Special Babies - 1

FractalFluff, January 28, 2014; 18:40 / FB 17070
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(Neutralbox. All abuse implied or purely psychological. All affection and nurturing perfunctory or self-serving. Contains 2000% of the recommended level of probably going to end up annoying everyone. Keep arms and hands inside the car at all times.)

SPECIAL BABIES

>Be a first-time fluffy owner.

>Just-weaned little pegasus filly

>Fluff a faded-looking greyish-blue; mane and tail a darker shade of the same colour, but still soft and washed out.

>Call her Denim.

>You have some vague ambitions to breed from her

>You've read that faint-looking colours can get more intense as the pony gets older, even giving way to new shades.

>If anything, hers get more washed-out.

>She's a small, chubby foal with stubby limbs, and grows slowly

>You entertain the hope that she might be from one of those "teacup" or "toy" strains. They're very popular.

>But a growth spurt evens everything out, from round belly to stumpy legs.

>Average colours. Average configuration.

>Not ugly, but not particularly outstanding either.

>Cute, but no unusual markings or marketable features.

>She's not unintelligent (not by fluffy standards):

>Litterbox-trained inside the first couple of days

>Learns the house rules fairly quickly.

>Maybe she's a little more educable than the average?

>Might be worth trying to spark something in her little fluffy brain.

>Foals from a fluffy that reads or counts might appeal to some.

***

>You get her a few cheap "educational" fluffy toys

>Talking alphabet and numeral blocks that say their letters or numbers out loud when tipped over

>A "puzzle" with differently-shaped pegs that have to go in the right holes

>Of course, that fucking talks too.

>One of those interactive storybooks (really just obsolete e-readers with an extra-rugged casing).

>She plays with them incessantly.

>Fairly democratic with the blocks

>But the storybook is pointless.

>She just replays the same page of of "Felica Fluffy's New Daddy" again and again.

>You get sick of hearing "C! C is for cat!" and "Triangle! Well done!" drifting out from the saferoom

>But not as sick as you get of hearing: "Felicia Fluffy was finally home. She gave her new daddy the biggest hug, and they laughed and played till bedtime!" a dozen times a day.

>But after a couple of weeks, you ask her what she's learned and she just says "Huh?"

>Line up the C, A, and T blocks.

>"What does that spell, Denim?"

>"Huh?"

>"See those blocks? What do they say?"

>"Demmin knoh! Dem sayin See, Ay, Tee!"

>So that was a waste of money.

>When she goes to sleep you take all the batteries out of her blocks

>Disable the speaker on the tablet.

>She whines, of course.

>"Daddah? Why bwocky-fwends nu mowe tawk tu Fwuffy?"

>"Your blocks are... ummm... your blockies are sleeping, Denim. You need to play quietly so they don't wake up and cry."

>"How time tiww bwocky-fwends wate up?"

>"Oh, could be a long time. You know the blocks our house is made from?"

>"Yeh?"

>"They've been asleep for the whole time we've lived here!"

>"Demmin... Demmin miss bwocky-fwends... Wike wen dey tawk..."

>That fuss is nothing to the scene when she finds out her book doesn't talk anymore.

>"Daddah! Daddah! Bookie-fwend nu tawk tu Fwuffy!" Her face is wet with tears.

>"It's okay, Denim. Look, your book still works. You can still look at all the pictures.

>"Bu' Daddah, Demmin nee' dah wowdies! Demmin nee' heaw dah stowy!"

>"Denim, you've heard that story a thousand times. You ought to know it off by heart by now."

>"Bu, bu, wen Daddah gon wowkies an Demmin saddie-wone, bookie-fwen say dah Daddah-stowy, make nu be saddies! Pweeze, Daddy, pweeze teww bookie-fwend say dah stowy 'gain!"

>"Just look at the pictures, okay, Denim? Daddy's busy."

>But she can't get it through her head. Talks to the reader, pleads with it, gives it huggies to make it work again. Eventually she destroys it completely by trying to give it a drink of water.

>After a while, you notice that her blocks are all covered in dust.

>You assume she must finally have outgrown all that junk.

>Next time she's watching TV, you clean out her saferoom

>Box up the untouched toys and the ruined e-reader, write "Free Stuff" on the carton, carry it to the kerb.

