Unfinished Business Part 7: Arbitrary Purging
You walked over to the shed and managed to pluck two buckets out of the small structure. Next was re-filling the kiddie pool. The cavalcade of fluffies in the yard watched you with curiosity. Doppler was keeping the feral herd from getting any closer to your fluffies. He was hunched down occasionally letting out a growl to signify his distrust. You pick back up your buckets and head out to the forest. The smarty tried confronting you about where you were going but the moment he moved his head towards you Doppler let out a vicious hiss, forcing the smarty to give Doppler his undivided attention, kitteh-munstas are notoriously deadly for fluffies.
You were looking for a large, partially hollowed out and rotting tree. That’s at least what you thought the smarty meant by “nu-gud twee”. You have to admit the fresh forest air and the green-tinted rays shining through the kudzu was something you didn’t know you needed. All of the day’s fluffy nonsense had made you stressed to hell. As you were absorbing all the good vibes you could from the woods your peace was broken by faint high-pitched sounds. Quiet but recognizable as fluffy foals. You moved closer to the sound and found a large, hollow tree. Bingo.
“Don wowwy babbehs, smawty wiww be back soon! Bwing nummies and nyu babbehs!”
A green mare with a red mane was consoling at least 60 foals. Looks like the smarty had a decent estimate back when you asked how many foals he had. You made your presence known by clearing your throat.
“MUNSTA?!.. oh is jus hoomin. Hewwo hoomin, have nummies?”
“I’m here to take the foals.”, you say a plainly as possible.
“NUUUUU, babbehs am smawty’s babbehs! Nu take babbehs! Nee’ miwkies an huggies an wuv!”
You knelt down to get eye-level with the lone guardian mare. You stared her straight in her eyes, your cold demeanor making her visibly nervous.
“Who said I wanted to keep them?”
Horror appeared on the mare’s face as she connected the dots. If you’re taking the babbehs, but don’t want to keep them what does that mean for the babbehs? It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.
“NUUUUU-”
Her scream was cut short by your foot rocketing into her side. You felt a few broken ribs so she probably was in too much pain to get in your way. Setting the buckets down you began to scoop up foals and deposit them in the buckets. Some foals wouldn’t make the trip back, either suffocating or being crushed by their fellow foals. A few corpses would be fine especially for what your plans were. The constant peeping and chirping would be interrupted by screams and cries of older foals who had their eyes open and were already talking. Once the buckets were filled the chirping and peeping was accompanied by complaints and apologies from older foals.
“Stahp squishin babbeh!”
“Su sowwie babbehs, nu can move!
This continued as you made your way back to your yard. The screeing, huuhuuing, chirping, peeping persisted; it was a clusterfuck of high-pitched noise. You finally got back to the standoff between Doppler and the smarty. The feral herd had their attention on you of course, everyone knew what was in those buckets.
“Wat doin wit babbehs! Dose awe smawty’s babbehs!”
Yammering erupted from the ferals, their words melding into some kind of baby-talk hell. You ignored them and proceeded towards the kiddie pool. Setting one bucket down you held the other above the pool. Looking back to the smarty you said,
“These aren’t your babies, you stole them. I’m going to see which babbehs are “bestest”, you can have them afterwards.”
The ferals shouted at you but it mattered little, you turned the bucket over and a waterfall of foals poured into the pool. Distressed “scardie peeps” and strained chirps accompanied the visual. You quickly emptied the other bucket and watched as a little over 60 foals squirmed in the water. Older foals were using younger ones to make islands to keep them above water.
“WAWA AM BAD FO’ BABBEHS!”, the ferals cried in unison.
“Okay come over and I’ll let them out. Doppler, come here.” You put your hand down and spoke with a high-pitch in order to get his attention. Doppler cautiously walked over, followed by the feral herd. You went to the other side of the pool and turned it over so the water and therefore foals, would pour out in the grass. The downpour of foals made the ferals go crazy. They were screaming hysterically, picking up babies and attempting the hug them back to life.
“You can still save your foals. Look”, you reached down and grabbed a young, light blue foal. Gently pressing on its chest and patting its back the foal hacked up some water and began chirping and peeping for its mother.
The ferals tried to emulate your action but they lacked the muscle control to do it correctly.
“It otay babbeh, mummuh hewe. Sabe babbeh!”, one mare tried using the maneuver on a foal and ended up applying too much force, crushing the foal’s abdomen until its insides would come out of its ends. She wasn’t the only one to make that mistake. Maybe 20 foals got crushed, some of the them weren’t even drowning but in the haste of the ferals they weren’t paying too much attention to the details. You revived 5 foals, a purple unicorn, two red pegassi, a pink earthy, and a gray unicorn. Some of the older foals had survived the purge through makeshift babbeh-islands, these foals would get the chance to do something every fluffies dreams about.
“Hey smarty, these your babies too?”, like I didn’t know the answer.
“YUS! AWE SMARTY’S BABBEHS!”, he was still trying to resuscitate some of the smaller foals with little success.
“Not anymore asshat”, you picked up a “talkie-babbeh”, orange pegasus with his white mane just coming in. You took the foal in your hand and wound up a throw to the sky.
“Nu wike bad upsies! Bad fo’ Bab- EEEEEEEEEE”
He arced high into the air before plummeting into the earth. Screaming the whole time.
“I heard that you fluffies want to fly so I figured its the least I can do”
You reached down and picked up another talker, this one was a red unicorn with the beginnings of a dark blue mane.
“NUUU! Nuu twouw babbeh! Smarty make deaw wit hoomin! Whateva hoomin want!
“I want to see your herd die, so I don’t think we’re going to settle this your way”
The look on the smarty’s face changed from distressed to horrified. The rest of his herd was doing their best to get the water out of the foals’ lungs. Some were succeeding but most were just crying and stomping.
You arced your arm back again, looked the smarty in the face and said.
“You know this is all your fault right?”
With that another foal was sent into the sky, screeing until a wet “plat” signified its fate.
Walking in the woods was good for relieving stress but this was much better.
