Losing Her Luster (2/3)

>It took her until evening to fully relax, but now Aura is playing with the toys you keep for your regular fluffies.
>Watching her amuse herself with the blocks is fascinating.
>”Bwockie go on bwockie!  Bwockie go high!  Bwockies!”
>Sure, you punished her for shitting on your kitchen floor.
>It didn't involve any physical blows, though.
>All it took was showing her and then calling the aluminum bat 'sorry stick'.
>She cowered in the corner behind the TV for hours.
>She would call out from behind it.
>”Pwease no sowwy stick!”
>You made no effort to actually strike her with it, of course.
>That bat, in your hands, would annihilate the little shit machine.
>Once Aura gathered the courage to come out, and you didn't hit her, she started to go about her fluffy business.
>With one important difference: before she did anything, she asked.
>”Auwa can go dere?”
>”Auwa can haf nappies?”
>”Auwa can go make goo' poopies?”
>Yes, she actually asked you for permission to shit in the litterbox.
>Like a regular fluffy, though, the happier she becomes, the worse her memory gets.
>”Bwockies!”
>She sits near the wall and makes a racket, clacking the plastic cubes together.
>You can hardly hear the TV.
>Instead of intervening right away, you wait to see if she'll realize her error.
>Ten minutes pass with no such luck.
>You grab the bat from beside you on the couch and start smacking it into your open palm.
>At first, the noise blends in with the clacking, but Aura stops once she hears it.
>”Wha dat...” she trails off in mid-inquiry, turning around.  “Nuuuuuuuu!  Auwa sowwy!”
“Why are ya sorry?”
>Her tears seem to interrupt themselves as she tries to think.  “No...no am suwe, bu' am vewy sowwy!”
>Cute.  She's apologizing for the sake of apologizing.
“Stop bein' so noisy with your blocks.”
>She tilts her head, taking a few seconds to process that.  “Auwa sowwy...”
>She resumes stacking her blocks, but is suddenly as quiet as a church mouse.
>”Bwockie go high...” she whispers.
>These things are obedient.  Too damn obedient.
>Let's see if she's still a picky eater.
“Ya hungry?”
>She puts the blocks aside and turns to you, nodding meekly.  “Gif nummies pwease?”
“Wait here.”
>You get up and go find the bag of fluffy chow, which is what all of your regular fluffies usually eat.
>After scrounging around for a dish and filling it, you bring it back and set it on the living room carpet.
“Try that.”
>Aura waddles over cautiously, taking a sniff at the pellets.  She eats one.
>”N-no wike dis nummies,” she whispers, glancing between you and the bat.
“Eat them anyway.”
>You expect a tantrum, but instead she dips her snout back into the bowl.
>”Auwa ea' yicky nummies, pwease no sowwy stick...”
>She cleans out the bowl and steps back, frowning and making faces.
>”Auwa do wha' say, am goo' fwuffy?”
“Yeah, good fluffy.”
>”Auwa can go pway bwockies?”
“Go ahead.”
>She does just that, waddling back to the blocks and stacking them – very quietly.
>After a few minutes of this, you get bored.  It's time for a little fun.
“Aura, come here.”
>She looks very nervous as she toddles over to your legs.
>”Auwa no wou'...pwease no sowwy stick...”
>You pick her up and set her in your lap.
>Pretty heavy for a fluffy pony.  She's trembling a little, too.
>Sarah said she couldn't have kids...
>Time to see just how emotional these things are.
“Aura, d'ya want babies some day?”
>Like almost every mare, she perks up at that word.
>”Auwa wan' babehs!  Wuv an' hug babehs, gif nummies an' wuv!”
“So, why don't ya have any babies?”
>She wilts suddenly, her lips in a deep frown.
>”Daddy say Auwa babeh pwace no wowk, no can haf babehs...”
>Then she perks up again.
>”Den daddy say if Auwa bes' fwuffy, maybe can haf babehs!  Babehs fo' goo' fwuffy!” she cheers lightly, doing a little jig in your lap.
>A smile creeps onto your face.
“But ya weren't the best fluffy.  Ya shit on my floor.”
>She begins to shake harder as she places her forelegs on your chest.
>”Bu' Auwa no mean to!  Auwa say vewy sowwy!”
“Best fluffies don't shit on their mommy's floors, Aura.”
>”Tiffn'y no say whewe make goo' poopies!”
“Then ya hold it until I do!”
>”Bu' no can do dat!  Poopies huwt!  Haffa make poopies o' tummy owwies!”
>You can actually carry on an argument with these things.
“That doesn't matter.  You'll never get babies now, since ya were a bad fluffy.”
>She begins to weep bitterly.  “No mean to!  Wan' babehs!  Auwa goo' fwuffy!”
“Too late now.”
>She collapses into your lap and sobs, her hooves covering her eyes.
>Her stubby little wings flap as she cries.
>”W-w-wan' babehs, wan' be mumma, Auwa goo' fwuffy, Auwa vewy sowwy...”
>You don't offer her any reassurances.
>Because of your silence, her sobbing gets worse.
>”Why Auwa no haf babehs?  Auwa a'ways twy be goo' fwuffy!  Auwa neva gif owwies!”
>You just sit there and smile with your hands at your side.
>”Auwa sowwy, babehs...”
>She's finally stopped sobbing, although she continues to sniffle as she stands up and looks at you.
>”Tiffn'y...Auwa sowwy be bad fwuffy...”
>You're about to say something, but can't before she continues.
>”Auwa...Auwa bad fwuffy.  Wan'...wan' sowwy stick.”
>You grin at her.
“Ya want the sorry stick?”
>”Auwa bad fwuffy, babehs no wuv Auwa.  Sowwy stick fo' bad fwuffy,” she says quietly, crawling off your lap.
>She grabs the knob of the bat and begins dragging it back toward you.
>It's a little too awkward for her to maneuver alone, but she manages to haul it far enough so that the handle is next to your left hand.
>”Hewe sowwy stick, pwease sowwy stick now.  Auwa bad fwuffy.”
>You pick up the bat.  She winces, but doesn't look away.
>She's whispering something that you can't hear.
>You raise the bat up.
>”Auwa sowwy, babehs...”
>And then you drop it beside you.
“You're not even worth the sorry stick, ya bad fluffy.”
>She stares at you and babbles inane nonsense, utterly stunned.