of comfort. To put it simply, it was like being embraced by a stinging jellyfish. Not that she knew of such things.
Why did it happen? She knew why. It was quite obvious. This was where bad fluffies went. An incredibly cheap monitor half the size of the average phone screen was slotted in front of her, tinny speakers positioned by her ears gave all the reasons why she was in her.
‘You’re a bad fluffy’
A monotone voice told her. Who was it? This voice scared her. It was genderless, emotionless. Lacking anything except scorn. Paprika wanted to yell at it: That she wasn’t a bad fluffy! Fluffies were for wub and huggies!
‘Good fluffies don’t go to the Happy Box’
The voice always said, phone screen displaying images of fluffies playing. Eating skettis. Receiving huggies from their owners. They were so happy. They didn’t have huwties. Everything was so nice. Watching the screen slotted in front of her was almost as awful as the wire shocks she received. These fluffies got everything! Jealousy bloomed in her tiny heart. She wanted to use HER weggies to run! Wanted to use HER mouth for nummies! Wanted to poop in a litter tray and sing funny songs.
Of course there was more in store in the average day for Paprika and every other fluffy stuck in the Happy Box. Included in the nutrient slurry pumped into her mouth from the feeding tube was a mixture of hallucinogens. A perfectly safe compound to any humans who’d risk cross-contamination yet nightmarish to a biopet. After ingesting the food, Paprika’s stomach began to churn. Feeling as if the food would rush right back to the feeding tube, she always fought desperately to keep it down. In the bright halogen glow from the strips that ran the sides of the box she’d develop a piercing headache, feeling as if her think-pwace would pop right out of her head. Then the sounds and munstahs came.
Fluffies have preciously little when it comes to thinking power and that goes double for imagination. In her mind, primordial things took form around the box. Slithering, mucus covered tentacles that wound around her and tickled at her ears. Swarms of buggies that were most definitely not friends seemingly appearing out of nowhere and marching in around her. They weren’t real but in those moments, they were. A black and brown carpet of many tiny legs and seizing mandibles that caused her skin to break out in a furiously itchy rash that she had no help in soothing. There was nothing she could do and her brain would cause her body to develop the itchiness from pure belief alone.
The voices, too.
Bad fluffy!
Nobody loves you!
You’re going into the trash!
It was the voice that came through the speakers, though filtered through the mind altering effects it came out different. A demonic mechanical grinding that made her want to chew on her own teeth. This sound wasn’t just a sound, it was something which rattled through her bones. She could feel it so deep inside of her that it seemed like a munstah ready to tear out from within her tummy with big scary claws.
Sometimes in a heartbreaking turn of events it was her own mummah. Paprika had forgotten what her mummah sounded like awhile ago: The torture had seared it right out of her mind. Yet rarely when the hallucinations were prodding into her vulnerable little brain like vultures picking over a corpse she’d remember.
Mummah dun wub yew
That’s what the voice told her, causing tears to trickle down from her eyes. The video monitor mounted in front of her wouldn’t even be playing yet then it’d turn on. An image of her mummah playing happily with her bwuddahs and sissies. Painful images birthed from her own fevered mind.
Mummah! Papwika wub yew! Pwease wub! Nu weab! Nu weab in boxsie! Hewp Papwika!
Trying to project it to her mummah with her mind. Desperately attempting something, anything. Yet inevitably the image of her mummah focused in so that her siblings disappeared in a blur of colors and light. Always with the same result.
Mummah nebah wub yew
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You’d think the box couldn’t get much worse. That a fluffy could only take so much before you totally ruined a chance to make it ‘good’ and instead sent it deep into a hole of irreparable PTSD. All said, the good scientists at Hasbio had done so much testing and had one last trick up their sleeves.
Once a day the process announced itself by the halogen strips surrounding the fluffy simply guttering out and powering down. Everything within the box stopped humming and Paprika found herself cast into a silent, terrifying darkness.
