Painted Fluff

> Be an old man.
> You own a painted fluffy cart.
> Every morning, you drive it to the undertown bazaar.
> Set up shop on a busy side thoroughfare.
> Most of your fluffies are housed in small glass terrariums built into the side of your cart, displayed for customers.
> You keep one, a small black unicorn with a red mane, seperate from the rest.
> She yawns, blinking up at you from her small bed, then smiles.
> "Nee-yow!" she chirps.
> You smile back, patting her on the head.
> Her back fluff displays an intricate design of a horned deer-like animal with the head of a dragon, surrounded by flames.
> One of your better pieces.
> You get settled in, letting the constant market sounds becoming a comforting background noise.
> Still early in the morning, usually not much business until later in the day.
> Decide to get some work done.
> Walk over to the back of your cart, stacked with mesh cages.
> Fluffy ponies inside start babbling at you in English.
> Select the one you set aside yesterday, a purple earth-pony; no food or water for the last 24 hours.
> Less chance of a mess that way.
> It immediately begins crying as you pull it out.
> You understand a few of the words, or at least the general intent.
> You say to settle down, it will get fed soon enough.
> It pauses, tears in its eyes, incomprehension written on its face.
> Sigh, and walk it over to your workbench.
> Pull up the metal harness, and begin locking the fluffy in.
> It whines, squirming and kicking its legs.
> Your unicorn fluffy says something to it, her tone scolding.
> You catch the word "Pwetty."
> Finally you have it strapped in, its struggles becoming ineffective.
> Turn on the electric razor, and begin shearing off its back fluff.
> Its whining turns to panicked squeels and begging.
> You're experienced at this, and are soon finished.
> The fluffy begins to shiver and sob.
> You turn on a heat-lamp, and pull out your equipment.
> They're broadly similar to tattoo guns, though you're told the ink isn't really ink.
> You glance at the writing on the ink-which-isn't-ink cannister.
> "Injected bio-marking cellular substrate purposed for alteration of synthetic follicle pigmentation"
> Permanent fluffy hair dye.
> You asked once if it was bad for them.
> You were told no.
> You were also told not to let it get on your skin.
> So.
> The next half-hour is ... not peaceful.
> Still, you work quickly, and are mostly finished with your design when one of the straps on the harness comes loose.
> The fluffy twists and kicks at you wildly.
> The gun slips and falls into your lap, the needle biting into your knee.
> Jump back cursing.
> On the bench the fluffy is twisting and thrashing.
> Your unicorn is shouting angrily at it.
> You hear a snap, and the purple fluffy's cries become a keening wail.
> You lunge for it, fumbling to remove it from the harness.
> It bites you once or twice, before you manage to get a solid hold on it.
> Its front leg is broken and twisted.
> Start angrily shouting at it.
> Its only response is to sob and wail even louder.
> Take a deep breath, and slowly let it out.
> Examine it more closely, drawing on your previous experience with fluffy injuries.
> Pull out the medical utensils you keep for these situations.
> Remove everything below the knee and cauterize the wound, salvaging what you can of its leg.
> By this point the fluffy is a complete wreck, shivering, hiccuping, and sobbing.
> You talk to it softly, walking it over to a prepared incubator.
> You place it inside, along with water and a small plate of noodles with sauce.
> It huddles in a corner, curled into a shivering ball.
> You purse your lips, and look back at some of the other fluffies in the mesh cages.
> You pull a pair out, and place them in the incubator.
> The two immediately begin hugging and comforting the sobbing fluffy.
> Shake your head.
> Go back and clean up your workspace as best you can.
> When finished, you sit down at the counter, rubbing your wounded knee.
> Your fluffy unicorn tugs at your pants leg.
> You lift her up, and begin scratching behind her ears.
> You both sit and watch the crowds pass by outside.
> Losing yourself in the neon halo of advertising screens, and the endless clamor of the streets.