Note: read “Harder, Sweater, Faster, Stronger” first. And if you haven’t read “Not Always Working” yet, read that first too.
I wake up in my hotel room, wearing nothing but my itchy sweater, checking the alarm clock and seeing that it’s about 5 AM.
With a sweater like this, I don’t need to actually set the alarm.
scratch scratch
I’m not used to waking up this early, and I usually sleep naked, but right now, I don’t really have a say in this.
After getting out of bed, I walk into the small bathroom of my lodgings, brushing my teeth and shaving. Yeah, this hotel room’s kinda small, and it’s right next to the noisy ice machine, like that one Weird Al song.
Man, now I feel like the guy in that song. Everything I know is wrong. Black is white, up is down, and short is long.
And everything I thought was just so important doesn’t matter.
When I’m done, I turn the shower on, fiddling with the taps to get it just how I like it.
Once the water’s running at the perfect temperature, I glance at my wrist, seeing the number 314 on my sleeve.
Then I look at a piece of soap carved into a small figurine of a jester, on the sink.
“I would like to spend ten points on sweater-free time, please.”
The soap jester speaks up in a cheerful, flamboyant voice, tiny bubbles spewing out of his mouth.
“Ten minutes of SFT, coming right up!”
ding!
After seeing that the number on my sleeve is now 304, I quickly pull the sweater off, throw it onto the bed, through the open bathroom door, and then I practically leap into the shower.
Oooohhhhh yeeeeesssss.
Yeah, it’s me again. Ugly Sweater Guy. Hi.
It’s been a week or three since you last saw me, and I’m still playing the game. Got a part time job, too.
So I’m making some money, and I’ve earned a lot of points by helping fluffies, but I’ve had to spend a lot of those points too.
Some of those points were spent to recover my phone. I didn’t have it on me when I first met Chaos, back home in Detroit.
That’s a rookie mistake, keeping your phone on you when you’re out fluffy hunting.
Luckily, I still had my wallet on me, because that can’t start ringing while you’re sneaking up on a fluffy.
I had to pay extra points for “shipping”, too, and that doesn’t even make sense, because he just sort of made the phone appear in my pocket, but nothing Chaos does makes sense to anyone except him, and you’re lucky if he bothers to explain the logic behind his decisions.
At least he threw the charger in as a freebie.
After recovering my phone, I found a dozen angry voicemails waiting for me, from my job back in Detroit, and you can probably guess that they fired me for my lengthy, unannounced absence.
I didn’t know what to tell them.
Hence, the new part time job.
Now, I wanted a job where I would be paid for helping fluffies, it’s a win-win, I get money and points, but every job application that I attempted to email to a fluffy-related business suddenly turned into an ASCII jester head before I could hit send.
And every time I tried that, every ad I saw online for the rest of the day depicted a purple and yellow jester dunking a cookie shaped like my face in a mug of hot chocolate.
Adblocker didn’t do jack.
The message is clear. Chaos will only tolerate so much loopholing.
Or maybe he just doesn’t want me to get paid for playing the game.
I dunno. Kinda hard to tell what’s going on inside that head. Didn’t I say that already?
So I got a job at Starbucks instead, near the local Faucheuse Foundation branch.
Yes, I wear the apron over the sweater.
Pay’s not the best, but my expenses aren’t that big. Free room and board is part of the deal I’ve got going with Chaos. He arranged this indefinite stay at Faucheuse Hotel for me, as a reward for good behavior.
I can only spend points on so many things, and I’d rather use my points for things I can’t buy with money.
Like being able to take the sweater off.
I did the math. I need sixty points for one hour of SFT, so, to get a full eight hours of itchless sleep, I would have to help four hundred and eighty fluffies.
Per. Night.
Keep in mind, when I put this thing in the wash, I have to pay enough points for all the time it spends in the washer and the dryer.
I have already had to pay for one destroyed washing machine.
You’ll get a clue how that happened in a bit.
As I step out of the shower, feeling fresh and clean, the soap Chaos addresses me again.
“I’ll try not to peek. You’ve got one minute left, boyo. Do you want to extend your SFT?”
I towel myself off, seeing the sweater already twitching.
“Maybe later. I wanna earn those points back first.”
“Your points, your call. Nice tattoo on your chest, by the way.”
I turn around, facing away from the soap Chaos.
“I was drunk, I don’t wanna talk about it. Let’s just say that you should never tell a tattoo artist you banged his girlfriend while you’re sitting in the chair. I thought you said that you wouldn’t peek?”
“I said that I would try not to peek. Didn’t say I’d try very hard. Y’know, you could spend a few points to get that tattoo removed, if you like. Or altered.”
