Sunny Gardens: Just Dropping By

>Slate takes charge before you're even out the door.
>He's helping the littlest member of your motley crew, a young orange earth fluffy male named Mandarin, get to the litter box to crap.
>”Dis whewe good poopies go.  Aww fwuffies poopies hewe,” he explains.
>Mandy's not terribly good at retaining instructions, so the others have to remind him every day.
>After lingering to make sure nobody drops by, you switch the sign on the door and head out.
>It's hotter than a Balrog's ball sweat outside.
>And what is that god forsaken sme--
>Never mind, you already know.
>You peek into the alley that separates your building from the one next door.
>Barely detectable at the far end is a poofy puff of faded red.
>Flies buzz around it.
>You walk down the alley to get a closer look at the heat's latest victim.
>Oh god, it's a she, and she's not by herself.
>Three fluffy unicorn foals, one white, one purple, and one blue, paw uselessly at her corpse, trying to get milk from her teats.
>The heat is so overpowering, they can't even chirp.  They just wheeze.
>Their fluff is puffed out, but they can't form words; at best, they're a day old.
>Depending on when their mother died, they're likely very close to starving.
>You have no mothers back at the shop, and Mandy outgrew the need for fluffy baby formula two weeks ago.
>There's not a damn thing you can do for these poor little fuzzballs.
>Well...you can at least make them comfortable in their last moments.
>Scoop them up, two in one hand and one in the other.
>You can barely detect the dribbles of piss that come down their legs as they wheeze with fright.
>That's a bad sign, they must be terribly dehydrated.
>You head back to the shelter, bumping the door open with your shoulder.
>”Nummies!” Flame shouts happily.
“I'm afraid not...”
>You carry the foals over to the pen.  The fluffies gather around, curious.
>The females all gasp with excitement, including Flame.
>”Babehs!  Fwuffies wuv babehs!”
>Instinct takes over as you set them down.
>The mares hug the babies gently, passing them around so everyone can get a turn.
>The males, especially Slate, look on in awe.
>”Babehs...babehs no wook happy,” Flame blurts out.
>She was a mother before you got her; her last litter was killed and thrown out because the owner wanted no more fluffies in the house.
>It has haunted her ever since.
>She insisted on being Mandy's 'mumma' until he grew up, even though she couldn't make milk for him.
>She gathers the foals up and lays them in a trembling little pile.
>Now that the cool air has filled their lungs, they can chirp again.
>They wave their legs around, frantic to find the warm hugs from moments earlier.
>”Fwame no haf miwkies...no can fee' babehs,” she sniffles.  “Babehs sickies, wha' do?  Fwame wan' hewp babehs...”
“There's not really anything we can do, Flame, just love them until they...”
>You dare not say the word 'die', it'll send the fluffies into a fit of terror.
>They all look up at you expectantly, waiting for you to finish the statement.
“Uh...go away.”
>That, somehow, is even worse terminology for a fluffy pony.
>”Nuuu!  No can wet babehs go 'way!  Babehs nee' nummies an' huggies an' wuv fwom mumma!” Flame cries, leaning up on the side of the pen.
>Oh great.  She thinks she's a mom again.
>You are such an idiot sometimes.
“Flame, there's nothing we can really do to help them.  They've been without their mother for too long.”
>Slate is very gingerly hugging the tiny white foal.
>”No cwy.  Babehs haf wuv, haf huggies.  Huggies make betta.”
>...damn it, where are the tissues...
>”Nee' miwk!  Babehs nee' miwk, huggies no 'nuff!” Flame says, putting the other two foals to her belly.
>Of course, nothing happens.
>”Miwk come out!  Hewp babehs, babehs nee'!”
>You try to think of a clean way to end this.
>Should have killed them in the alley, should have just stomped them or left them to...
>You never would have been able to bring yourself to do that.
>Flame pushes the foals to her belly so hard, they squeak.
>She cries out in sorrow.  “Mumma sowwy, no mean huwt babehs!  Gif huggies!”
>The foals are still crying, but it's for food.
>Slate is becoming scared.
>”Babeh stiww cwy, why cwy?  Huggies no hewp!  Hooman, wha Swate do?!”
>Flame demands he give her the foal, which he does.
>The other fluffies are hugging each other, trembling with worry.
>”Why babehs cwy?” Felix asks.
“They're hungry, Felix.”
>”Gif babehs Fewiss' appa!  Appa yummy nummies, hewp babeh feew betta!”
“They're...they're too young to eat apples.”
>”Too...too widdle?  Babehs nee' miwkies?”
>You just nod.
>Flame is on her side now, shrieking at her stomach and scaring the foals.
>”Miwk stop be meanie, come now!  Fwame haf fee' widdle babehs!  Babehs hung'y!”
>The foals are doing their level best to help, tugging and pawing at her empty teats.
>You try to reach down and take them out, but Flame shifts her body until she's covering them.
>”No, Fwame haf fee' babehs!  Gif huggies when done!”
>Fucking hell...
>You don't have the heart to make her move, so you just stand there and watch her try to feed the chirping foals.
>Slate and Felix repeatedly ask you how they can help, why are the babies still crying, what can they do.
>You have no answers for them.
>After a few minutes, the chirping dies down.  Flame is exhausted and rolls off to the side.
>Amazingly, they're alive, but they've worn themselves out trying to feed.
>Okay, everything's calmed down.  You can just reach in, scoop up the foals, and dispose...remove...bury them somewhere.
>Suddenly, there's an obnoxiously loud noise from the parking lot.
>”Nuuuuuuuu!  Wou' noisies huwt babehs!” Flame shrieks.
>She stands above the terrified foals and the herd closes ranks around her, puffy cheeked and stomping their hooves.
>You can't penetrate the wall of fluff to grab the foals.
>The doorbell jingles.
>You hear someone come in.
“I'm sorry, just a minute!  I've gotta...uh...feed the fluffies!”
>You only notice something is off after a few moments when whoever it is doesn't reply.
>You turn around after giving up trying to part the herd to greet your visitor.
>You see black combat boots.  Black pleated skirt, black tank top.
>Two silver hoops decorating their right eyebrow.
>Tattoos on the backs of pale hands.
>Fucking.  Purple.  Hair.
>She smirks at you.  You sneer back.
>”Another day in paradise, huh?”
>That sneer gets even more sneer-y.
“Hello to you too, Sarah.”