As Snowball cleans the first foal, white and purple, with tiny wings, and places him on her teat, the second foal starts to come out.
The whole gang is present at the birth: you, Judy, Seth, Andre, and all of your fluffies, helping Snowball with the birth, and cheering her on. Piccolo, of course, is right by his baby mama’s side.
Dave isn’t here, though. He’s spending a week or two laying low out of town. Apparently, his baby mama is still looking for him. He said that he didn’t even want to be a father, he tried to pull out, but then she jammed her finger up his ass and he came buckets inside her. As if that absolves him of all responsibility.
But of course, he’s an asshole.
Also, ew, Dave! TMI, dude!
You had to clean the couch five times before you were willing to sit on it again.
Snowball’s biggest poopies started a week after your appointment at the park with Dr. Pierre Faucheuse, zillionaire.
You all had a little betting pool going, about exactly when she’d pop. Herr Flüffer, who has the most experience with fluffy births, due to his little Fluffy Auschwitz, won. The winnings have been safely put aside until he gets back. He always honors a bet, so you’ll follow suit, even though he’s an asshole. You two have an agreement to not backstab each other.
Pierre said he’d get in on the action too, betting $1000, which he called pocket change, and he was off by only thirty-two seconds.
He wasn’t happy about that, not because he’s a sore loser, but because he takes pride in his mathematical skills. He said his estimates are usually accurate down to the picosecond, but he promised to pay Dave when he was back in town.
You were rather nervous around Pierre at first. You’re from a pretty wealthy family yourself, mind. Grandpa Mika may have been a boorish lout, but he was also a shrewd businessman and a self-made man. Pierre said that he could relate, especially to the last part. And Grandpa Mika was an excellent singer, too, besides his choice of songs. You still can’t look at a hedgehog without thinking about your grandpa.
But Pierre is so much richer than your family. If the Korkeas were sharks, he’d be Cthulhu.
You have the feeling that he operates on a level that you can’t even comprehend.
On the other hand, he’s so laid back for a rich old scientist dude. He’s a pretty cool guy, actually.
He even accepted when you offered him a puff of your spliff. So, yeah, pretty cool, and probably not a germophobe as you suspected.
It was pretty strong weed, you had just rolled it with the Diamond City Diesel you had won from Dave, but Pierre didn’t seem stoned at all. He said that he has absolute self-control.
You’ve got to remember to call him after this. You promised you would. He said that unfortunately, he can’t make it to the birth, all of his hands are tied, but he can’t wait to see the foals. He’s even bringing a present for the new mummah. You sincerely thanked him for his generosity, and he just said that it’s what he does.
But you raised an eyebrow at the odd choice of phrasing.
What did he mean, all of his hands?
As the second foal slides out, and Snowball licks him clean, you see that this one is green and purple, the opposite of his father, and an earthie this time.
You don’t know how many more foals there will be, but fortunately, Judy is preparing bottles of Bestest Babbehs milk, just in case. And Snowball’s been eating the kibble throughout the pregnancy. According to the bag, it should reduce the size of the litter. Quality over quantity, it says.
You gently stroke Snowball’s fluff, keeping her calm and focused. She’s chewing on a tiny piece of a pot brownie, provided by Dave, via Andre, which is also keeping her calm, but she’s not so baked that she forgets anything important. Like the foals currently sliding out of her nethers.
Your old pal Tommy, who is on Fluffbook now (and uploading some very interesting photos and videos of a feral herd him and his wife have befriended) says that a piece of a pot brownie works wonders for dams giving birth. He said that Blueberry, you don’t know who that is, strongly recommended it. When you told Judy, she reminded you that she used to have a fluffy named Blueberry, but that he’s probably dead by now, so it couldn’t the same Blueberry who is, from what you’ve seen on Tommy’s Fluffbook page, apparently a fluffy drug kingpin.
“Remember what we talked about, okay Snowball?”
“Y-yus daddeh, nu bad babbehs, Snowbaww wiww wub aww babbehs. An Snowbaww an Piccowo pick wun babbeh, an west of babbehs haf tu gu tu nyu daddehs an mummahs.”
“Good girl. I think I see the next one coming.”
The third foal starts coming out. You catch a glimpse of… red fluff? What?
Judy briefly steps over.
“Snowball’s father was red and white, Cal. And her mother was white and blue. So don’t be surprised if a blue one comes out.”
“Oooooohhhhhh. That makes sense. Thanks, Jude.”
With a brief kiss, she gets back to preparing milk, and you tend to the foal.
This one’s an alicorn, and a filly this time. You aren’t concerned about Snowball going all “munstah babbeh”. She’s an alicorn, she can’t exactly complain. The filly’s got the start of a blue mane and tail. Well, Judy did warn you.