“You can do that?”
“What part of I can do anything did you not understand, boyo?”
I walk out of the bathroom, quickly pulling a T-shirt on.
“Fair enough. How much time left?”
A painting of a purple and yellow jester reclining on a couch, above my bed, answers the question.
“Five… four… three… two… one…”
“Oh no.”
ding!
The sweater springs to life, leaping onto me like a ravenous wild animal, or like one of those Klyntar things.
“Goddamnit, I hate this part…”
I’ve learned by now that resistance is futile.
It forces itself over my head, pulling itself down, crawling onto my arms, my hands popping out of the ends of the sleeves before it goes inert again.
And like that, there it is, the bane of my existence, the goddamn itching.
scratch scratch
Yeah, that’s how that washer got ruined.
When SFT ends, it doesn’t matter how far away from the sweater I am, or what obstacles are in its path.
It will get back on me. It’s like a Terminator. An ugly, woolly, scratchy Terminator.
It can’t be bargained with. It can’t be reasoned with. It doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop… ever, until I am itchy!
scratch scratch
I sigh, and finish getting dressed, 'cause I’m still naked from the waist down.
Boxers, jeans, socks, sneakers, done.
The painting Chaos chuckles.
“So, what’s the plan for today, boyo?”
“Same thing as it is every day, Chaos. Help fluffies, earn points, get one step closer to escaping this city. But first…”
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“I gotta get some grub. They’re not serving breakfast yet downstairs, so I’ve got about two hours to kill. And Flufftopia doesn’t open until 9, so then I’ve got two more hours to kill after breakfast. I can probably earn at least ten points by then, right?”
“Have you introduced yourself to that small feral herd living behind the hotel yet?”
“I drop in to see how they’re doing on my way in and out.”
“Wow, you were one step ahead of me for once. So what are you doing at Flufftopia later? Stocking up on toys?”
I look at several Flufftopia bags full of toys in one corner.
“Nope, I’m still good on those.”
Today, I’m putting my cunning plan into motion.
If it works, I’ll have an easy source of points and an easy source of relief when the itching gets too bad.
scratch scratch
I’ve learned that petting fluffies doesn’t earn me points, but does reduce the itching.
Presumably, so I can’t cheese this.
“Say, uh, Chaos. Can I… can I ask you something?”
“Always, but I can’t promise that I’ll give you a straight answer.”
“Let me guess, I can pay points to guarantee a straight answer.”
“Pay to win, baby~! Make it five.”
I glance at my wrist again.
“Give me the free answer first.”
“Then fire away, boyo.”
“How many points would I need to upgrade to a room with its own saferoom?”
At 7, I head to the dining area for breakfast.
I killed an hour helping the herd out back. They’ve got eight members at the moment, so I just earned eight points by cleaning up all the fluffy crap in the corners.
It seems that a lot of ferals have learned to crap in corners, so people won’t step in it. Or in gutters, where the rain will wash it away.
Huh. They’re smarter than I thought.
Oh, and I washed my hands thoroughly when I was done.
One of the mares is pregnant, and I’m hoping for a big litter.
More foals means more points for me.
Maybe delivering those foals would count as helping the entire litter and the parents? I’ll have to pick up some books on fluffy maternity later too.
I sit at one table, eating some buttered toast, drinking black coffee, when I see a guy with his fluffy, a unicorn stallion, at the next table. The guy’s got a bowl of Cheerios, and a briefcase, he’s dressed like a businessman, and his fluffy’s got a bowl of breakfast kibble.
They notice me too.
“Hey, you’re Ugly Sweater Guy, right? I’ve heard about you.”
I tug on my sweater.
“Was it the ugly sweater that gave me away? Sorry, I don’t have any toys on me right now, but I can write an IOU on a paper napkin.”
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“Ha! You’re funny. So, you’re staying here now?”
“Yeah, I had Ch… a fr… an acquaintance pull some strings to get me a room here. It’s pretty swanky. So what are you here for?”
He pats the briefcase.
“I work for Ben & Jerry’s. I’ve got a meeting at the Tower later, to talk with Susan Laine-Stoley and Calvin Korkea about making flavors based on ChaotiX members.”
“Mistah Caw say, his fway-fow bettah hab wots of chokko-wat, an nu fwuffin wasp-bewwy. Onwy he nu sed fwuffin.”
I knew Korkea’s name was going to enter this conversation sooner or later, people around here just can’t stop talking about him.
But the guy seems really excited, like a little kid waiting in line to meet Santa.
