Part 2
To describe the structure, imagine a central large room in the shape of a hexagon, but with the feeding wall and the opposite blank wall (where the hidden door is) being much longer than the other sides, with all other 4 sides having the doors leading to the smaller rooms, which are all simple rectangles longer than they are tall, but not by much.
The next morning, Lemon was up early. He usually got up when the sun woke up, it was how he made himself useful to the herd. He could look around and find nummies or look for munstahs or humans. He didnât often find either, but at least once heâd found pretty flower nummies! But then, he did eat most of thoseâŚ
When Lemon left his cubby, he found that the room didnât feel as big as when he woke up last bright time. It wasnât any different, he didnât think, but now that he thought about it, if his whole herd came here, it would be really full. No wonder fluffy land had so many rooms! He didnât know how many fluffies four of these rooms could hold, but it had to be a lot.
He found that there was the tuffie and his mare in one cubby, another fluffy by himself, and a soon mummah fluffy who was almost too big to walk. Lemon thought she had Smartyâs babbehs but he didnât know, Smarty said all the mares were his special friends if they didnât have one. Lemon didnât know if that was fair, but Smarty was Smarty for a reason, it had to make sense.
Seeing as how the door was still locked and heâd explored all the room had to offer, he decided to start counting. There was at least 7 toys. At least 7 blockies alone! At least seven blankets. Two water bottles to drink from, one to either side of the cubbies. A little ramp on either side that got you up to more cubbies, and then the cubbies. He didnât know how many there were, but Lemon was smart enough to almost know the answer. There was more than seven. But if he looked at the bottom cubbies, there was five, and the top cubbies, there were five.
Finally all counted out, he walked over and started playing blockies by himself, giggling happily. He loved blockies! He loved fluffy land!
Steven wasnât a morning guy. Probably just out of a desire to spend time alone heâd become a night owl. He wasnât socially inept, he had friends, but most of his friendships were sporadic interactions or well planned out hangouts, maybe a 4x game with them online. He was one of those guys that had a lot of boardgames and maybe played 10% of his collection cause he never had enough chances to play them all. If only.
All that was to say, Steven didnât get into his lab, as he liked to think of it now, until much closer to feeding time than he would have liked. But, heâd automated that whole process, so if nothing else theyâd at leave have kibble. Really it was just a trapdoor type system on a timer, so he had to manually, or have someone else manually, refill the thing for him. The problem was, spaghetti couldnât just sit out all night and still be appetizing. At least, not the way he wanted it to be. So he had to cook fresh pasta each morning to add to the food mechanism.
Now, he thought of it as fresh pasta, but it was the cheapest dollar store pasta one could get. It was so widely used to feed fluffies they branded it as Sketti, but kept it human safe for legal reasons. Human safe didnât mean it tasted good, but it was edible if he decided he wanted to hate every meal of his life. The stuff was cheap overly chewy pasta in a watered down red sauce, probably just some tomato paste diluted into a sauce. But to them? The stuff warmed up was ambrosia.
So out came the can opener, why spend the money on pull tabs, right? He emptied five cans into a pot, turned on his single burner plugged in next to his desk, and waited for the stuff to heat up. Microwaving wouldnât work, he didnât want to introduce some fluffies getting cold pasta and some burning themselves with too hot pasta. So, in the meantime, he checked over the cameras on his laptop.
The fluffies had mostly distributed themselves evenly, with only one room being just one pair of fluffies snuggled up together. That was good. He wondered if theyâd come to consider certain cubbies their own before the population exploded, or after. Speaking of, his laptop registered a lot of key phrases having been said during the night. Enf, good feels, have babies, etc. He wanted to pay attention to just how past the population would grow in this environment. There was other data on that, but what about when feral fluffies became safe fluffies? He bet they bred even faster, and was keen to prove it.
He checked where each of the key words had been used, and sure enough, not a single room had been absent, even the two by themselves. Why wait to make sure things were okay when you could get making babies, right? Otherwise, there was already two mares pregnant. One was nearly too big to walk, maybe a day away from it, and the other was halfway there. Seeing that, he started to worry he may have underestimated how quickly theyâd multiply. But then, if his experiment ended because fluffies bred themselves into destruction, he supposed that would still make for a good paperâŚ
For now, he reached over and stirred the pasta, the only smell coming from it tomato paste, and watched as some of the fluffies wandered around their rooms, exploring and playing. Today, he would start instituting rules, most especially the litter box rules, but also the limit heâd set out from the beginning. Heâd known they may not adopt full usage of the little boxes, but had hadnât expected quite how bad ferals were about leaving waste wellâŚeverywhere.
