Viking Fluffies

(Based off of a picture from the ‘Fluffsplosion’ tumblr)

> Be a fisherman who works in Newfoundland.
> Many young fellers call you Salty.
> You don’t know why. Probably the whole being a fisherman thing.
> Or many the salt and pepper beard you have.
> Lord Thundering Jaysis, you ain’t getting any younger.
> You idly wonder if it’s almost time to retire. You’ve been at this thirty something years.
> Or thirty five.
> Or…twenty eight?
> Doesn’t matter.
> This morning is a little foggy, had a wee bit of rain last night.
> Red Sky at night, a Sailor’s delight and all that.
> So, you get your various bits of crap together- nets, lobster cages, all that assorted shit.
> It’s nice a quiet today. Really peaceful.
> You’re about to climb into your boat when you hear something…
> *thump*
>…what’s that?
> *thump*…*thump*…*thump*
> A very quiet, rhythmic thumping sound. Like a children’s drum.
> You gaze out into the water.
> Is it your boat? Is it thumping up against the dock?
> Then you hear something else. A little voice. High pitched. Like a child.
> Okay. This is fucking spooky.
>…”paddwe hawdew!”
> Thumping gets louder, and you think you can hear splashing.
> Yes, that’s splashing.
> No, it’s rowing. Like little oars.
> Suddenly from out of the fogs comes what looks like a small boat.
>…are kids having an outing or something? Strange time of year to be doing that, summer’s long fucking over, boy.
> As it gets closer, you realize it has a funny shape.
> Your heart skips a beat when you see that the bow is a stylized dragon’s head.
> A Longboat. A fucking Viking Longboat. What the hell, son?
> What’s even more bizarre is its crew: about twelve of those fucking fluffy horse things. All different colour, rowing through the water with wooden spoons. One at the very back of the boat is playing a Pringles short-stack can like a drum.
> They’re dressed up weirdly too: they have what looks like kitchen implements garbed around them- one has a funnel for a helmet, the other what looks like a spaghetti strainer. One has a tuna can with two twigs sticking out either end like stag horns.
> One or two of them seem to have bits of cloth about their bodies.
> You remember the weird TV program you saw once that showcased these critters- they’re called ‘Fluffy Ponies’. There are three types: Earth, which look like regular horses (to an extent), Pegagsus and Unicorn. They’re all the colours of the rainbow and apparently were all the rage in America.
> You also remember that they drown easily. Which makes this situation even more bizarre.
> Newfoundland had Viking settlers in its history. It seems as if they’ve returned.
> Albeit, in multi-coluored horse form. Without real weapons. And much stupider.
> Viking Fluffies. Lord Jaysis, you’ve never seen such a sight!
> This must be a once in a life time opportunity!
> The fish can wait, you’re going to follow them!
> You take the lobster cages with you, however…
> Cute little buggers might be worth some money.
> Or maybe you’ll keep them. Your granddaughter might like one!
> “How much wongew, Ewic!?” one of the rowing fluffies says to their leader, a red earth pony standing near the bow.
> “awmost dewe! Ewic see wand! Pwaise da aww-daddeh!”
> And their leader is Eric the Red.
> So, you set out in your boat, and follow them at a distance.

> “dewe it is, bwuvas! Bewwywand!”
> After a little under ten minutes of rowing, the wee buggers sight land.
> ‘Berryland’ instead of ‘Vinland’.
> His companions cheer and babble.
> They get closer to land, and Eric cries out “Othew fwuffies! Dummy fwuffies!” and points his little hoof towards the shore.
> Sure enough, there are fluffies on the little island. They all begin screaming, babbling and running around.
> Even in fluffy form, Vikings inspire dread in their enemies, it seems.
> As you watch the scene, it dawns on you that they’re heading to a small peninsula where there are berry bushes. You took your granddaughter there a few times. Nice little place, really peaceful.
> You had no idea there were fluffies around Newfoundland, though.
> The Viking fluffies find a place to beach their longboat. They grab their weapons: forks and wooden spoons, holding them in their mouths. Eric shouts “Time fow waiding! Vawhawwa’s gwowy!” before picking up what looks like a plastic spork and rushing into the panicing fluffies.
> “Nuuu! Da Nowsefwuffs!”
> Eric and his band starting swatting and poking the other fluffies with their silly weapons. You laugh for a little while, until you see a little bit of blood.
> Not much, but it’s a little shocking. You guess one of the fluffies got stuck with the fork.
> The other fluffies scatter, and the small ‘Norsefluff’ band cheers again.
> “Da day is ouws!” Eric shouts.
> The band goes about eating berries from bushes, laughing, tumbling around and having a good old time, it looks like.
> “dis guud day! Bwing da mead!”
> The band waddles back to their Longboat. They take from down inside the hull a bunch of mult-coloured plastic cups, as well as a few dixie cups and what looks to be a plastic tea cup from some little girl’s playset.
> Then six of them, with great effort, remove a small wooden keg from the boat.
> Eric jumps up on the bow.
> “Today we take bewwywand! Soon we take skettiwand!”
> There is another cheer as a unicorn rushes into the keg and opens up a whole. Yellow liquid gushes forth, and all the fluffies, Eric including, all fill up their vessels and drink deep.
> Fluffy Vikings drown in mead.
>…well, Jaysis.
> That’s anticlimactic, and a little sad. You were just starting to like the wee buggers.
> You row your boat to the coast, tie it to a tree and disembark.
> You pick up the miniature keg and take a sniff. Smells sweet.
> You then take a swig. Huh, it really is mead! Thank Christ!
> You look at the Viking fluffies, all lying still. Each face a mask of joy and contentment, eyes closed as if sleeping.
> So, you do the only thing you can think of.
> Drink more of the mead, put all the Viking fluffies into their Longboat with their ‘gear’, cover them with a ratty old coat and, with the help of some twigs, Old Man’s Beard, and your lighter, give them a Viking funeral.
> You push the miniature Longboat out into the water.
> You get into your own boat and begin the short trip back home.
> As you row away from the peninsula, having finished the mead and feeling a slight buzz, you have a thought.
> Maybe you should catch one of those fluffy ponies later on and give it to your granddaughter. She’d like that, you think.
> You gaze into the distance at the miniature Longboat, now engulfed in orange flame and smile.
> You hope they find their way to Fluffy Valhalla.