“And, uh, Mr. Korkea’s going to show us around the School afterwards, too! He said he can’t make any promises, but there’s a chance we’ll get to watch an actual training session! I’ve always wondered what it’s like, being in the ChaotiX. Haven’t you? Those battle suits are so cool, I hope he lets me try one on…”
Buddy, those things are to me what Klan robes are to a black man.
Honestly, the idea of me going to the School sounds like… well, like a fluffy going to my house, back when I was abusing fluffies.
scratch scratch
I would probably spend the whole time scared shitless that I won’t make it out alive.
But I shrug, and try to play it cool.
“Not really. I’d rather stay out of that place. Doesn’t it bug you how much everyone loves Korkea and his buddies?”
“They saved the universe a bunch of times. Wouldn’t be right to be ungrateful about it, y’know? I mean, we live in the universe.”
The guy’s fluffy nods.
“Yuh, an dey haf sabed wots of fwuffies fwom bad hoomins hu wan-ed tu gib dem owwies.”
“You seem a lot nicer than those abuser jerks, Ugly Sweater Guy. I don’t think you’d hurt a fly.”
Oh boy, if only he knew.
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Of course, I don’t know how many people in town know the full story about my situation. I’m assuming that anyone walking around with an X in an octagon on their chest knows.
After all, Chaos told Korkea, who told his ChaotiX buddies. Apparently, Korkea is the Harbinger of Chaos, but I’m not really sure what a Harbinger is.
It’s probably better than being a plaything of Chaos.
I wonder, how would people around here react if they knew the truth about me? If they knew that I used to be an abuser?
That I still struggle with the urge to abuse fluffies? I’m not a former abuser, I’m a recovering abuser, and there’s always the chance that I’ll relapse.
Would this guy still think I’m nice, if I told him my story? Or would he be running away with his fluffy, to call the cops or the ChaotiX on me?
Would people still be snapping selfies with me, or would they run me out of town?
“Hey, uh, are you alright, Ugly Sweater Guy? You’ve been staring at your coffee for, like, five minutes…”
“Huh? Oh. What were we talking about?”
“Actually, we were just about to leave. I need to drop this little rascal off at Happy Fluffy Daycare before I head to the Tower. He might get to meet Marley! We won’t keep you, I’m sure you’ll be spending the day helping fluffies again! See you later, I hope! We won’t forget about that IOU!”
“Bai bai, mistah Ugwy Swet-uw Gai!”
They get up and leave, but I’m not really paying attention to them anymore.
Christ, there’s a good joke.
Marley.
The fluffy with all the same power as Korkea.
The strongest fluffy alive.
scratch scratch
I still remember the day the news about Marley broke out. It was a couple of years ago. A while after the literal alien fucking invasion, with spaceships blocking out the sun across the globe, and that monster with the black armor and an indigo fluffy head.
I genuinely thought that it was an eclipse until I looked up, and promptly shat myself out of terror.
When I later saw Korkea valiantly sacrifice himself, I laughed so hard that I almost pissed myself too.
Everyone on Earth saw what was going on that day. Those spaceships all had big screens, broadcasting the fight live across the planet. The guy in charge of the aliens, Bertram or something, wanted everyone to watch his minions kill Korkea.
I can’t lie, I was rooting for those aliens, and that fluffy-headed monster too. That Bertram guy said everyone on Earth would die if Korkea did, but I was still rooting for the aliens.
Yeah, I was disappointed when I found out that Korkea survived. But he’s a tough motherfucker, so it wasn’t a big shocker that an exploding spaceship isn’t enough to kill him.
Anyway, a while after that, I was at home, watching the news, drinking some beers, and I groaned when they cut to the School for another fucking piece about the fucking ChaotiX.
I vividly remember saying “For fuck’s sake, why not just give them their own channel?!?”
Then I heard the words “Omega Class fluffy” and did a spit take at the TV.
Now, fluffies with superpowers is one thing. I thought it was ridiculous at first. I still kinda think it’s ridiculous.
But a fluffy with that kind of power?
That’s just not fair.
There were a lot of people leaving the abuse community after that, and those of us who stayed have been praying to Abuser Jesus that we never cross paths with Marley.
He scares us almost as much as Korkea does, and if you think admitting that you’re scared of Korkea makes you a laughingstock in the abuser community, imagine what admitting that you’re scared of his fluffy makes you.
Like, a laughingstock squared or something.
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Realistically speaking, though, what can a guy like me do to a fluffy who can fly, cover himself with golden fire that blocks magic, turn to steel, grow to giant size, and/or turn human, among a whole bunch of other things?
If he felt like it, he could turn the tables on abusers. He could treat us the way we treat fluffies, and we couldn’t stop him. I can’t say that we don’t have it coming.
Now I’m living in the same city as him, and Korkea, and their super friends.
