This is a prequel to “Wait, it’s ALL smarties?”.
You are Lavender, a happy fluffy babbeh!
You’ve just been brought to your new home by your new daddeh, and you’re marveling at all the wonders of your saferoom. You can’t believe it’s all yours!
Your daddeh strokes your fluff, as you coo.
You know your new daddeh loves you, and you love him too.
A few weeks have gone by. You’ve gotten a lot bigger, and your daddeh said you’re now big enough to go to the “pawk” to play with other fluffies! You don’t know what a pawk is, but you’re excited.
After a ride in daddeh’s “caw” (you know by now that it’s not a munstah, and that it can get you and your daddeh to places faster than walking would! You were amazed by this.) you get to the pawk. It’s a big place outside, with grassies and trees and flowers and all kinds of things for fluffies to play with.
And there are other fluffies there! They have hoomin mummahs and daddehs too. There are some hoomins who don’t seem to have fluffies of their own, but they seem to really like watching the fluffies play.
Your daddeh gently puts you down near some toysies. You asked him if he could put you down somewhere by yourself. This is your first time interacting with fluffies, and there’s so many of them, you want to take this slowly. Your daddeh understands. He says he knows that meeting new people can be scary, especially if it’s a lot of new people. He puts you down and walks off to talk to a very pretty lady who doesn’t have a fluffy of her own, but stays close enough that you still feel safe.
You’re playing by yourself, looking at the other fluffies, when something strange happens.
A few of the other fluffies get an odd look on their faces, suddenly looking around, trying to find something.
Then one of the other fluffies, a big black and red hornie friend, looks right at you.
He gets really angry for some reason and charges.
I’m chatting it up with Judy, a friend of mine. A really hot friend, who is thinking about adopting a fluffy of her own.
“I don’t know, Chris, Flufftopia fluffies are really expensive…”
“Well yeah, but they’re also the best behaved fluffies you can get. I got Lavender from Flufftopia, and she’s only misbehaved once. Trust me, don’t buy a fluffy from one of those crappy mills, I know they’re cheap, but it’ll cost you more in the long run.”
“Well, I’ll think about it–”
“FWUFFY KIWW! KIWW!”
“Nuuuuuu! Nu huwt Wavendew!”
I move without thinking, or even seeing what’s going on. I run over, pick up Lavender, and only then realize what’s happening.
Some of the other fluffies in the park are going berserk. They’re trying to get at Lavender, who is now out of reach, and thankfully, unharmed, though terrified and sobbing.
The owners are frantically restraining their fluffies, who, deprived of their target, are now attempting to kill each other.
I look down at Lavender.
“What happened, sweetheart? Did you do anything?”
Lavender struggles to answer through the sobs.
“Wavendew nu-- huu-- du aneefing! Wavendew was just-- huu-- pwayin awone wen udda fwuffies twy gib-- huu huu-- Wavendew wowstest owwies!”
I believe her. She sounds as sincere as a fluffy can be. One of the other owners, Mark, I think he was called, walks over, with a serious look on his face. He’s holding a carrier, and inside, a bubblegum pink stallion is thrashing wildly at the sight of Lavender.
“I think I know what caused this. It’s a long shot, but it can happen…”
“What can happen?”
“Listen, I need to make a call. Take Lavender home, lock her in the saferoom, you should get a call later today.”
“A call from who? You don’t even have my number.”
“You’ll see.”
The phone rings. I pick it up.
“Hello?”
“Chris Oldman?” The voice sounds deep, and masculine, and vaguely French.
“That’s me…”
“Ah, c’est bon. My name is Dr. Deston Faucheuse. You have perhaps heard of me?”
“The author? I have your new owner’s guide. But how did you get this number?”
“Oui, one of my finest works, which will hopefully repair some of the damage amateur owners have done to fluffykind. As for how I got your number: I have my ways. Don’t worry about it. Now to the matter at hand. I understand that your fluffy has developed Syndrome-P53.”
“What is Syndrome-P53?”
“A very rare fluffy genetic disorder. Very, very, very rare, that usually manifests as the fluffy approaches maturity. An otherwise normal fluffy afflicted with Syndrome-P53 will, at intervals separated by, on average a week, begin to emit a pheromone, Pheromone 53, that fluffies are not consciously able to detect. Their subconscious minds will, however, detect it, and be affected by it.”
“What does it do, though? Sir?” I ask, so desperate to find out what’s wrong with my precious fluffy that I nearly forget my manners.
“They will find themselves being drawn to the source of the scent, though unable to understand what they’re following, or why, and once they lay eyes on the source…”
“They go berserk and try to kill her?”
“Exactement. And if the source fluffy is removed–”
“They turn on each other? Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You are correct, though. Once the fluffy stops emitting the pheromone, all affected fluffies will return to normal, and forget what even happened. They won’t even bear any further hostility towards… Lavender, your fluffy is called?”
"Yes, that’s right. But is there a cure for this?’
A sigh.
“I’m afraid not. This is a genetic disorder, a result of the… convoluted fluffy genome. But we’re always on the lookout for fluffies with Syndrome-P53, to offer aid.”
“What kind of aid?”
“We can provide you with a device, designed to detect fluffy pheromones. It can alert you when your fluffy is about to begin emitting the Pheromone 53, so you can isolate her. The rest of the time, she’ll be a normal fluffy. She’ll be able to play with other fluffies as usual, though if you were planning on breeding her, I would discourage it. Our studies have shown that even, ah, special friends and foals of fluffies with Syndrome-P53 aren’t sure to be immune to the pheromone’s effects. Some fluffies are immune, we don’t know why, or how many, but if they mate, there’s no guarantee their foals will be immune too. There is, however, a high chance that the foals will inherit Syndrome-P53, especially if both parents have it.”
“But why is it so rare, then?” I ask, with a suspicion that I already know the answer.
“Because most fluffies with Syndrome-P53 don’t live long enough to breed.”
Called it.
“By the way, you keep saying we and our, who are you referring to?”
“Just a few associates of mine, Monsieur Oldman. Friends who care about fluffies, and like me, know a lot about them. We can have the pheromone detector delivered by tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, do what you can to fluffy-proof your property. The last thing you want is a feral herd following the scent into your saferoom. Smarties have an exceptionally violent reaction to P53.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got a few ideas…”