Fly the Fluffy Skies
By Vanner
Ever since you’ve owned fluffy ponies, you’ve had to deal with the insane quirks of the individual sub species.
The unicorns are prissy and arrogant, earth fluffies have a tendency toward gluttony, and the pegasi have an obsession with flying.
You’ve had more than a few break their necks trying to “fwy” off chairs, porches, decks, and counters.
How they even get such places is beyond you as they’re not really known for their climbing abilities.
After an airplane buzzed your neighborhood, all the pegasi in your area got it into their heads that flying is the best thing that can happen to fluffies.
Unsurprisingly, groupthink is a huge problem among fluffies.
Alright, you little bastards, you want to fly? You’re getting the full flight experience.
You get together with your neighborhood to create a full flight experience for the fluffies.
Announce to your pegasus Butter that he’s going to get to fly after all. Plane leaves at 9am sharp.
“Tank you daddeh! Wuv daddeh! Wuv fwy! Wuv pwane!”
Butter’s up most of the night packing and repacking his stuff into a clutch sized handbag: A ball, a collar, a five dollar bill, a crudely drawn ID, and a spoon (for some reason).
When you wake him up at 5am, he’s groggy and disoriented.
“It still dawk!” he complains as you drag him out of bed.
“Got to get to the airport on time for your flight,” you tell him. “Gotta make sure you’ve got enough time to get through security.”
“How time tiww fwy?” he asks.
“Four hours,” you tell him. You know he can’t tell time and such distinctions are meaningless to him.
“Fow howas?” he asks. “Dat wong time!”
“That’s how humans fly,” you assure him. “Got your ID? Got your money? Got everything packed and ready to go? Nothing bad security might take from you?”
“Wha secu-wity?”
Oh you’ll find out, fluffy pony.
Head out to the local municpal airport, where half the town has turned out for this anti flying event.
It’s overkill, but then again this is a fluffy pony story, so what are you going to do?
What you’ve arranged is for an antique DC4 to take the fluffies into the air in the most miserable way possible. It’s easy enough to hose out, which will probably be necessary by the end of this exercise.
Get to the airport at 6 am and park all the way at the back.
“Why naw cwose to pwane?” asks your fluffy.
“Parking is cheaper back here,” you say. “You still have your money? Your ID?”
“Haf munney! Haf aye-dee!” he says, fishing the five dollar bill and a crudely drawn cardboard ID card out of his bag.
A twenty minute walk across the gravel parking lot and your fluffy is whining about “weggies huwt!”
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to fly,” you say. “This is how humans fly.”
“Wan fwy,” he whines, trudging towards the terminal.
The lunatics planning this event have really gone all out. Instead of wasting professionals’ time with this exercise in stupidity, humans stand behind the unicorn and earth fluffies manning the counters for maximum inefficiency and chaos. You and Butter approach the front desk.
“Wan fwy!” he announces happily.
A unicorn manages the desk there with your dentist standing behind her, just waiting. He gives you a knowing wink. Psychological abuse of fluffies is a community building activity, after all.
“Wha you name?” demands the unicorn. “Whew you goin?”
She looks very official. The clip on tie helps
“My name Buttah!” he proudly announces. “Go fwy!” The unicorn gives an exaggerated eye roll as if she’s taking to the dumbest creature on earth.
“Fwy whew, dummeh?” she sighs.
“Um… da sky?” he says. “In pwane? Wike hooman?” He looks to you for reassurance and gets a shrug in return.
“Dun pway cute wif me!” she shrieks. “Wheh you go? Wha it say on you ticket?”
“Butteh no haf ticket?” he says, unsure of what to do next.
“Go get ticket, dummeh fuwffy!” she shouts. “Next pwease!” Butter looks at you.
“Nu haf ticket?” he says, unsure as to what do to next.
“Well you’re going to have to buy a ticket,” you say. “Got your money? Go buy a ticket.”
He trundles over to an equally surly looking fluffy sitting behind another counter. He approaches uncertainly.
“Wan go fwy?” he asks.