And as if one Marley wasn’t bad enough, there’s a second Marley, who is from the fucking future (one-point-twenty-fucking-one jigga-fucking-watts, Marty!) and has angel powers on top of his Omega powers. You can’t kill him, because he’s already dead.
Goody! Korkea’s got a spare!
If they wanted me dead, I would be dead. I don’t think my body would ever be found.
By now, I’ve met a lot of ChaotiX members.
My least favorite, after Korkea and Marley, of course, is Victor.
If he wasn’t a ChaotiX member, I would probably get along with him like a house on fire.
Or so I thought.
The first time I met him, he took me aside and told me that he knows exactly who I am, exactly where I came from, and exactly what I’ve done.
To prove it, he whispered my real name, address in Detroit, and that one thing I did at that party one time.
And he said that he’s killed plenty of people like me, so I should be grateful that I don’t already have a lethal case of lead poisoning.
It’s clear to me that shooting me is still an option.
So I’ve got another reason to not fuck this up.
scratch scratch
The morning crawls along slowly after breakfast, and I spend the next two hours roaming the streets around the hotel, giving out a couple of toys, helping a fluffy here and there.
By the time 9 rolls around, and I park my car outside Flufftopia, I’m at three hundred and twenty-five points, so I’ve made back twice what I spent on SFT this morning.
Chaos said that he’d arrange the upgrade I want for one hundred points.
That was after I spent five points to get the straight answer, because the free answer was a riddle.
And I suuuuuuuuuuck at riddles.
He offered to let me solve a CAPTCHA instead, but the words were in a language he called… I think he called it Dragonian?
Whatever, I couldn’t make heads or tails of it anyway.
I walk into the store, my ears and nose filling with the sounds and smells of fluffies, seeing Kyle the stoner illusionist behind the counter again. He’s one of several ChaotiX members working here.
In hindsight, it makes sense that I couldn’t escape from them here. With how hugboxy the ChaotiX is, it was a given that at least one of them would be working here.
“Sup, dude. You looking to restock on toys?”
“No, I’ve still got plenty. I, uh, need something else today, um, Kyle.”
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“And that is? I’m sure we can meet your needs, my man.”
I get close to the counter, lowering my voice like I’m about to confess a dark secret.
“Today, I’d like to…”
I grit my teeth, steeling myself.
“Today, I’d like to adopt a fluffy.”
So Kyle leads me to the pens. This place is huge. Like, Wal-Mart huge.
And when we get there, the sounds and smells of fluffies assault my ears and nose even more.
It’s like a shark smelling blood in the water, I tell ya. So it’s costing me a considerable amount of effort to keep my abuser instincts in check.
scratch scratch
But that Dwayne guy is here. He’s ChaotiX too. If I try anything, he’ll probably turn me into a human pretzel.
Wouldn’t be shocked if Chaos told 'em I was coming.
“Here we are, dude. Take your pick. If you can’t find the right fluffy for you here, you could always try the Foundation.”
“Let’s just see the fluffies here first, Kyle.”
I follow Kyle around the area, rows and rows of pens on either side, the fluffies sorted by gender, type, age, and…
“Subspecies?”
“That’s right, dude. We’ve got rasta fluffies, stone fluffies, micro fluffies, garden fluffies, afro fluffies, toon fluffies, woollies, and aquafluffies in the tanks over there.”
“Oh yeah, that Kobul guy had a stone fluffy with him. Look, I know I’ve been helping a lot of fluffies lately, but I’ve never actually had one as a pet before. I’d like to start with a regular fluffy. You got any of those?”
“Of course we do, dude. But, uh, Des, you know, Dr. Deston Faucheuse, he recommends adopting at least two fluffies, so they can keep each other company when you aren’t around. A lot of new owners make that mistake. Which is why we now give away free copies of So You’ve Decided To Get A Fluffy to those owners.”
Well isn’t that convenient, the brother of the founder of this chain recommends buying more of the product sold here.
If this was a KFC, I think “Des” would be advocating the health benefits of fried chicken.
But maybe that’s the cynical abuser in me talking.
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“Adopting one is a big step for me, let’s not go completely crazy. These fluffies aren’t gonna turn X-Positive on me, are they?”
“Relax, Flufftopia’s breeding facilities screen fluffies for Phenomenon X. Any X-Positive fluffies go to the School for training before they’re sent to the stores. See those pens with the fluffies wearing bracelets? See the cards with the ChaotiX logo and what powers those fluffies have? That colt’s got telekinesis, that mare’s got darkvision, and a guy from our Portland branch swears that they had a stallion who craps ice cream. I know this is filthy rich of me, but I think he’s full of sh–”
“Hold the phone. Hold the goddamn phone. You seriously sell X-Positive fluffies too?”