Poop littered the place, near toys, in corners, almost anywhere but the litter boxes. Some of them had been used, but not enough. And the puddles of peaâŚwell, heâd set up drains for that at least, not that that helped much. Heâd need to shotgun approach get these guys litter trained, or the experiment would fail because they all got sick from their own waste and being retards about it.
About then, the doors opened. They were programmed on a timer, open at 9:50, close at 10PM. He had plans for a toggle, but for now that was all it needed. He stirred the pasta some more, and got ready for day two.
His name was Daniel, but now he was just named Smarty for the herd. He used to be a pet fluffy, but his mummah hadnât listened to him when he demanded sketties and more toys, so heâd escaped like a smart fluffy! He was a handsome Pegasus if he did say so, a violet fluff and a navy-blue mane made him distinct from anyone else in the herd. No one else had his colors! Maybe his babies would someday, but those were his babies, so that was okay.
His herd was pretty new. Heâd only been a feral forâŚwell actually he didnât know how long, but it felt like a long time! He gathered a herd of ferals group by group until he had so many! And then that stupid munstah came and trapped them. But Smarty was too smarty for that munstah! He went to sleep, and escaped them all to Fluffy Land! He didnât know how he did it, but he was very impressed with himself. Then last bright time, he made the wall voice give his herd Sketti! And dumby kibble, butâŚwell the kibble was better than the trash nummies heâd been eating for a while. He wanted more sketties but at least the kibble tasted kinda like sketties.
Heâd gotten lots of gud feels with his most pretty mare, Ruby. She was a bright red Earthie mare with purple mane, a mane almost like his fluff! He liked that. Now Ruby happily babbled about having tummeh babbehs, but he could get more gud feels today too to make sure she had tummeh babbehs. âShuddup Wuby, Smardy finkin!â he finally shouted, and she frowned at him but finally stopped babbling. Now he could think!
What was he thinking about? How many blankets he could fit into his cubby to make it the bestest nestie! He needed room for good feels with mares, and he liked sleeping with mares so not too many. He would have kept thinking about this if the door hadnât opened right then. He turned his head to see fluffies that were playing closer to the door start walking back out. Wait, but there was food out there! Smarty had to go first!
âDummeh fwuffies!â he shouted, running out of his cubby and straight for the door, âSmawty geh nummies fiwst! No go befow Smawty!â His calls summoned the one tuffie that actually followed him into the right room last night, hurrying to follow the leader, but the other fluffies didnât listen to him! âDummehs! Wisten to Smawty!â
He followed them out, only to see a bunch of other fluffies already out in his way too! Didnât they know Smarty got to go first?! He made a bunch of annoyed noises, and then started barreling full speed for the food wall. Fine, if they wouldnât listen, heâd just get to the food first! He barreled right through several fluffies, getting several, âOuchies!â âWhy huwt fwuffy?!â âNo nice!â but he didnât care. Those Sketties were all his!
Only, when he got to the trough, it was empty. Not even any of the kibble left over from yesterday. What was the big deal?! Smawty wanted nummies! He stomped on the trough, which didnât do anything but made Smarty feel like a bigger fluffy. âStupih food place. Smawty am hewe! Gib nummies now!â He puffed up his cheeks, and glared at the trough with all his might.
He heard lots of fluffies gathering into the big room behind him, that wasnât good. If they saw he couldnât make the stupid food place give them food, they might think he was a dumby! So he kept glaring at it.
âMunstah?!â a dumb fluffy shouted, and finally Smarty stopped his intimidation tactic to look back. A bunch of the herd was crowded around something, and now they were all starting to panic and talk about a munstah? Stupid herd! Smarty would know if there was a munstah!
He stomped on over, his loyal tuffie going ahead to clear the way for him, and didnât find a munstah. Duh, he knew there was no munstah! But there was a dead foal. He got closer to it to look, and it didnât look like something a fluffy would do. It didnât look like bities or stompies. âWha happen to foaw?â
âNo know!â a nearby fluffy said, some dummeh with orange fur. âFwuffy find foaw when dowrs open!â
âWho say dewe is munstah?â he demanded, glaring at the fluffies gathered around. Several fluffies all raised their hooves. âDummehs! Dunno is munstah! Maybe was stompies!â
âNo wook wike stompiesâŚâ that same stupid organge fluffy commented.
He glared daggers at him, âSmawty no see no munstahs! Maybe was fwuffy!â He pointed an acusing hoof towards the dummeh, and he gasped.
âWha?! No was fwuffy! Fwuffy no gib foaw stompies!â
âDats wat aww fwuffies say.â He shakes his head, happy to pin the blame on someone. Now the fluffies wouldnât be dummehs and get scared of nothing!
