Well, this has been an interesting evening so far.
Your date went great. You showed up dressed to the nines, leaving the Crocs at home for a change, Judy looked beautiful in her leopard print dress (some guys might think leopard print is tacky, but you love it), and you got a reservation at a fancy restaurant.
Then you had a little altercation with the waiter, who hit on Judy constantly, then called her a cocktease and a bitch when she turned down his offer to “ditch the dirty hippie and get with a real man”. You were so angry about what he was saying about Judy that the two of you had to leave before you decked him. You didn’t care what he said about you.
You’re a peaceful man, but you’ll do what you must to defend your loved ones.
You ended up continuing the date at a 24-hour burger joint, and surprisingly, the date was actually more enjoyable after that. You both laughed at all the looks you were getting, eating burgers and chicken nuggets in fancy evening wear.
Then, as you got back to your place, and the scent of weed wafted into your nose (Ah Seth, couldn’t wait five minutes after we left, could you?), Judy whispered in your ear that the night was far from over. Hoo boy, is it getting hot in here?
Fast forward to now, about two hours later. You and Judy are in bed, sharing a spliff, getting ready for Round Two.
You hope the boys and Snowball aren’t scared by the sounds you’re making. The walls are pretty thin.
You are Marley, and you’re in a good mood, because your daddeh’s in a good mood!
The two of you are out on a walk. Miss Judy took Snowball home this morning. Miss Judy’s pretty orangish-red not-fluff on her head was all messy, and she and your daddeh looked a bit tired. Very pleased about something, but tired. You don’t know what they’re so happy about, but you’re happy that they’re happy.
Piccolo is staying at home, because he’s tired too. He couldn’t sleep last dawk time because he kept hearing scary sounds. You didn’t hear a thing, because you’re a heavy sleeper. So Piccolo is napping at home, uncle Seth and Caelum are keeping an eye on him, and you and daddeh are enjoying the beautiful bwite time.
You and Piccolo are big fluffies now, so you don’t fit in the stwowwew anymore. You’re wearing a harness, designed to attach a leash to without causing discomfort to you, and you and your daddeh are walking towards a small, one-floor housie. You can smell other fluffies, and you can tell it’s coming from behind the housie. It smells like they’re afraid of something. And that they don’t know how to make good poopies. You wrinkle your nose. So does your daddy.
“Now Marley, stay close to daddy, aight? You don’t want to go poking around here.”
“Nu wowwy, daddeh. Mawwey nu gu aneewhewe neaw dat nu-smeww-pwetty.”
“Clever boy.”
Sitting on a cowch on the grassies in front of the housie, which is weird, because you’re pretty sure a cowch is supposed to be inside the housie, there’s a darkie-hoomin watching a pen full of babbeh fwuffies, and a mawe, pale pink and blue, who is taking care of them. He’s smoking one of the smokie-sticks your daddeh and uncle Seth smoke too. Another fluffy, purple and yellow, is napping on the cowch next to the darkie-hoomin.
You know about darkie-hoomins. That hoomins come in lots of different colors, just like fluffies do. But fluffies come in more interesting colors, you feel, and that’s one thing fluffies have over hoomins. And you also know that like fluffies, what color hoomins are has nothing to do with whether they’re nice or mean. At the pawk, and the daycawe, you’ve seen hoomin daddehs and mummahs of all different colors dote on their fluffies just like daddeh, who is a light pinkish hoomin, dotes on you and Piccolo, just like Miss Judy and uncle Seth, who are also pinkish, dote on Snowball and Caelum. So, unlike some sorely unenlightened fluffies, you’re not scared of darkie-hoomins. They’re just hoomins.
“Yo, Cal!” the darkie-hoomin says. “What’s good, nigga?” You don’t know what that word means, but you know that darkie-hoomins like to say it, and they get upset when not-darkie-hoomins say it. He gets up and walks over to you and your daddeh.
“What’s good, Andre? Is Herr Flüffer around?” Daddeh and Andre, the darkie-hoomin, bump their not-hoofsies together.
“Dave’s not here, man.”
Your daddeh’s see-places narrow.
“I bet you’ve been waiting all morning to say that. I bet that you volunteered to watch the place while Dave’s off doing whatever he’s doing, hoping that someone would come by asking if he’s in, just so you could say that. I bet you were born waiting for the opportunity.”
Andre cackles.