“Not to a first time owner like you. But Cal always says that having powers shouldn’t keep someone from living a normal life. He says that it’s important to keep doing normal things too. And it’s not the fluffies’ fault that they’re X-Positive, so it wouldn’t be fair to deprive them of the chance to be adopted by a loving owner because of it, y’know? Phenomenon X is easy to manage when you know how, dude. That’s why we only adopt X-Positive fluffies out to experienced owners, who know what they’re doing.”
“That… kinda makes sense. Are any of them Omegas?”
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“Nope. Marley’s the only fluffy Omega we know of. Depending on if you’re counting Future Marley separately.”
“Good to hear, but that’s a firm no to X-Positive fluffies. I don’t want one that would burn the hotel down because I won’t give him spaghetti every day.”
“Actually, any pyrokinetic fluffies we adopt out come with a free lifetime supply of fireproofing spray. Their lifetime, not yours. And all X-Positive fluffies we adopt out come with a free power dampener. Yeah, that’s what the bracelets are. Classy, huh? But for you, I’d recommend a garden fluffy, they’re lower-maintenance, perfect for a beginner. I think we just got a couple of blue rose garden fluffies in yesterday, but I dunno what your budget is…”
“I just want one regular fluffy to start with, alright? I don’t want one that breathes fire, or craps ice cream, or sprouts flowers, or eats gravel. Just a regular fluffy with no powers.”
I point at the pens full of monochrome fluffies that look like they just stepped out of an old cartoon.
“And I don’t wanna think about what those fluffies can do.”
“Fair enough, dude. Toon fluffies can be a handful for someone who can’t break the laws of physics whenever it would be funny. So what about colors, type, temperament?”
“Well, uh…”
Yeah, I’ve been thinking about this. What kind of fluffy would be the best kind for a guy like me?
I’ve already ruled unicorns out. They’re the most likely to develop Smarty Syndrome, and a bratty smarty trying to order me around would send me swan diving off the wagon, straight to the negatives.
As for pegasi, many of them tend to suffer from the mistaken belief that wings equals being able to fly, and I don’t want to be constantly stopping the little idiot from jumping to their death. Yes, there are fluffies that actually can fly now, but I already said that I don’t want one with powers.
And alicorns tend to be the most expensive kind. I’m not trying to bankrupt myself here.
So I guess that leaves me with earthies.
scratch scratch
Regarding gender, mares tend to be easier to keep under control than stallions, especially unneutered stallions, but if she gets pregnant and joins the bitch side, again, I might go off the wagon.
And regarding age, I’d like to start with an adult fluffy. Foals are even harder to take care of than adults, I know this from experience.
I said I never had a fluffy as a pet, and I don’t consider any of the fluffies who entered my house pets.
None of them stayed for very long, as I have already established.
I liked to call them my guests, in an ironic sort of way.
Many abusers try to make sure that there’ll be more fluffies to abuse in the future, y’know. Don’t abuse it back, abuse it forward. Like cutting a tree down, and planting a new one. Or like an orca sparing a baby seal, so the seal can grow up big and strong and make more seals before getting eaten.
I’ve been watching a lot of National Geographic lately. And Discovery Channel. Not much better to do when you wake up itchy at 2 AM and can’t fall asleep again.
But as I was saying, a common practice is to kill the parents, take the litter, raise the foals until they’re old enough to fend for themselves, and then give 'em the boot. Usually, we just get a milkbag, or cheap, bitter formula.
Or we just milkbag the mother, two birds one stone.
One clever bastard came up with the idea of altering the foals’ scent and blinding and deafening the mother, so she thinks that her milk is being stolen by strange foals.
Wait. Time out.
I need to rerail this train of thought five minutes ago. I’m actually starting to salivate.
Remember what happens if I fuck this up!
Remember what happens if I lose!
Be strong, damnit!
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Why isn’t there a support group for guys like me?
Abuseoholics Anonymous, something like that!
I don’t think I should be doing this without a sponsor! It’s like leaving an alcoholic unattended in a liquor store!
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Let’s just get back on topic, which was… oh, right.
As for colors, well, considering the fact that I’ll be looking at this… fluffy a lot, I want colors that won’t be too hard on my precious eyes.
I summarise my criteria for Kyle, and he thinks it over.
“So, an adult earthie, preferably with a calm temperament, and muted colors if possible. You don’t happen to smoke weed, do you? If you do, a rasta fluffy would be right up your alley. They’re usually on the mellow side.”
“I don’t really smoke weed, no.”
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“Hey, to each his own. Are you okay, dude? You’re starting to sweat.”
