The Leaders and the Lead I

>Man, that was a good fishing trip.
>You wish you were still out on the lake instead of a block away from your house.
>Your reverie ends when you see the catastrophic state of your lawn.
>Huge patches of it are nothing but dirt.
>No... as you get closer you can see more detail in the patches.
>They're nothing but dirt and animal shit.
>What the blueberry fuck is going on?
>Your driveway is full of shit, so you park at the curb.
>Picking your way over the lawn, you can hear muted, high-pitched murmuring from inside your house.
>The big front room French window that used to have a large crack is broken.
>The glass shards still in the frame are tipped with dried blood and various bits of pastel fuzz.
>Fuck.
>Fluffy ponies broke into your house.

>Looking in reveals the bedlam you expect, but it's still sobering.
>Directly inside the window is a bloody fluffy pony on its side, twitching occasionally among a large pile of window glass.
>It whimpers, "Weggies pwease move... hewp fwuffy. Fwuffy so hungwy, weggies."
>You're not sure if it's severed its tendons or if it's weak from bleeding out.
>Bloody circles populate the floor around it, then lead off in various directions; hoofprints?
>Looks like there are more ponies.
>You quietly step inside.
>The murmuring is coming from the kitchen.
>You poke your head through the doorframe and examine the kitchen.
>Five ponies are inside.
>Four are rifling through any cabinet they can reach while chattering volubly.
>One is so rounded with pregnancy that she just sits there, whining, "Need foodies! Bwing foodies fo' fwuffy!"

>One gray unicorn has gotten into the cleaning supplies cabinet under the sink, and spilled Comet on its face.
>It's crying and trying to rub it off with its hooves and anything else it bumps into.
>The copious tears are only making the Comet more abrasive.
>"Why mean eyes huwt fwuffy?" it demands, "Fwuffy good cowt!"
>Another pony waddles over to him and chirps, "Fwiend huwt? Need hugs?"
>He replies in the affirmative, and the second pony takes his face between its hooves and hugs him, nuzzling his head in its fluff.
>As the fluff scours his face with the Comet, he lets out a partially-muffled scream.
>The other pony spooks and pisses on itself and him, then backs away and starts to shiver.
>"Why fwiend yeww at fwuffy?" it asks, piteously. "Fwuffy onwy twyin' hewp!"
>The first one goes back to rubbing at his eyes more furiously than ever, crying all the while.
>Dead pony walking.

>At this point, one of the ponies notices you.
>"Big munsta hewe! Hewp!"
>A dirty pink unicorn that's so scarred as to be almost ugly comes out of an open cabinet and stands in front of you.
>A long horizontal slash covers one closed eye, its horn is chipped, and its coat is matted.
>It puffs out its cheeks and glares at you with its remaining eye.
>"Big munsta weave now! Smawty fwiend find dis pwace! Dis pwace bewong to fwuffies now!" it announces.
>"This is my house. It belongs to me, not you. I've been living here for six years," you counter.
>"Don't cawe!" it interrupts. "Behbies comin' soon, big munsta go 'way now! Behbies mowe 'portant!"
>We got a badass here.
>A black hate fills your mind at being dismissed so coldly, and you briefly entertain the thought of smashing them all to paste with your waders.
>But you start thinking about the filial love displayed by the grizzled fluffy for the unborn foals.
>A lightless smile spreads across your face.
>You withdraw coolly as the fluffies cheer the smarty for getting rid of the "munsta".

>You head back to the car and fetch your tackle box out.
>Hell, may as well take the fish in now too, no sense wasting them.
>You enter the kitchen a second time and the pink unicorn accosts you once again.
>"Smawty tow' you go 'way, big munsta! Give owchies if you no weave fwuffies awone!"
>You spare him hardly a glance as you step past him and set the box and cooler on the counter.
>He puffs his cheeks again and tries to butt your leg with his horn and kick you.
>You barely even feel it through the waders.
>You ignore him as you address the other cowering ponies.
>"Hey fluffies, who's hungry? You guys want some food?"
>All of the fluffies quickly emerge from their hiding places and voice their assent, except for the irate smarty friend.
>And the one that's still crying weakly and pawing at his ruined face, of course.

>You search through the fridge for something to feed the ponies.
>You've got soda... purple stuff... ooh!
>Casserole dish full of baked beans and sweet potatoes from last week's family reunion.
>That'll do.
>You take out the dish and set it on the counter, then get out five plates.
>You spoon out three portions, then set those plates down on the floor.
>The smarty friend is still puffing his ugly face at you.
>You grab him by the scruff of his neck and slap him across the face lightly.
>"I don't like you, pony," you begin, "but I'm thinking about the babies right now. Now, be quiet and eat the food I was nice enough to give you."
>You drop him back to the floor from about waist-high.
>He glares at you hatefully, but his herdmates' hearts have already gone over to you as they scarf the sweet food.

>You pick up Cometface next, and carry him to the sink.
>You pin his hooves to his belly with some masking tape, then force his eyes open as he whimpers.
>Completely destroyed; this pony will never see again.
>You grab the sprayer from beside the sink and turn the water on, just a trickle.
>Then you tape his mouth shut.
>A double layer of tape.
>Holding his eyelid away from the eye, you spray a gentle flow of warm water into it at an angle to rinse out the cleaning agent.
>He tries to scream but can't open his mouth.
>You repeat on the other eye, he repeats the scream.
>Then you wash the Comet off the rest of his face.
>When he stops screaming through the tape in favor of more quiet sobbing, you peel it off slowly, then wash away the last of the Comet.
>May as well leave the hooves taped for now though, it's not like he can see where he's going.
>You serve out another portion of food and set it on the counter, then put him next to it.
>You push his head down into the food until he gets the message and starts eating, crying all the while.

>At this point every pony is eating except the dam, even the pink bastard.
>You serve a portion of beans and potatoes onto the last plate.
>Then you pop open your tackle box.
>Rooting around in the bottom, you find what you were looking for.
>Those old lead sinkers of your grandfather's that you've never had the heart to throw out.
>You take one out and set it on the counter.
>You head out of the kitchen and to the storage closet.
>Opening your tool kit, you pull out a file and head back to the kitchen.
>The pregnant dam tried to roll herself over to the food plates, crying "Wan foodies!"
>Or you think that's what she's crying; she only managed to roll her face into the floor, so what actually comes out is "Wab foodib!"
>You hold the sinker over the last plate and file it vigorously.
>Once the food is coated with a liberal helping of lead filings, you stir it up and set it in front of the dam.
>You tilt her head down so she can eat and she starts gobbling noisily.
>She pauses to look at you and say "Fank 'oo munsta!" though.
>With her mouth full; what bad manners.