âSmawty! Smawty! Nee Smawty!â a mare was calling, but not the way he liked.
He huffed, âSmawty haf do evwyfingâŚâ and walked over to find the voice.
He found a mare, and another mare that was still sleeping! Wait, why was she sleeping in here? She had a foal curled up on top of her fluff, and he worried heâd have to deal with explaining two dead foals to the herd. He was grateful then when he heard the foalâs scaredy peeps.
âSmawty hewe. Wha happen? Why mawe sweepies hewe?â
âNu knuw!â the mare that called him said. He remembered this mare. She was a soon mummah with his babbehs. She was a pretty wingie mare, with nice bright blue fluff and a darker blue mane. Her mane was almost like his too, she was pretty. But he couldnât give special huggies to such a soon mummah, maybe heâd keep her around again after.
Heâd gotten sidetracked thinking about special huggies and pretty mares, and was only called back to the situation at hand by the foal finally stopping its peeps and looking at him. âB-baby scawed! Was dawkies! Munsta attack bwudda! Munstah huwt mummah! No couwd see! No couwd find mummah! Why mummah no wakies?â
Ugh, always so many questions from dumb fluffies. This sure was a talky baby. But, then, it was a walkies baby. It would be a big fluffy in no time. âWas no munstah. Babbeh is dummeh.â He said confidently, only, that didnât really work anymore. The crowd slowly followed Smarty over to see what had happened, and now they were all talking about the munstah. Stupid fluffies!
âWha happen, babbeh?â the mare asked. What was her name anyway? And wait, why was she asking questions? Smarty was right here!
But the babbeh was already describing what had happened. How theyâd been trapped because of her brother lying to mummah. How it got really dark and really cold and there was monsters making noises in the dark, and then how he heard his brother call out about a monster before she heard more scary noises. How sheâd curled up and not slept at all, only to find her mummah sleeping here and not able to wake up. Now there was no fighting it, all the fluffies thought there was a munstah.
âWhy mummah no wakies? Babbeh gib huggies and wub and she no wakies! Twy ebwyting!â
Smarty, not too happy that he looked like a dummy now for doubting there was a munstah, decided to deal with this himself. He started hitting the sleeping mare with his hoof. âStupid mawe, is bwight time! Wakies, nao!â He demanded. When that didnât work, her turned around, and kicked the mare right in the stomach. He had a lot of rage about then and he was happy to give something a kick.
That finally did it, though it also sent the stupid foal tumbling off her mummah and onto the floor, âOwies!â
The mare cried out and squirmed her leggies around, screaming, âNo eat fwuffy! No wike! No wike! No munstah Nooooooo!â she cried desperately.
âStupid mawe!â Smarty yelled over her, âIs no munstah, is Smawty. You was sweepies!â
It took a long moment, but the mare got up, crying and her head having a mean looking owie on it, but that wasnât his problem. He also noticed the unicornâs horn was broken. She looked not pretty with a broken horn. âB-bu daw w-was munstah! I-it was dawkiesâŚfwuffy wun way, buh munstah huwt fwuffy! Make go sweepies!â
âIt make you blue babbeh go foweba sweepies.â He explained. They needed to know he knew there was a munstah, and was handling it. Cause he was the smarty! âAn you hown bwoken.â
She gasps, but not for the babbeh, she feels at her broken horn and starts to weep, âHuuu huuuâŚnu hownâŚwhy munstah take huwn? Fwuffy no wook pwetty wif no hownâŚâ
The fact her one living babbeh was right there, crying about owies from falling off didnât even seem to register. Right about then he thought, maybe the one truly smart thing he had, that he really shouldnât have babbehs with a mare like this. She wasnât a good mummah.
He turned away, and realized he really needed to use the potty. Unlike a lot of his dummy herd, he actually was litter trained, but after all his time leading the herd outside in the wild, he hadnât had to use one in a long time. Why start now? He started heading for the nearest corner, leaving the sobbing mare where she was.
The screen started to flash, âFood Timeâ in coordination with a recording of his voice saying the same. Before any of the fluffies fully registered what was happening, the trap door released, his cheap pasta topping already thrown on, and their trough was filled with layers of kibble topped with canned pasta.
There was a mad dash, a chaotic lineup of fluffies as they all eagerly went to go dig in. With only nineteen of them, even if they all ran up at once there was plenty of room. But that wouldnât last after they began to grow. That was the point. The food was layered with Spaghetti on the top because it was something so hard wired into them that he knew it would keep them somewhat in line. Kibble could be ignored, at least until they were too hungry, but never âSkettiâ.