“Yeah, I… I gotta get some fresh air. Be right back.”
I exit the store, running a few streets away and ducking into an alleyway, panting heavily as I lean against the wall and catch my breath.
I could feel it. Every time I hear and/or smell fluffies, I feel the urge to abuse flaring up, like an… an itch.
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How much longer can I keep this up? How much longer can I suppress my old habits?
How much longer until I start going into the negatives, and seal my fate?
Maybe that’s exactly what Chaos is expecting from me, and all of this is just him seeing how long it’ll take me to break.
Helping fluffies is one thing. I can get it done, get my points and get away before the urge becomes too strong. If I can keep them at a distance, I’m fine.
But having a fluffy live in my hou… hotel room? I’ll be battling that urge all the time!
I think this was a bad idea. I was being hasty. I’m not ready to adopt a fluffy yet.
I notice an old wicker chair someone left here, and sit on it.
krrrk
It immediately collapses beneath me.
“Oh, that’s why it was left here.”
“Hey mistah, am yu awwite?”
A feral mare waddles over. Dull, matted yellow-brown fluff and an equally dull and matted grey mane and tail, but brilliant blue eyes. Looks (and smells) like she needs a bath. A long one. Probably an earthie, but with all the grime and matted fluff, it’s hard to tell.
I get up, rubbing my butt as one is supposed to do when their chair falls apart under them.
“I’m alright, thanks. You should get going, you’ve probably gotta find food for your foals, right?”
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The mare shrugs.
“Fwuffy nu hab babbehs. Ow a speciaw fwend, ow eben a hewd aneemowe. Fwuffy am aww awone in dis sitty.”
“Jeez, I know what that’s like.”
“It am otay, fwuffy am yoost tu it. Wai am mistah duin scwatchies aww da time?”
“Because this sweater is really itchy.”
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“Su take it awf.”
“It’s not that simple. Look, it’s a long story, okay? And I’m kind of in the middle of having a panic attack here.”
“Du yu wanna tawk abowt it? Dat mite make yu feew bettah.”
“Talk about it? With you?”
“Yu gut aneewun ewse tu tawk tu?”
Well, my other options are the all-powerful personification of chaos who has me trapped in this city and has been screwing with me constantly, or the superheroes, many of whom work day jobs in the city and have also been screwing with me.
I see her point.
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Forty-five minutes later, I’ve finished recapping my entire situation to the mare, now sitting on the ground with my back to the wall.
She permitted me to occasionally pet her to relieve my itching, as long as I didn’t overdo it.
Yeah, I’ve got another thorough hand washing in my future.
I should probably buy some hand sanitizer. I pet a lot of ferals.
“So yeah, that’s the story in a nutshell. I went to Flufftopia to adopt a fluffy so I could score easy points, and now I’m worried that having a fluffy around all the time will be too tempting.”
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The mare, sitting on her fluffy butt, looks up at me, tilting her head.
“Hmm… weww, fwuffy nu knu mistah su gud, but fwuffy du knu dis: mistah haf bin sittin hewe, tawk-in tu fwuffy aww dis time, an mistah nu am gibin fwuffy owwies yet.”
“Huh. Hey, you’re right! But it hasn’t even been a full hour. And it’s not even noon. I don’t know if I can keep this up for a whole day.”
“Su nu wowwy abowt da whowe bwite time. Wowwy abowt da hewe an nao. Take it wun step at a time, an du da jawb dat am in fwont of yu. Dat am wut fwuffy du, an it haf wowked fow fwuffy su faw.”
“You know, you’re surprisingly clever for a fluffy. No offence.”
She shrugs again.
“Nun takun.”
“You’re pretty easygoing, too… colors aren’t too hard on the eyes… and you’re real easy to talk to, most fluffies I’ve met only really talk about…”
As I adopt a mocking mimicry of the fluffy dialect, the mare chimes in at the same time, just as mockingly.
“Huggies and toysies and sketties.”
I point at her, now grinning.
“Aaaaaah! Nice! So you’re not like that?”
“Huggies am gwate an aww, but fwuffy nu am guin foweba sweepies wif-owt dem. Fwuffy gut nu toysies, dewe am onwy twashies tu pway wif awn da stweets. An fwuffy neba had sketties.”
“And you wouldn’t mind being left alone for a few hours, would you? You wouldn’t go all wan die, right?”
“Again, fwuffy am yoost tu bein awone.”
At this point, an idea enters my brain.
“Hey, this is gonna sound weird, but… you’re not in the market for a new owner, are you?”
Another shrug.
“Dat wud be nice, but fwuffy haf bin duin fine awone. It nu am dat fwuffy nu wan a daddeh, but fwuffy nu am gunna gu cwazy tu git wun, wike a wotta fwuffies du.”