Nostrils flared each time the electronics stopped and for good reason. The battery powering everything in this behavioral modification capsule was also the only thing keeping fresh oxygen within. When the Happy Box was cast into deep gloom, Paprika had learned to attempt to fill her lungs as much as possible. The air intake fan stopped whirring and she knew that fowebbah sweepies would be near.
Minutes passed in the darkness which seemed to stretch on for eternity. The fear of losing all of the breathies made the fluffy hyperventilate and snuffle at the air as hard as she could. Soon there wouldn’t be any left. No breathies for her. Would it be different today? Stretch on longer? Could she really go fowebbah sweepies?
Just like always, the oxygen steadily thinned out. It caused her to become woozy and sick to her stomach, felt an itching sensation in lungs which only wished to become filled. Puffing her nostrils out in a fervent desperation to fill her lungs it’d be soon. Bright lights exploded behind her eyes as the oxygen avaliable in the space failed to keep her conscious and with a few coughs against the feeding tube in her throat, she pitched forward and lost herself in a pitch black void.
When she finally came to again, her neck snapped up and tears bled at the corners of her eyes. Bright lights were back on in the box along with the steady hum of the oxygen distribution system. Her lungs still burned. Felt as if they were scarred and full of ickies. The video monitor in front of her showed a fluffy taking in mighty big breaths and enjoying all the air he took for granted. That meanie voice which came from the tiny speakers chastised her like always.
Bad fluffies don’t get to breathe. Good fluffies who aren’t in the Happy Box breathe all they want
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Time for Paprika was defined in terms of torture. There was a vague sense of telling how much time had passed when different methods, especially oxygen deprivation, was used. Everything had an ‘order’ to it except for the wire shocks which were distributed randomly, and she’d come to dread each minute that passed.
One day after a particularly long wire session had singed through her nerves, she felt as if she would die. Had to go fowebbah sweepies. Fluffies were meant for huggies and wub, and this was the complete opposite of that. They couldn’t last like this. Yet as she was in the doldrums of a particularly nasty depression, there were clicking sounds that announced something unexpected was happening. These sounds were familiar yet she couldn’t exactly say why so, and then it happened.
With a squeak of metal, the lid to her box sprang open and let natural light down onto the poor wretch within. It actually seemed darker out here than within the bright lights of the box and her eyes had to adjust for a few moments, squinting and attempting to make out what was going on. Before she could even tell what was going on, the feeding tube stuffed down her throat was ripped out with little care for the biotoy it was attached to. Coughing came naturally, harsh sputters that sent out small patters of drool and mucus that had built up against the tube. Barely any time to register this as the tube up her bottom was also ripped out, causing the fluffy to give a small whimper but not scream. Good fluffies didn’t do that. They were always happy and fun!
Finally, her eyes began to adjust to the new light. What had been an indistinct shape now finally cleared up and made itself known as a human mummah. She had big golden colored hair that actually impressed Paprika but her nails were a different matter. Those were like claws! Long, painted an absolutely venomous purple. Only munstahs had claws like that but maybe this mummah wouldn’t num her if she was cute and lovable like any fluffy should be. Body trembling a bit, Paprika watched as the rather severe looking woman unwound the body harness of wires from off of her, some of it snagging on her fur and tearing patches out. Tears rose in her eyes but she forced herself to smile.
“My name is Vicky, and I’m your new…” The woman was obviously having a difficulty time choosing what designation she should use as a title. A long nail tapped against her pointy chin. “Mother. Now come on out of your box. Unless you’d like to stay there?”
No. Of course Paprika didn’t want to stay here! NO! Only problem was, it had been an incredibly long time since she’d last used her weggies. There was room to move around finally but she couldn’t even really feel anything down there. Cheeks puffing out in determination, she slumped her body against the lid of the box and flailed around wildly. Pins and needles ran across her weggies as finally some sensation came back, giving a triumphant sound and plopping out from within. She fell right on her face, back hooves sprawling right out to the air.