>Your neighbour, Larry, catches you

>He's just bought a lively little unicorn colt

>Nice temprament, but needs a lot of stimulation.

>Asks if he can take the toys off your hands.

>You hand the box over with a warning never to put in the batteries.

>"Whewe bwocky-fwends?" she asks when send her back to her room.

>"Denim, you hadn't played with them in a month.

>"I got rid of them."

>"Bu Daaaaaddiiie! Fwuffy jus' waitin fow bwocky fwends tu wake up! Fwuffy wuv bwocky-fweeends!" she howls.

>"If you don't stop that racket, you'll lose the rest of your toys. Go to your room and don't come out until you can behave."

***

>Figure you might get another fluffy or two eventually

>But you're not in a hurry to fill your house with the things

>And you certainly don't want to deal with a litter of Denim's babies.

>There's nothing in her makeup that says "bankable genetics."

>Crossed off breeding, looks, and now smarts.

>She's a nice enough pony, but there's nothing special enough about her to offset the irritaion of having a bunch of foals running around.

>So you get her spayed.

>Put her in her carrier. She asks where you're going.

>You tell her you're going to the Park.

>Haven't taken her there since she was four months old.

>Too many 'entire' stallions running around.

>"Yaaayy! Pawk! Fwuffy wuv Pawk!"

>Cries when she finds out you've brought her to the vet.

>"The nice vet has to fix your tummy."

>"Tummy bwoken?"

>"You'll be able play in the park as much as you want, and never have to worry about any bad fluffies or stinking little runts. Sound good?"

>"Go Pawk wenefah wan? Fankoo, Daddeh!"

>The first time she asks to go to the park and you say no, she bursts into tears.

>"Buh... buh Daddeh said, if vet fix tummeh, Fwuffy gu Pawk whenefew wan..."

>"Jesus, Denim, is your head full of fluff too?

>"I said you could play in the park without worrying about bad fluffies.

>"You know Daddy can't just drop everything and run you to the park anytime you feel like it."

>"Buh... buh... Fwuffy wuv Pawk..."

>"Yeah? Well if you ask me again, I'll take you to the park and leave you there to live with the ferals. How's that sound?"

>She hugs your leg.

>"Huuhuuhuu... pweeze nu wiv wif fewwuws... wuv Daddeh... nu wan meanie fewwuws..."

>"Then stop bugging me and go to your room."

>You've heard that mares can get a little baby-mad once they mature

>But you figure it's a lot of talk.

>Probably just overindulged fluffies, or the stories are exaggerated.

>You let her watch Babies.

>You let her play with fluffies who've got foals.

>Apart from her occasional sulks, she's reasonably well behaved.

>You discipline consistantly, and don't spoil her.

>She's used to being told "no".

>If she starts fussing about becoming a mother, you figure that you'll just tell her she can't have babies.

>Even if she doesn't understand right away, she'll eventually have heard it enough to get used to the idea.

***

>Not so much.

>You don't get the kind of stuff the reality shows warn you about.

>"...manages to lock herself in the bathroom and smears feces everywhere..."

>"...can't let her out of her dog-crate anymore. She just destroys everything within reach..."

>"...started biting me every time I come near her..."

>"...have to squeeze her out twice daily and keep her in diapers because she shits everywhere..."

>"...Screaming. Just constant screaming. Morning, noon and night..."

>Denim is different.

>No begging

>No screaming

>No pleading

>No threatening.

>You don't have to weather shit-strikes or deliberate vandalism

>She doesn't insult you or give you the silent treatment.

>She's as pleasant as ever.

>Just asks, very politely, if she can have babies yet.

>Almost every day.

>At least three of four times a week.

>Each time, you tell her, "No, Denim, you just can't have babies. Okay? It's not possible. I took you to the vet to get you fixed, remember? That's why you have that little scar on your tummy."

>Each time, she says, "Otay, daddeh," and moves on to something else.

.>Only to ask again later.

>Keep telling her no

>Keep reminding her that you had her fixed

>Keep telling her it's not possible for her to have babies.

>She won't listen.

>Week after week after week, it's the same thing:

>"How time tiww baybehs, Daddeh?"