The ones in Flufftopia weren’t that bad. They didn’t all start begging me to adopt them the moment they saw me.
I think Kyle said that kind of behavior is discouraged in Flufftopia fluffies.
Whatever Flufftopia is doing works, they’ve become the leading brand.
“Fwuffy wuz finkin abowt chekkin owt dem yewwow boof fingies sum time, but fings jus keep gittin in da way, yu knu?”
Yeah, I’ve seen those Foundation self-surrender booths around town. They use actual goddamn teleportation technology to get fluffies from the booths to the Foundation.
Kinda like using a space laser to make toast, but whatever.
scratch scratch
“What I was trying to say is… you wouldn’t want to come live with me, would you?”
She seems to be surprised by my offer, and she looks herself over before giving me a look of disbelief.
“Weawwy? Yu wan fwuffy tu be yu fwuffy. Yu jus came fwom a stowe fuww of fwuffies, an yu wan dis wun. Da fwuffies in dat stowe pwob-ab-wee smeww bettah den dis.”
scratch scratch
“What can I say? You and me have a lot in common. We’re both alone in this city. And we could help each other. So don’t see it as me adopting you. See it as us… joining forces. Being partners in… well, not exactly crime.”
“Su wut wud we du tugeba?”
“We do the stuff every owner does with their fluffy. Go to the park, spaghetti, the works. I hugbox the crap out of you, I earn easy points doing so, I get closer to buying my freedom, and you get to live a comfortable life in a fancy hotel until I’m free. After that, we part ways. I drive home to Detroit, you waddle off wherever you want. I’ll even give you a ride there, if it’s on the way to Michigan. Usually, cash, grass or ass is the rule, but you don’t have cash, I don’t want grass, and I definitely don’t want your ass.”
Between you and me: abusers who fuck fluffies have the same reputation in the abuser community that pedophiles do in prison.
Yeah. Everyone’s got their limit.
“So whaddya say?”
I offer her a handshake. Well, a hoofshake in her case.
“Do we have a deal?”
She looks at my hand in confusion, so I explain.
“When humans make a deal, they often shake hands.”
“Oh. Den yus, we hab a deaw.”
She puts a hoof in my hand, and I gently shake it.
“Welcome aboard, I look forward to working with you.”
I get up, and I glance at my sleeve, which says 326 now.
Then I look at some graffiti on the wall, graffiti of a purple and yellow jester that I’m pretty sure wasn’t there when I entered this alleyway.
“I’ll take that room upgrade now.”
The graffiti Chaos nods, speaking up in his usual cheerful, flamboyant voice.
“It’ll be ready by the time you get back, boyo. And I’ll make sure that your belongings are moved with the utmost care.”
Then he skips along the wall, away from us.
The mare raises an eyebrow.
“Wut wuz dat abowt?”
“Oh, that was Chaos. You know, the whole reason we’re here. Get used to him, you’ll be seeing him a lot.”
“Am he awways su… uh… su fwat?”
“No, no. I think he can take any form he wants to. Sometimes he’s a milkman, because he’s got a passion for dairy. One time he was waiting in my shower to give me a scare, taking the form of a naked golden woman. Like a Barbie doll painted gold. And he doesn’t seem to have any complaints about our deal.”
Another glance at my sleeve tells me that I’m down one hundred points.
He must be okay with this deal I’ve struck. He would have done something if he didn’t want me to do it.
If he wasn’t okay with it, I think I would be up to my eyeballs in hot chocolate right now.
I mean, there’s nothing wrong with this, right? It’s not like when I used to lure victims in with the false promise of spaghetti.
For starters, there will actually be spaghetti!
If I’m treating the little fuzzball well, is it really bad that I benefit from doing so?
Chaos doesn’t seem to have a problem with it.
Are you going to argue with him?
“Oh, I should probably tell Kyle that I’ve changed my mind about adopting from Flufftopia. Come along, then.”
So me and my new fluffy head back to the store.
scratch scratch
“Gonna need a name for you, too.”
We walk back into Flufftopia, seeing Kyle waiting for me, looking surprised to see the fluffy by my side.
“Are you feeling better, dude?”
I nod, gesturing at the mare.
“Much better, thank you for asking. In fact, I’ve decided to adopt this mare I met in the alleyway, instead of adopting a fluffy here. Uh, I’m sorry, but–”
“Dude, it’s okay! There’s plenty of fluffies on the streets who need a loving home too. But I recommend taking her to the Foundation for an examination before you bring her home. You can just walk in, and a doctor will see you as soon as one’s available. Don’t worry, they have excellent medical tech there, if there’s anything wrong, they can treat it, and it won’t cost you a dime.”
