“So, here’s the deal, Seth: our fluffies, Marley and Caelum, have great big boners for each other.”
“Er.”
“Well, at least Marley does. You get the point. Anyway, what are we going to do about it?”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“Duh. I told him that it was great that he was into her, and that I knew it was mutual. Reading fluffy body language is like reading a book with small words and big print. And lots of pictures. But I told him that I needed to talk to you first, to see if it was okay, and that even if you said yes, he’d have to wait until Piccolo and Snowball’s litter was off the milk and out the door. Before you ask, I stopped by Flufftopia yesterday and picked up some, heh, distractions, so instead of worrying about Marley raping one of my slippers, I just have to worry about cleaning his loads out of a sex doll. Still not worse than anything we had to deal with after The Party. But we don’t discuss that anymore.”
“I can’t believe that you still wear fuzzy pink bunny slippers.”
“Tch. Don’t hate. Oh yeah, shit, that reminds me. Speaking of my, um, trip to Flufftopia, and you’re probably not gonna believe this shit…”
You and Seth are walking the quartet of fluffies to daycare (he lives two floors down from you and Judy), a couple of days after Piccolo impregnated Snowball on your couch, which Judy has already thoroughly cleaned. You had a kit ready. Not the first time someone’s life started on your couch. But like you said, you don’t discuss The Party.
And, sharing a spliff like always, the two of you are discussing the prospect of fluffy husbandry. Snowball is singing a mummah song for her tummeh babbehs. She’s only two days into her pregnancy, so she’s still good to go to daycare.
As promised, you woke up early the day after Piccolo pulled a Dave (Dave, asshole that he is, refuses to acknowledge his bastard son, and that’s enough said about the aftermath of The Party) and entered Flufftopia as soon as it opened, proceeding to have the most uncomfortable conversation with Mark in your entire sort-of friendship with him.
Mark hasn’t been mentioned in a while. But, to be frank, he hasn’t really done anything noteworthy. Nice enough guy, but doesn’t really stand out much. You noticed he has that in common with his fluffy, Anthony, who your trio is amicable to at the park and at daycare, but he’s not as close to them as Caelum or Magic is.
But he was helpful and polite as always, walking you through the process of designing the two Special Huggie Friends you needed, none of the premade ones in stock being an exact match to the ones you had in mind: one pure white alicorn model with pink eyes, and one mint green and white pegasus model with sky blue eyes.
Before he stepped in to give you the tutorial, something odd happened.
While you were cursing at the damn panel, voicing your opinion that whoever the hell designed this thing should have made it more user-friendly, you jumped when you heard a deep, French-accented voice interrupt you, coming from right behind you, that sounded… well it sounded a wee bit like it was Auto-Tuned.
“Thank you for expressing your concerns, Monsieur Korkea. I’ll work on it right away. What an unusual last name, may I add? No offense meant.”
You turned around, laying eyes on the man who is, not just the owner of this store, and not just the owner of the entire franchise, but the emperor of a vast corporate empire.
That was your first encounter with Dr. Pierre Faucheuse.
You had seen him on magazine covers and in TV interviews, along with his brother. A few times. Dr. Deston Faucheuse is a bit of a recluse, apparently. You’ve bought many of Dr. Pierre Faucheuse’s products, but never thought you’d ever get to meet him. He looked exactly like he does on TV: old, but aging very well, completely bald, and chrome dome waxed so much that if this conversation had been taking place outside, you’d still be blinded. Strangely glowing blue eyes, an immaculate silver business suit, and what appeared to be silver gloves, too.
What you weren’t expecting to see was the gold and silver alicorns, on matching leashes, attached to matching harnesses.
After the two of you had made formal introductions, you apologized for what you had said, of course you didn’t mean it, very well designed piece of-- contraption. He saw right through it, and said that he wasn’t forgiving you, because you had done nothing requiring forgiveness, you had merely helped him create better products, and he even gave you a coupon book for your troubles. You took a look. There’s some good deals in there. You’re set for life, but coupons are coupons, that’s what your dad always said.
“I really am sorry though, dude-- sir. And my grandfather was Finnish, by the way.”
“Please, dude will do. Address me as you please, as long as it’s not derogatory.” He was pretty cool for an old guy.
“I think I might have known your grandfather, actually. Long hair like yours, but blond, kind of short, liked to sing very rude songs when inebriated?”
“You did know Grandpa Mika!”
“I still haven’t forgotten the lyrics to the one about the hedgehog.”
“Yeah, that always got plenty of laughs.”
Then Dr. Faucheuse introduced you to his fluffies.
“My pride and joy. I don’t talk about them a lot in public, I prefer to keep them out of the public eye, but my brother insists I give them plenty of time outdoors, and I trust him on it. Nikola, Audrey, say hello to Monsieur Korkea.”
They speak in perfect unison. And that’s not the only surprise.
“Bawn-syoowuh, mawn-syoowuh Kaw-keeya!”
It takes you a few seconds to realize what they just said.
“You taught them French?”
“Well, it’s a work in progress. That’s the only thing they can say in French. But it is a tricky language.”
“It can’t be that hard to learn, there’s toddlers in France who can speak it.”
He actually chuckled at your terrible joke, before being interrupted by Mark, who, surprisingly, gave you a look that said “I sure as hell hope you aren’t giving my boss any trouble.”
Dr. Faucheuse waved off his concerns with a silver-encased hand. You wondered, is he a… germophobe?
“No need to worry, Mark. I was having the most delightful conversation with Mr. Korkea.”
“Please, call me Cal. Everyone does.”
“Very well, Cal. But I must be off. The three of us have an appointment with a friend of mine and his fluffy. Very odd one. Likes crime movies, for some inexplicable reason.”
“Yeah, Marley and Piccolo are huge Deadpool fans, themselves. Though Marley thinks the second one is a bit weak.”
“How very interesting. I would love to meet them sometime. Perhaps we could make an… appointment?”
Did the CEO of FauCorp, richest man alive, really offer to set up a fluffy playdate with you?
Yes. Yes he did.
He gave you his card, silver like his suit, letters glowing in cyan, and departed as quickly as he appeared. You followed him outside, but he had vanished.
“And that’s the story of how I met the richest guy on the planet.”
“Cool story, bro.” You’re not sure Seth believes you. You’ll show him.
“Anyway, back to Marley and Caelum. What do you say? Should I tell him they can get it on soon, or are you gonna cockblock the little dude?”
“I’ve been giving it some thought, during your totally bullshit story, I’ll believe it when I see the guy, and sure, why not? Between the two of them there’s two shades of green, red, white and yellow. Should be an excellent litter. We might even get a Saint Patrick’s Day fluffy out of it. And Caelum’s in a low-risk age group regarding BMS, I just need to take her for a check-up, make sure there won’t be any problems.”
“Marley, Caelum, you hear that? Soon as Piccolo and Snowball’s foals are out of the house, it’s your turn to get busy.”
The two of them nod. They’re barely paying attention to your conversation with Seth, being engrossed in their own discussion.
“Nu, see, fiwst wun am sewf-cown-taynd…”
You’ll tell them again later.