“Fiwst cwass or no?” she askes, tapping on a keyboard. It’s not plugged in or anything, but she sure seems like every airline employee you’ve ever met. “Fiwst cwass ten dowwaws, coach fow dowwaws.”
“Nu can haf fiwst cwass!” he complains. “And fow dowwahs? Dat haf my munnies!”
Butter might be able to count but he sure can’t do math.
“Flying is expensive,” you say. Butter grumbles, but hands over his five dollar bill.
The receptionist unicorn hands the five to the human behind her, who hands her back a dollar in change. She carefully tears a ticket off a roll like you’d get out of a Skee-ball machine.
“Haf a nice fwy!” she says in an insincere sing-songy voice.
Trudge back over to the first unicorn.
“Haf ticket fow fwy,” he says, his enthusiasm starting to wane a bit.
“Put bag on scawe!” she snaps. He complies and waits a moment. “Dis bag too heavy!” she demands. “Gif munnies ow no take baggies!”
“You could take some stuff out,” you offer helpfully. “Then you’d just have the carry on.”
He digs through the bag and put on his second collar and puts the spoon into his fluff. The bag appears to pass muster now and the unicorn points down the hall.
“Go secu-wity!” she snaps. “Dank you fow fwy Fwuffie Aiw-wines!”
Content with this turn of events, you head towards “security” which consists of a long line of pegasi happily babbling to each other about “go fwy!”
At the end of the line is a single hideously overweight earth fluffy slowly checking over the tickets and IDs. An actual TSA agent is right behind him, making sure he’s doing everything right.
And boy, is it an authentic experience. Despite the fact there’s only maybe fifty fluffies here, it takes an hour to get through the line.
“Aye-Dee?” asks the fat earth fluffy. Butter hands over his crudely drawn ID, only to have the fat fluffy slowly look it over. He gestures to the TSA agent.
“Dis dawkument fake!” he finally yells. “You git sowwy scweenin’!”
You have no idea what the means, you can’t imagine it’s good for Butter. Two other big earth fluffies drag him away screaming “nuuuu!”
“So how it’s going?” you ask the TSA agent.
“Can’t complain,” she says. “Chestnut’s a bit vindictive though. Almost every fluffy that’s come through has gotten a ‘sorry screening.’”
“Nu haf nothin in poopie pwace!” shrieks Butter from the other room.
You chat up the TSA agent for another minute or two before Butter reappears, walking a bit funny.
“You okay there?” you ask.
“Dun wan tawk bout it,” he grumbles, grabbing his bag.
You pass through the metal detector with ease, having already put your keys and wallet on the conveyer belt. Butter set his tiny bag on the belt next to your stuff, then walks through the metal detector as well.
The beeping and wailing of the alarm causes a few fluffies to soil themselves. To Butter’s credit, he just drops to the ground and covers his eyes.
“What you gawt!” shrieks a blue earth fluffy wearing an adorable police hat. The fluffy bullies Butter up against the wall and starts roughly searching his fluff by biting him repeatedly. He eventually finds the metal spoon in his collar.
“Nu take spoon on pwane!” he hollers at Butter. “You dummeh fwuffy no betteh! You git sowwy scweenin’!”
“Nu wan sowwy scweenin’!” he begs as the fluffies drag him away again.
He appears again a few minutes later with an even bigger hitch in his step, now looking as miserable as you’ve ever seen him.
“Ready to go?”
“Wan go fwy,” he says with a fierce determination.
Butter’s no quitter that’s for sure.
You make your way towards the terminal, walking for a few minutes before Butter stops and looks up at you.
“Wa wa pwease?” he asks. “Butteh fiwsty.” You direct him to a vending machine where you read off the prices.
“Two dowwah fow wa was!” he demands. “Dats outwagous! Dats wobbewy! I jus be fiwsty! Where witterbox? Gon make angwy poopies!”
Litterboxes have been set up in all the bathrooms and its a few minutes before Butter comes back looking confused.
“Wha’s pwop-o-sition?” he asks. “Hooman in baffwoom ask Butteh if he wan…”
Whoa, that’s enough of that. Let’s find that terminal.