“H-Hewwo nyu mummah! Fwuffy wub yew! Dank yew! Am be bestest fwuffy ebah ‘fo yew!” Scrabbling her front hooves against the hardwood flooring she’d found herself on, Paprika looked around the room. It was an incredibly tastefully decorated parlor. All antique furniture, a grandfather clock, end tables covered in glass baubles or tea sets. The place had an incredibly old smell which absolutely mesmerized her for some reason though being out of the box, even a dumpster would smell like a paradise.
“Mhm. Stand up.” Snapping her fingers, Vicky glared down at her. Paprika gave an aloof smile and did manage to stand up, though her legs bowed and she slanted off to one side. It hurt to maintain though she kept at it.
“Papwika do gud?” She asked with a needy glint in her eyes, trying to step closer to her new owner. Legs buckled out beneath her so she was once more face down to the floor. Trying to gain as much distance from the box and herself wasn’t going so well.
Vicky gave a cluck of her tongue. How was she to tell if this fluffy was actually ‘good out of the box’ as promised?
“We’ll see. Come along.”
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Paprika was led out from the parlor into a magnificent kitchen. Copper pots and pans hanging from racks, marble countertops, fixtures all shining bright. Even the refrigerator was fancy: It had a little television screen that caught her eye for a moment before making her heart sink in dread. It was around the same size as the monitor in the box. Would it also say meanie things? Not wanting to stick around and find out, she kept right by her new mummah’s feet as they went into the adjoining room.
A laundry room. Plain, typical, nothing out of the ordinary here except for a few items meant for fluffy care. Just a bare-bones bed with hardly any cushion to it, three toys (a ball, stuffy friend in the shape of an elephant, and a puzzle set), litter tray, food and water dish. As far as safe rooms went this one was the very basics.
Perking her nose to the air haughtily, Vicky thrust an index finger into the room. “Go on. Show me how good you are.”
Like any fluffy that had been under circumstances as she had, Paprika wanted to hop and skip into the room and immediately get into all kinds of hijinks. Yet the words of the Happy Box lingered in the back of her mind.
Good fluffies don’t go into the Happy Box
Nervously, she stepped into the converted laundry room and immediately made for the litter tray. It’d been a long time since she’d used one but watching the good fluffies on the monitor use the box had reinforced it powerfully. Getting into the center of the tray she made gud peepees for mummah while maintaining direct eye-to-eye contact. Was mummah impressed? It was hard to tell.
“Uhmm…naow gud Papwika pway wif bestest toysies.” Clambering out from the tray, she made for the red rubber ball that was just sitting there for the taking. Scenarios played out in her head. Sure, she could let herself go wild with it and bounce it all around the room. That’d be SUPER fun. Collapsing next to the ball, though, she just pushed it gently from hoof to hoof. Looking up to mummah for validation. Staring back, Vicky didn’t give her much to go off of so she left the ball and went to her bed.
Settling down on the bed, Paprika made herself cozy and tried to seem as well behaved as she could be. “Wook mummah, gud fwuffy am bein’ su gud.” Of course she was. The poor creature was scared out of her wits to do anything that might be considered bad.
Giving the smallest of smiles to her new fluffy, Vicky nodded approvingly. “There you go. As long as you don’t misbehave, you won’t end up back in your Happy Box.”
Pinning her ears down, Paprika resolved herself to be the best fluffy ever. If not for her mummah than for her own wellbeing. She’d never go back into that box. Never ever!
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Life at the house was dull for Paprika. Sure she had toys but she was too scared to play with them. The only thing she really did was cuddle against her stuffy friend. Mummah had told her that his name was Peanut. Of course the fluffy wouldn’t argue that.
“Wub yew stuffy-fwend. Wan gu on bigges’ spowin’ wif yew buh am gud fwuffy.” Sadness shone in her eyes. Every fluffy worth their salt wanted to go on big adventures with their stuffy friend. Laugh and have fun. This wasn’t in the cards for her though.
Sometimes, mummah would call for her. This didn’t really break up the doldrums any as being around Vicky set her on edge. Standing stock-straight, tail pricked up to the air like a show pony, hooves squeezed together in a prim display.