“You know it, man! Nah, Dave said he was running out of,” he looks at you, “ahem, fertilizer producers, and went out to aquire some more. Said he’d be back at 5. Hey little guy, what’s good?” He kneels down and holds his not-hoofsie towards you, curled up into a ball.
Your daddeh taught you how to do this. You lift up your front weggie, and tap your hoofsie against his not-hoofsie. Your daddeh calls it a fist-bump.
“Hey, little dude knows how to dap! Cal, you weren’t bullshitting on Fluffbook!”
“Yeah, Marley’s a cool little dude. Chillest fluffy I’ve ever met. Clever, too.” your daddy says, kneeling down to stroke your green fluff.
“Yeah, Magic’s the same way. Though he’s not as smart. He couldn’t pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were labeled on the bottom. But of course, fluffies can’t read.” Andre cackles again, and your daddy laughs too. You don’t get the joke, but you giggle too.
“We’re gonna head off, then. When Dave gets back, tell him I said that he’s an asshole, and to put aside a few pounds of Diamond City Diesel for me. Oh, and a pound of Kitchen Island Kush. That’s the kind Judy likes.”
“Will do. Hey, you two! Learn to share or I take it away!” Andre says, to two babbehs fighting over a baww. You’re sure you didn’t behave that badly as a babbeh.
You and your daddeh take your leave, and you’re kind of glad to go. The smell of fluffy fear was starting to get to you.
Well shit. Since Dave will be out for the next… six hours, you decide to kill some time. You’re pretty thirsty.
Stepping into a dive bar across the street from your apartment building, the neon sign proclaims this dive to be HARRY’S PLACE.
It’s not even noon yet, so it’s mostly empty. There’s a guy nursing a beer at the bar, with several empty bottles, his head slumped on the bar. Harry, the owner, a wiry older gentleman with the most splendid mustache you’ve ever seen, is mopping up a spill.
“Mistah haf funny face-fwuff. Wook pwetty.” Marley chimes in when he sees Harry.
“You think so, Mar? I tried to grow a mustache once, but it looked terrible. Remind me when we get home, I think I’ve got a photo. Mornin’, Mr. Kane.”
“Mornin’, Cal. You see my layabout son yet?” Harry is Seth’s dad.
“He was fluffysitting for me and Judy last night.” You can tell by the look on Harry’s face that he doesn’t approve of the age gap between you and Judy, but he says nothing.
“If you see him, tell him some guy in a suit came in looking for him. Gave me his card to pass on to him. Think it’s some record label.”
You’re thrilled. Zephyr’s been doing well so far, people like their sound, and this could be their big break!
“Will do. Can I get a beer? Oh, and you’ve got soft drinks, right? Mar, what do you want?”
You sit at a table near the bar, and Marley sits on the table. You can trust him not to jump off. He wouldn’t think it’s worth the effort.
As you sip your beer, and Marley laps up apple juice from a shallow bowl, you look at the guy who’s clearly having a bad day, and as he sits up straight, you finally recognise him.
It’s the fluffy impaler! The guy with the purple fluffy who was glaring at you and Judy last month!
“Hey, I know you! You’re the guy who thinks he’s Vlad the Impaler!”
He looks at you blearily, and struggles to focus his eyes.
“Wha’?”
“The garden full of impaled fluffies? You did that, right?” Marley is too busy with his drink to pay attention to the conversation.
“O’yea.” he slurs. “G’t kicked out fer tha’. Th’ngshveb’n… b’n goin’ downhill f’r me ‘n’ Laven’dr since.”
“Do you want to talk about it? You look like you could use a friend.”
He starts to get belligerent, and gets up and stumbles over to your table, still holding a half-empty bottle. Harry’s paying attention, in case something happens.
“Oh, ya want t’ be my friend, huh? Well Idunwanna be yer friend! I know who ya are!”
“You do? Who am I, then?”
“Yer th’ guy who’s b’n fuckin’ my Judy! Yeah, I s-shaw the twoa you’s!”
Wait. His Judy? Oh boy. Judy didn’t mention she was seeing someone else! Wait, don’t jump to conclusions!
“What do you mean your Judy? Are you two, y’know…”
You can’t quite make out what he’s saying now, but you get the gist. Apparently he’s been pining after Judy for years, and never told her, and now he’s angry at you for “stealing his chance at happiness”.