>Never asks twice on the same day, never presses the issue once you refuse

>Never lets up.

>Eventually you've had enough.

>One evening you just say, "Sure. You can have babies."

>You'll give her babies.

>You'll give her all the damn babies she can handle, and then some.

***

>You were tempted to lock her up with a feral or two, but you have standards.

>Have her mated with Duke instead. He's now a full-grown stallion.

>Fixed, just like her.

>Start feeding her a little laced chow: "Dream Mummah Fluffy Nummies."

>Packed with vitamins, minerals, artificial flavourings and synthetic hormones.

>Smaller doses produce pregnancy symptoms ("Demmin get funny-tummeh feew, Daddeh! Gonna be Mummah!")

>Lactation when you give her the full whack.

>Not effective enough to rely on if she was going to be nursing a litter of foals

>But sufficient for your purposes.

>There are all kinds of fake-pregnancy gimmicks these days.

>Including some jollop you can feed her that will trigger contractions.

>Comes with a spray bottle of simulated birthing fluids: sticky, musty-smelling gunk and a fake blood capsule.

>Supposed to break the capsule into the gunk, then squirt it on her butt and all over "her" babies for her to lick off.

>Even fools mares who've had several litters.

>Mostly for helping persuading a mare to accept strange or rejected foals

>Or as a warm-up for hiving her one of those creepy talking baby simulators.

>You have other ideas.

***

>Comes the day...

>You feed her the fake-birth stuff, then dope her up but good with codeine and hayfever medicine.

>Set everything up while she's asleep.

>Apply the gunk as directed.

>Comes around a little when the contractions start.

>"Dah'heee? D'mmin tummeh huuuuwt..." she slurs, eyes rolling in her head.

>"Your babies are coming, hon. You're fine."

>"Pooh'hies comin... Dah'hee... nuh wa' ma' ba' poohh...ies... inna behd... guh way, poohiies... Owwwwwies... Dahheeeee..."

>"It's okay, Denim. It's just your foals coming. Your babies."

>"Bahy...hee..?"

>"You wanted to have babies, remember? Well, here they come."

>She tries to sit up, but it's too much for her. She gives this little sigh and passes out again.

>Wakes up surrounded by foals.

>Foals, foals, foals.

>On her pillow, on her belly-fluff, nestling in her mane

>Every imaginable colour.

>Sticky with funky-smelling goop

>Wriggling, widdling, pooping, squeaking foals.

>At least, that's what she thinks they are.

>You bought a dozen, all in all. Picked up a few at a time from every pet shop in town.

>Gave them a tiny trace of the hayfever medicine you used on Denim

>Spent an evening dyeing them.

>Then gave them all a good rubdown with a neutralizer scent

>It's a kind that larger stores and breeding operations often use.

>They have to have a bunch of ponies crammed together

>They need something that stops the adults from freaking out about being in proximity to so many unfamiliar babies.

>Stops them killing each other's foals, but doesn't cause foalnapping.

>You don't want to make this too easy.
.
>"Daddeh! Whewe aww baybehs come fwom? Whewe dey mummahs?"

>"You're their mummy, silly," you tell her.

>"Aww babybehs Demmim's baybehs? Aww uf dem?" she squeals.

>"Yep, all Denim's babies! Now, remember how you promised Daddy you'd be a good mother? You've got to look after allll of these babies, every single one, or Daddy will be very disappointed."

>"Yes, Daddeh! Demmim be bestes mummah fow aww dah pwetty baybehs! Come tu Mummah, baybehs! Mummah got bigges huggies fow aww uf yu!"

>This isn't quite what you'd pictured.

>You'd imagined her overwhelmed, panicking, eventually resentful. Ignoring some of the less brilliantly-coloured foals at feeding times, maybe, or kicking some of the babies out of her nest for looking odd or smelling different.

>Instead, she seems thrilled with her huge erzatz litter. She's cooing and singing, carefully keeping track of where the "babies" are and whether they've fed.

>She never questions that they are her all her very own foals.

>Carefully hand-dyed,liberally sauced with phoney body fluids and seasoned with pheremones

>She dutifully tries to care for all of them.

>You figure there's no way it can last.

>For now, your twelve white mice convince her completely.

***