“Paprika, look at this. Isn’t this the most wonderful fabric you’ve ever seen?” Watching as mummah displayed a powder blue bolt of fabric. Giving an uneasy smile, Paprika nodded in approval.
“Dat am bestest ebah mummah! Papwika am bein’ gud fwuffy? Bestest fwuffy?” Nudging closer to mummah. Seeking approval. Needing to hear that she wouldn’t be sent to the Happy Box.
This seemed to annoy her mummah, the woman sourly looking back to her sewing machine. “Don’t you have anything else to say? It’s like listening to a broken record.”
Mouth plopping open in apparent duress, Paprika shook her head. “Nu am bwoken! Am gud fwuffy! Mummah, pwease say am gud fwuffy! Nu am bad!”
Well. The Happy Box had done wonders to make a fluffy that was in fact good. She was well behaved: Never asking for skettis, never babbling on end about this and that. When left alone in her safe room, the fluffy never played loudly and always went to the potty in the proper place. This was an annoyance though. That constant need for approval.
“You’re like a mental patient wandering up and down a ward looking for attention. Your voice…I’d have thought that box would have turned you fluffies into quiet ones.” Still annoyed. Vicky was having an important dinner party soon and she’d want to show off her posh new fluffy. What would her guests think if it was talking like this? They’d think she’d taken car jumper cables to her and done some brainwashing. Which while not being far from the truth didn’t need to be a point of conversation.
“Mummah…” Eyes sparkling with tears, Paprika imagined the dark clouds forming on her owner’s face were a portent of the Happy Box to come. Yet these fears were assuaged slightly with Vicky bending, pat long-nail tipped fingers across the top of her furry little head.
A smile. This one wasn’t so kind. It was honestly kind of vindictive though fluffies weren’t exactly the best at reading body language. “My dear, you’re a good fluffy. I just don’t like it when you talk. Would you like to lose the ability to speak, or go back into the Happy Box until you learn to pipe down?”
Dumbfounded. If only for a moment. Lose the ability to speak? That was…well if she ever had babbehs one day, how could she sing the mummah song? Forget even that. Even speaking to her stuffy-friend was one of the few small comforts in her life. Yet there it was like a nail directly in her think-pwace:
Good fluffies don’t go in the Happy Box
“Nu wan tawk pwace nu mowe! Take tawky pwace! Nu wan! Am gud fwuffy ‘fo mummah! Nu am nee’ tawkies! Pwease!” Anything to avoid the Happy Box. Mummah could take away even her weggies and she’d be fine with that. Anything to avoid the bright confines of that wowstest place.
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That was that. An appointment didn’t even need to be scheduled for the procedure: There was a walk-in clinic where you could go get such an invasive process done in the same manner you could get a dog’s nails clipped. After Paprika was loaded into mummah’s big black SUV, she stared straight ahead. A smile on her face. Too big and happy. Honestly, she didn’t want to smile. More than anything she wanted to cry. Cry and cry her eyes out until it all felt better.
Paprika didn’t remember even going into the clinic. It had happened, surely, yet the memory was no longer there in her think-pwace. Waking up with a groggy stir, she looked around. Back in her safe room now, the meddysins they’d given her still coursing through her veins and making her brain feel sleepy.
At first she wasn’t entirely convinced they’d even gone into the clinic. After all, she couldn’t remember it. Yet there was a throbbing pain in her throat, wowstest huwties. Looking to Peanut, she nudged the toy’s stuffed trunk with her nose.
Wub yew
That’s what her mouth moved to say yet nothing came out. Dread settled down against her like a blanket. Taking a deep breath, she moved her mouth to make words again.
WUB YEW!
The sound was in her think-pwace yet nothing came out still. Even after opening her tawky-pwace as big as it could go, nothing. Just small spurts of air poofing out from between her teeth. Realization dawned on her then. These sorts of things came slowly to fluffies, but it was finally hitting her. No more tawkies. No telling her stuffy-friend that she loved it very much. Singing silly songs to herself was no more. Loudly declaring that she’d made gud poopies…lost.