But he doesn’t stop there. He unloads all his troubles on you, in between swigs of the bottle, how he had to move out of the city, onto his brother’s farm, how he has to put up with a special needs fluffy, how his brother is mad at him because of… something he did, you’re not sure, and for Marley’s sake, you’re glad he doesn’t elaborate. It sounds like he’s been impaling more fluffies. Then as he moans about not even being able to go into the city for some errands and a quick drink (at this point you glance at the half-dozen empty bottles) without seeing the asshole he now irrationally blames for his life going downhill, enjoying a drink with a perfectly normal fluffy, the topic of this incoherent rant veers back to you and Judy.
Marley is paying attention now, but if you could just barely make out the guy’s slurred speech, even the smartest fluffy couldn’t understand him.
“Annen you sw’p in, st’nkin’ o’ weed ‘n’ wear’n’ yer st’pid Crocs! Bet y’ve been f’ckin’ 'er ev’ry night th’s month!”
This is where you fuck up. “N-no, we only just slept together for the first time last night–”
“SO YOU HAVE BEEN FUCKING HER!” he roars, swinging an accusatory finger in your face.
“Um, mistah?” A timid voice pipes up.
All eyes in the room are on Marley now.
“Mawwey nu unnewstan wai mistah am su angwy at daddeh, but it nu am daddeh fauwt. Daddeh an miss Judee awe happeh tu-ge-vew, an if mistah wub miss Judee, den mistah shud be happeh fow daddeh an miss Judee tuu. Mawwey wuns heaw hoomin awn teebee say, if yu wub sumwun, yu gut tu wet dem gu.”
You’re impressed. The drunk angry fluffy impaler isn’t.
“Oh, y’ wanna kn’w whyI’m angry at yer daddy, ya litt’l shitrat? I’m angry bec’se… because the wom’n of m’ dreams is in h’s bed, wh’le I’m al’ne, ‘n’ h’ve to listen thr’gh t’wall t’ m’ brother pl’w’n his w’fe alm’s’ ev’ry night, an yer daddy has two, two perfec’ly good fl’ffies, whillim st’ck w’f a br’ken fluffy I’m unner orders fr’m sum doctor n’t t’kill, an m’brother w’ldn’t let me near 'er if’n 'e thought I wuz gonna. B’t mostly, I’m angry wifyer daddy cuz 'e’s errything I hate!”
“Sir, you don’t even know me.” you protest.
“I KNOW I HATE YOU!” he roars, smashing the now-empty beer bottle in his hand on the table, probably trying to do that thing from the movies where you turn the bottle into a weapon. And failing horribly.
SHATTER
He howls like a wounded animal, now with a bleeding hand full of broken glass. Other bits of the bottle scattered around the room. A few bigger pieces lodged in Marley’s fluff, but he’s thankfully unhurt.
As you’re carefully picking the pieces of glass out, Harry steps in. “Alright, that’s enough, Chris. I’ve warned you before. Give me your keys, I’m patching up your hand, and then I’m calling you a cab home. No, don’t say anything, I’ll pay for it, I’d rather pay to send a cab out to Leslie’s farm then let you drive home in this state. You and Leslie can come pick up the truck tomorrow, and then you’re banned. Be grateful I’m not calling the cops on you. I’m taking mercy on you, because I’m not breaking Lavender’s heart by getting her daddy thrown in jail.”
Harry may be wiry, but he’s got a strong grip and a mean right hook. Chris, so that’s his name, is apparently just sober enough to realize he’s lost this fight, and begrudgingly obliges. “Y’s, Mr. Kane.” he mumbles, like a schoolboy caught drawing dicks on the desk.
You turn back to Marley, removing the last chunk of glass. Silently thanking any god that is listening that he’s unhurt.
“That was pretty scary, huh buddy? Y’know, I feel bad for that guy. Sounds like his life’s gone down the shitter. But I don’t get why he blames me.”
Marley shrugs. “It nu am daddeh fauwt. Dun weep fow da dummehs. Yu wiww be cwyin aww bwite time.”
“Wise words, little dude, wise words. What do you say we finish our drinks and head home? Piccolo should be awake by now, you can tell him and Caelum all about our little adventure over lunch.” Fluffy body language is easy to read, and you can tell Marley has a crush on Caelum. You think she’ll be impressed by the tale.
“Soun gud tu Mawwey.”
And the two of you leave, as Harry slowly removes shards of glass from the now sobbing drunk’s hand.
You hope he’ll be okay.