“How does the Foundation make money if they don’t charge for treatment?”
scratch scratch
“The Foundation is backed by FauCorp too, don’t you know that?”
“I do now.”
“Are you gonna need any supplies for a saferoom? We’ve got a starter kit with everything you need to set up a saferoom, and we even have a service to set it up for you.”
“No, I’m good there, I think that’ll be handled for me.”
Faucheuse Hotel has rooms for people with fluffies, so the saferoom should have all the stuff my new friend needs.
They also have rooms for Hydroxians. Out of curiosity, I snuck a quick peek in one while the maid was cleaning it, and there was a bath where the bed should be.
Well, at least stained sheets aren’t an issue.
Then I remember something.
“There is one thing I need before we head out, though…”
Twenty minutes later, we exit the store, and I’m now carrying a shopping bag, bulging with books.
As I return to my car, I feel somewhat satisfied.
“Alright, I got a copy of every book remotely related to fluffy care they had. At least half of them were written by Des, so I hope he’s grateful that I just made him an even richer man.”
Since I didn’t get my fluffy from Flufftopia, my new copy of So You’ve Decided To Get A Fluffy: A Beginner’s Guide To Fluffy Ownership wasn’t supposed to be free, but I was buying a buttload of other books, so Kyle figured the manager wouldn’t mind if he threw that in as a freebie.
I am still a first time owner, technically.
I’m also holding a carrier, the still-unnamed mare inside it. Kyle generously threw that in for free too.
I’m grateful for that, because the mare still needs a bath, and I’ve been trying to keep my car clean since I got it back.
I…
I’m not used to people being so nice to me.
And I don’t really deserve that.
Why?
“Su nao wut?”
I put the shopping bag down so I can unlock my car, and put the carrier in the passenger seat, placing the bag in the space under it.
“Now, we head to the Foundation for that examination Kyle suggested. You don’t have a problem with doctors, do you?”
scratch scratch scratch scratch
“Fwuffy nu knu. Fwuffy neba met a doc-tow bee-fowe.”
I close the door, walking around to the driver side and getting in.
“Well, first time for everything. But Kyle said the doctors at the Foundation are all good doctors, in both meanings of the word. So this probably won’t go as bad as I’m worrying it will. On the other hand, Kyle also said they’ve got an Igor working at the Foundation, and Igors bequeath their own body parts when they die. They’re just as crazy as the mad scientists they traditionally work for. So I’m not sure I trust an Igor to treat you if you lose a leg or something. You might walk away with another fluffy’s leg.”
“Cud fwuffy pik wut cowow da nyu weggie am?”
scratch scratch
“Probably. I wouldn’t put it past that Igor to have a freezer full of fluffy legs at home. Igors collect body parts like stamps. Or Pokémon cards.”
With one hand on the wheel, I drive out of the parking lot, heading to my next destination of the day, the Faucheuse Foundation, trying to think of a name for my new fluffy.
And guess what, there’s even more ChaotiX members working there! Hoo-fucking-ray!
If I ever get out of this game, I don’t want to see another X in an octagon for the rest of my life.
I hope we can wrap this up fast and get back to the hotel so Fill-In-The-Blank can get settled in, and I can give her a bath. And so I can take a good look at the new room.
I’ve got a shift at Starbucks this afternoon, and it’s near the Foundation, which would be convenient.
But after that examination, we need to go back to the hotel, for the things I just said, and then I’ll be driving back towards the Foundation for my shift.
So I’d like to get all of that out of the way, so I can get back to playing the game. Hopefully, I’ll have some time to earn a few points before and after work.
I’ve got another little loophole: I bring some toys with me to work, and if anyone comes in with a fluffy, they get a free toy with their purchase, like a caffeinated Happy Meal.
My manager allows this, because it’s been great for business. I think that might be the entire reason he hired me.
And Chaos allows this, probably because I’m not getting paid for it.
Point is, I’ve got a buttload of driving today, and I don’t want to resort to drive-by toy donation.
Throwing toys out of the car window as I zoom past seems like a lawsuit waiting to happen.
I know the ChaotiX has those teleporter doohickeys. They use the same tech as those booths do.
And Korkea and Marley don’t even need those things to teleport around.
Lucky bastards.
Remembering my conversation with that businessman this morning, I can’t help but think…
Joining the ChaotiX might be worth it just for one of those teleporters.
I bet it makes the commute a breeze.
But they probably wouldn’t take me even if I had superpowers.
Meh, I don’t even want to join, I just want one of those teleporters.
Why the fuck aren’t they selling those?