Taking her stuffy-friend and curling up on her crappy little bed, Paprika cried. So many tears came but no matter how emotional she felt, no noise would arrive. Feeling horrible with each passing moment the filly brought her hooves out and tapped them against the floor helplessly while giving a silent scream of sadness to the air.
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A few hours later and she was still laying in a puddle of her own tears. It was difficult to understand what her life had become. Why it couldn’t just be happies, wub, and huggies. First it had been the Happy Box and now she had lost her voice, and why? Why did the world hate her so much?
There wasn’t much time to ruminate on how bad her life was, though, because Vicky was there in the doorway. All this time she’d been working in the kitchen but Paprika hadn’t wanted to even peek her head out to see what was going on. Even if the scents of delicious foods was in the air. Mummah was dressed in a pretty black dress that would impress the fluffy if she weren’t so down in the dumps. Lifting her head up dully, she regarded her own with flat eyes that had turned red from continual weeping.
“I don’t need or want a sad sack fluffy. Get a hold of yourself and get out there. I want to see you being cute, smiley, and good.” Vicky snapped her fingers to get the biopet shuffling out of bed, head held low. As if she needed to tell her, a threat was made: “And if I don’t believe you’re happy, you’re going into the Happy Box.”
So it was that Paprika stood right by the door as guests began to file into the home. Mummah had made so many good things for them to num on: Roast chicken, glazed carrots, roast potatoes. An entire roast which filled the area with tantalizingly savory splendor. The desserts were the true victory: Pies and tarts of all sorts, puddings shaped into such forms such as fish and flowers, sparkling sorbet. All nice things that people ooh’d and ahh’d over.
She had never seen so many people at once, especially not fancy ones like this. As the guests filed in they gave Paprika a smile because she was smiling. It was only natural. That smile the fluffy had actually hurt. It hurt to force herself to do it, an action that showed most of her teeth and caused her eyes to squint a bit.
“Aren’t you a good fluffy?” A balding man in his late forties asked, stooping down and rubbing a hand under her chin.
She wanted so badly to say ‘Yis! Papwika am gud fwuffy!’ but was of course denied this right. The man had been perhaps expecting a reply of some kind and seemed somewhat puzzled when the filly stood there just grinning as big as she could.
Once the party was underway, most people seemed to forget she was there. After all it’s not like she could give chipper quips or little giggles. Paprika began to feel like a piece of furniture. No different than the coat-rack or the sofa. It was a strange feeling.
Better than being in the Happy Box?
Standing in the doorway, the smile faltered for a moment. Her ears drooped. Mummah actually had the box on display in the parlor, right where she could see it. Had talked and laughed with her friends about how Paprika was so scared of it. That she’d go back in there if she messed up.
The cheap pink metal was stared at for a long moment. With an inner whimper, she perked her ears back up and forced herself to smile again. Trotting up to mummah after all that time just standing there all by her lonesome, she gave the woman a beaming expression.
“I just love your fluffy!” One of the women who had surrounded Vicky gushed, fanning a hand at the filly.
“Mmhmm. Isn’t she just wonderful? Mostly perfect right out of the box.” Thinking mummah wanted to treat her with more nice words and maybe even give pets, Paprika leaned forward. Long nails drove into her face, shoved her back.
“Go stand in a corner, Paprika. The humans are talking.” That’s what mummah told her. Not even so much as another look in her direction. Trembling a bit, the fluffy went to a corner and stood there. Stock-still. Always with that same, too wide smile.
Mummah really did see her as just a piece of furniture. Like the pretty paintings and little figurines all around the place.
Her eyes once more went to the Happy Box. Could she take this torture to stave off that pain?
There was only one choice. Hours passed by and she simply stood there, weggies shaking weakly underneath her. No moving, no signs of boredom or sadness. Only trying to look happy. Good fluffies didn’t go into the Happy Box. This was her life now.