You get to the terminal to find there’s another fluffy/human pairing there. There’s only one flight of fluffies going out, so the forty or so fluffies here gather eagerly around the gate.
The human keys up the mike and places it in front of the unicorn.
“Ahtenshun Fwuffy Aiw-wines fwyt wan too fwee fouw,” says the unicorn as her human whispers in her ear. “Dew wiww be a swight deway of two houws fow woutine wowk on pwane. Pwease wait heh fow mow updates. Fiwst cwass fwuffies pway in wounge.”
It’s a fenced off area with balls, blocks, litter boxes, and an attendant. A few fluffies show their shiny tickets to the attendant who lets them in. Predictably, many of the gathered pegasi start whining to their attendant people that they “wan be fiwst cwass!”
Butter doesn’t even bother and just flops to the floor in disgust.
“Wan go fwy,” he moans.
It’s not actually two hours, but the fluffies all feel like it. Predictably, there are a few fights, a few “special hugs”, and generally a bunch of pegasi being listless and bored. Eventually the unicorn gets back on the intercom.
“Dis fwyt is ovah booked,” she says. “Deez fwuffies nu fwy today: Bagew, Twotsky, Meanie, and Debil. Nu wefunds.”
The named fluffies start shrieking and charge the counter to demand answers. There’s a few minutes of fluffies yelling at each other before she shouts “Secu-wity!”
The big fluffies from the gates come and drag away the screaming pegasi. You’re sure that sorry screenings are in their future.
Butter just lays in an inert lump on the floor, occasionally muttering “wan go fwy.” It’s another ten minutes before the unicorn comes back on the speaker.
“Fiwst cwass fuffies git on pwane now, den bwu tickets, den wed tickets, den yewwow tickets. If you nawt no cowwas, you dummeh fwuffy. Ask a hooman ow otheh fwuffy fow hewp and dun botheh me.”
She really would make a good airline employee.
The fluffies line up according to ticket color. Predictably, a few get it wrong and are sent to the back of the line.
Fluffies that have made it this far know there’s no fighting the airline if they want on this plane.
Butter is in the correct queue and slowly makes his way to the boarding area. The unicorn looks at his ticket, then at his bag.
“You haf check bag,” she says.
“Buh cawwy on!” he insists.
“Stowage fuww!” she shoots back. “Check bag ow get sowwy scweenin’!”
Reluctantly, he lets the human take his bag. You wave good bye to your fluffy as he disappears down the loading ramp.
“Go fwy now,” he says with steely determination. A few humans board as well, but you’re sure as hell not getting on an airplane with fourty some odd fluffies.
They wind up sitting on the tarmac for another hour before eventually taking off into the sky. Whoever put this together really went all out for the authentic airport experience.
They’re in the air for an hour or so flying lazy circles around the airport before a landing rough enough to see from the lounge.
It’s another twenty minutes before Butter comes stumbling out of the terminal, looking worst for the wear.
“How was your flight?” you ask.
“Fiwst cwass get skettis,” he says. “Coach fwuffies git yicky nummies. Dun know wha was. Dun cawe.”
“Fwuffy behind kept kickin’ seat da hol time. Fwuffy in fwont put chaiw aww da way back. Witteh bawk bwoekn. How bawk bwoken, daddeh? HOW BAWK BWEAK?”
You’re walking to the baggage claim before he diverts back to the parking area.
“Dun botheh, dey wost wuggage,” he says. "Fwuffies on boff sides have sickies. Chiwpy babbeh cwy da how time.”
“Pwane too woud, huwt Butteh’s eaws,” he continues. “Piowet mus be fwuffy cause he nu good fwyin. Wanding give big owies to fwuffies no in seats. Boo-boo juice eveywheh.”
You and your fluffy head back to the car across the gravel parking lot. He doesn’t even complain this time and just gets in the car.
“So you want to fly again some time?” you ask.
“Butteh wathew haf biggest sweep,” he says. “Butteh wan go pwaces, gun jus wawk.”