Snowball accepts the alicorn foal, and she gently moves the purple and white pegasus off her teat. Poor little guy starts chirping in distress. He wasn’t done.
“Sowwy, babbeh! But aww babbehs nee miwkies. Dat nu meen mummah nu wub babbeh! Daddeh, hewp Snowbaww-- eep.”
As the fourth foal enters the world, you swoop in with a foal-sized bottle, feeding the first foal. He starts hungrily suckling away.
The fourth foal is a unicorn. Hey, a complete set! This one is green and white, but a darker shade of green than Caelum. And it’s another filly.
As the second foal peeps, being replaced on the teat by his second sister, Seth steps in to feed him.
At the park, Pierre gave you a copy of one of his brother’s books. He insisted that it was a gift, and that you’d need it when Snowball’s birth started.
The book, Everything You Need To Know About Fluffy Maternity, proved to be one of those cases where you can judge a book by its cover. It covered pretty much everything about soon-mummahs.
It said that it’s imperative that the foals get to drink their mother’s milk right after the birth. Even if it’s just a quick taste, even if you’re planning to raise them on formula, but it recommended that, ideally, you make sure they drink plenty of Snowball’s milk too, at least once a day until they’re weaned.
It all has to do with bodily development and bonding and antibodies and yadda yadda yadda. The point is, the fluffy expert says that you should do it, and he’s Pierre’s brother, and you’ve found that you can’t not trust Pierre, so you trust Deston, too. Pierre said that you’d get to meet him, as well.
But you’ve got the bottles ready, so nobody goes hungry while the new mummah gets a chance to bond with her brood. You’re not sure brood is the right word. They’ve got bird DNA in them, right?
Incidentally, the book also said that unicorns tend to be colts, and pegasi tend to be fillies, but as you’ve seen, it’s not always the case.
Earthies and alicorns are about 50/50.
As the fifth foal is born, you sincerely hope that it’s the last one.
Fortunately, finding loving homes for the foals that don’t get to stay won’t be hard. Thank you, Fluffbook.
Pure white, like Snowball, another alicorn, and a colt this time.
The third foal, chirping up a storm, well, more like a light shower, is separated from his precious milkies, but not for long. He’ll get another turn at the teat soon. They’ll all get the teat time they need. Andre feeds the foal, Magic watching his daddeh in fascination.
Everyone waits with bated breath.
“Is… is that it?”
“I think so, Seth. Now we just need to worry about the placen–”
A sixth foal, a runt, lets out a raspy cheep, shudders, and is silent.
They can’t all be winners.
You quickly dispose of the runt before Snowball notices, shushing the other fluffies. Marley gives you a look that clearly says “Dude, what the hell?”
But even though Marley doesn’t approve, he doesn’t snitch on you.
After Snowball wolfs down the placenta, disgusting, you know, but the book said that she should do it, you finish feeding the new litter, feed Snowball too, the bag says she should still be fed Bestest Babbehs kibble until the foals are weaned, you take some photos for Fluffbook, and then give the new family some space. Snowball and the babbehs are fast asleep in a little fluffpile, and Marley, Piccolo, Caelum and Magic are watching them like little fluffy hawks.
You and your friends celebrate the birth with cigars.
Well, they’ve got tobacco in them.
Along with something else.
Unbeknownst to any of you, a small cloaked figure walks in through the wall.
For a second, you could swear you heard someone say WUNTS AWWAYS GIB DEATH OF FWUFFIES HEAWT HUWTIES.
Damn, this shit is good.
Dave’s an asshole, but he’s not all bad.
A couple of days later, Pierre, who you informed of the birth right away, shows up, with the present he promised, wrapped in shiny silver paper. He’s delighted to see the foals, and offers to help if you can’t find any good homes for them.
The present is a new luxury bed, with room for the happy couple and their litter. In a stylish black that, you note, contrasts nicely with Snowball. Pierre beams when you mention that.
Pierre said that it’s brand new, so new that it won’t even be in stores until next week. You’re one of the first to get one. You tell him it’s an honor.
Then he asks if the two of you can talk somewhere private. He invites you into his car. It looks, like, well, like no car you’ve ever seen before. Silver, like his suit. It looks like the DeLorean from Back to the Future and a space shuttle had a baby together.
He boasts that he designed and built it by himself, and that it’s one of a kind. It sure looks like it’s one of a kind.
After you both get in, the car starts driving itself. And not on the road.
At this point, you gasp.
He built a goddamn flying car that drives itself.
Pierre has to be the coolest. Guy. Ever!
Pierre turns to you, suddenly looking deeply concerned. And… afraid?
“We need to talk, Calvin. Have you ever heard of something called Phenomenon X?”