Below the misleadingly thin layer of pasta was pasta flavored kibble. Under that, the biggest layer was classic kibble, which fluffies infamously like to call boring, and then under that, started to mix with punishment kibble. It was just as nutrient dense as the other kibbles, but it intentionally didnât taste good. He hadnât looked too deeply into why they had a product like that, but he was pretty sure it was more aimed towards abusers that wanted their fluffies to live, but not enjoy even meals. Not his problem, it added a layer to his experiment.
Now, he actually hadnât bothered to do most of the layers yet. Half the trough had an insert put in so it looked a lot deeper than it was. There werenât nearly enough fluffies to bother with adding all the food set for this yet. They would never get down to the bottom in one feeding time, so why waste supplies?
What was the plan here? Well, simple. Heâd given them a utopia. The rooms were always a nice temperature for fluffies, had lots of blankets, plenty of toys, and they had far more food than they could ever hope to eat every meal time. Plus clean drinking water. But hereâs the thing. He wouldnât be adding anything, besides the originally planned amount of food once they grew a bit more. After that initial growth period, the amount of food would stay the same, the amount of toys, cubbies, blankets, all of it. Nothing. Would. Change. Perfect place to live, but only for so many fluffies.
Once the fluffies had eaten their fill, once again eating way too much food, not used to having plenty as ferals, it was time to inform them about the only two rules of their new home.
This one wasnât a recording, since the litter thing wasnât something heâd thought enough about. You always overlook the little things. âHello Fluffies.â He spoke into his microphone, the fluffies all stopping what they were doing, which was mostly just talking and being too full to move, to listen. Some even nicely greeted him as, ânice wall voiceyâ. âI hope you all enjoyed your meal. However, I notice many of you are not using your litter boxes.â
The Smarty of the group started saying something about, âNo nee stupih littew box!â If their smarty wasnât going for it, plenty of them would follow suit. Time to nip that in the bud.
âIâm afraid that, if you donât use your litter boxes, Iâll have to close Fluffy Land!â
Gasps all about the crowd, and even the Smarty froze mid insult. A cacophony of, âNu! Wuv Fwuffy Wand!â and, âPwease no cwose!â followed.
Steven continued. âIâm afraid Iâll have no choice. We canât clean Fluffy Land. Itâs only for Fluffies! But we can clean the litter boxes for you. If Fluffy Land gets too dirty, Iâll have to close it, and youâll all have to go back outside during the cold times.â
The complaints only got louder, the Smarty frozen between demanding and threatening, and thus just standing there thinking.
âI donât want to close Fluffy Land. If there are accidents, you have to clean them up. And you all have to use the litter box. If you donât, the doors wonât open for you, cause youâre being bad fluffies.â He knew this was a lot of info to put on fluffies. He couldnât add much more, and he didnât want to. He just needed this issue solved.
âStupih voicey! Dowr no stop Smawty! Is dowr!â The smarty shouted back at him. He choice to ignore that. He knew theyâd end up needing to see it happen before they believed him.
âIf you do that, youâre very good fluffies that get to stay! But, thereâs one more thing you need to know about Fluffy Land.â
The Smarty shut up to listen, even if he may not understand it. The other fluffies, besides a lot of whining and complaining, were listening too.
âFluffy Land can only make so much food. Itâs enough food for 100 Fluffies every day. Thatâs a lot more fluffies than you have right now, but you need to know that.â The screen changed to show the number, moving the clock to take up just the top half of the screen. It showed 19/100. âWhen this number gets too big, there wonât be enough food for all the fluffies.â
Aaaand it seemed to go right over their heads. They seemed to just accept it. In fact, that seemed ecstatic. Not what heâd wanted. There was that many nummies? Seemed to be the general reaction. Heâd just confirmed total food security for them. The hope was, knowing there was such a surplus, theyâd happily multiply. But he really hoped at least a few would grasp the fact he was telling them something important to their survival, and react to it before it was too late.
âOkay, that is all. Remember. Use your litter boxes!â and then he ended it.
That was his big twist heâd come up with early on. The original experiment he took inspiration from didnât have something like that. They were dealing with anything they needed, and that research had been truly interesting. But he needed this research to stand on its own, plus he had limited funding and limited space. Not to mention, rodents are a hell of a lot smaller than fluffy ponies.
What would fluffy ponies do, if given everything they could want and need to survive happily, but knew, from the onset they could only support so many fluffies? He had his suspicions, but finding out was the point. Satisfied with his message sent, the limitations finally set out, and his shotgun approach to try and get them using the litter box started, he turned to other things. He still had other work to be doing, and now it was just a waiting game.