[untapped resources]
One test, then another. Over and over again, we get the same results. I wonder why we’re even testing this. “Why are we still testing? What is there to get from this?” My Chief Research Officer next to me says nothing. “Nothing has changed. The bowl mare is still showing limited signs of domestication. This project is starting to be a waste of funding.” The CRO suddenly looks at me, eyes likely open behind his round glasses.
“Sir, this test is different. Trust me.” I grumble and look back into the small enclosure. A door opens, and one of the doctors enters the testing room. The tan mare freezes, but then somewhat relaxes, moving to a corner of the room, sheltering her foals. Surprisingly, none have defecated.
“Hello, Bouy, how are you today?” She stares at the doctor, face seemingly undecided if it wants to be blank, or show fear. Guess she’s still stressed.
“Hewwo, Da- Dawktuh… Booie am gud.” She’s not one for conversation, huh?
“Good, good. I wanted to give you something.” Before the mare could ask what it was, the door opened, and a small pool was rolled into the room, along with a gallon jug of water. It was colored green, and given sand-colored ramps around it. “A gift, from me.” The mare’s eyes lit up, as if she was seeing the resurrection of her ‘special-friend’. Dumb little bastard.
“Poowuh?!” She stood up, and let her children see the pool, which got the little fluffies quite excited. “Dank yu Dawktuh! Mummuh hab gweatest heawt happies!” She rushed to the set-down pool, and waited as it was filled up. Suddenly, this fearful mother was no longer worried about the man in the white lab-coat next to her. As soon as it was filled, she rolled onto her back, and slipped into the water, floating by the edge. Had to say, I do somewhat understand why people sometimes liked these things.
“Is this improvement suitable for increased funding, sir? I smirk and nod. No more needs to be said. “Excellent. May I speak to you about our process to get here?” Welp, scratch that thought.
“Go ahead.”
“Well, we’ve tried all the normal means to appease a fluffy, and punishment too. For a bowl, that simply isn’t enough. So, we’ve tried tubs, and sinks, but we had… problems, with those.” Problems? What did they do now?
“Elaborate.” The CRO shudders at your tone.
“The sinks and tubs were distressing for the bowls. Even though it was filled with warm water, and our kindest staff were with the fluffies, they still had a fear of tubs and sinks, likely stemming from a fear of baths.” Ah, now it’s starting to make sense.
“So, you made a ‘natural’ pool?”
“Yes sir. For a fluffy, they’re childish and unintelligent enough to not recognize the difference from a natural water source.” Staring back into the room, you see the mare with her foals loaded up on her, floating in the pool. But was she crying?!
“Mummah an’ babbehs wub gud wawa! Dank yu Dawktuh, Dank yu!” No, they were happy tears. Her foals were either gorging themselves on her teats, or enjoying the soft sway of the water as they slept. Good, families would love this, maybe as much as she seemingly did.
“As you can see, providing one to a bowl fluffy makes them quite endeared to the individual who provided it to them.” As if it wasn’t obvious enough. She was acting like she was getting spaghetti, or a ticket to ‘Sketti-World Orlando’. God, that place sucked.
“And it won’t spoil them? We have a limited testing stock; we don’t need them to become unsalvageable.” The CRO’s smile grew wide and with a cunning glint. He rarely did that. He must have made a wonderful discovery.
“Let me demonstrate something, Sir. He pulls forwards a microphone, and speaks. “Doctor Feelgood, would you please demonstrate their dependance?” Doctor Feelgood? That’s gotta scare some mares. With a nod, the doctor complies.
“Now, Bouy, you do understand that there are rules with the pool, right?” She stares at the doctor, and smiles.
“Nu, but Booie wiww fowwow wuwes.” Doctor Feelgood kneels down and holds a finger up.
“One. If you misbehave, we will take the pool back.” Then another. “Two, if one of your foals misbehaves, he won’t be allowed to use the pool.” And yet another. “Three, you can’t spend all day in the pool. You can spend some of the day, but you need to do other activities.”
Booie looks horrified. “Y-yes Dawtuh…” She shrinks into herself, her foals worrying at the distressed voice of her mother. “Booie nu wan wose poowuh, huu huu… Booie and babbehs nee poowuh… Booie wiww nu bweak wuwes. Booie wiww be bestesh wuwe fowwowew evew!” She gets determined. Good.
“Good! As long as you and your foals are good, the pool will be here for you. Do you want to be good?” The mare nodded frantically. “Alright, I’m gonna need you to prove it. Do you see this Foal?” He held up a small pink foal. “This one made bad poopies on the gate. What will you do with her?” The mare gasped.
She frantically used her tail to move herself out of the water, and deposited her foals onto the soft ‘sand’. Then, the doctor put the pink foal on the ground, and watched.
“Bestesh? Bestesh made sowwy poopies?! She sat down next to the peeping foal and the emotions running in her brain were on full display. Surprise, to shock, to anger, then sadness. She picked up the foal, and put it into the sorry box. “Mummah sowwy bestesh, but mummah and babbehs nee poowuh!” She was certainly upset, but not bawling. Surprising.
“Aren’t you sad, Bouy? Why aren’t you crying?”
“Mummah nu make saddy-wawas, saddy-wawas bad, and mummah nu am bad.” The doctor smiled, and pet the sad bowl.
“Oh, such a brave mummah. Good girl, now go along, take care of the rest.”
“Otay, Dawktuh.”
I can only smile as I turn to my CRO.
“As you can see, sir, the bowl fluffies are obsessed with their new pools, and will do almost anything to avoid losing them.”
“Perfect. Excellent for everybody then, hugboxers, abusers, and everybody in between. If this is all it takes to get them to act domestic, how long until we can start mass breeding?”
“With all due respect sir, but there’s still issues that need to be addressed, the bowel problems, preventing smarty syndrome, improving attitude, an-“ Bullshit, people still buy fluffies by the goddamn boatload. If sales can still be made while they were filling up streets and alleyways, I’d have no problem selling these guys!
“How much would that effect sales?” The CRO freezes up, and stares at me. He should know better by now. Friendship or not, we have a business to run.
“Not much sir.” Morals still impeding our progress. Not good.
“Then don’t worry about it. Our job is to make and sell them. What happens afterwords is irrelevant. Understood, Tomas?” He slumps into a chair and sighs. Deflated and worn out, Tomas looks like a shadow of a man.
“I know I care for them, and it gets in the way of the business, but if we have another ecological fallout, end up producing so many we become another mass-fluffy wave, we’ll get hefty sentences.”
“I’ve got our bases covered. We make them, sell them, and if it gets too hot, we got shell companies, good lawyers, and fall guys set in place. Relax. Do your job, and I’ll do mine, and we’ll make gold.” Tomas stares at me with a tired, weary gaze.
“Okay, I’ll get to work. We’ll start the breeding program. Just know, that this isn’t where my heart lies, Kurt.”
“Then move it.” I leave the room, satisfied. I can corner the market with these little bastards. The possibility of rare bowl fluffies ending up on every market earning me dollars? A blank check. Who could pass that up?
written in the usual style, drunk, then (somewhat) edited while sober
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