Fwuffy Wan Baybees NAO!

FractalFluff, January 31, 2014; 18:19 / FB 17209
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(Contains both hugboxery and abuse. You have been warned.)

Fwuffy Wan Baybees NAO!

"P'ease, Dadi, Betta haff baybees?

With a fond smile, Daddy reaches down to scratch her ears. "Aww. I'm sorry, Becca. It's just not a good time for babies right now. Maybe someday soon, okay?" He pats her striking white and pale-lilac mane where it flows down over the back of her neck.

Pettishly, she ducks his caress. "Bu' Dadi, Betta nee' haff baybees. Betta nee' haff baybees, nee' gif miwkies an wuv!" The newly ascended alicorn mare's brilliant sapphire eyes fill with tears, spilling over onto her soft brown fluff. "Betta be gud Mumma, Betta pwomise! Betta wuv aww baybees, wuv dem aww dah samies, and tawk tu baybees, an make shoowe dey be gud fwuffies. Betta teach baybees make gud poopies inna wittabawks, an —"

"Becca," says Daddy, a slightly sterner tone creeping into his gentle voice, "What did Daddy say about asking for things after Daddy's said no?"

"Buh — buh — Dadi did sai Betta couwd be fwuffy-mummah!" says the fluffy, almost frantically. "Dadi aweady p'omise dat Betta haff baybees. Nao Betta neeeee' haff baybees, Dadi, Betta NEEEE!" She places both forehoves on his knee, turning her face up to his beseechingly. "Betta gonna haff wowstest saddies if nu haff baybees, Dadi! P'ease, Dadi, Betta wan cwean baybees an gif huggies tu baybees an giff dem —"

"Becca!" says Daddy, his voice sharper. "That's not a good fluffy. That's not okay." She turns those tear-filled sapphires away from him and drops her hooves to the floor. He speaks calmly and lovingly, petting the fluff around her ears. "I told you, sweetie, now is a bad time for you to have your babies. Good fluffies don't beg. They wait till their Daddies are ready."

Becca puffs up her cheeks. "Betta nee haff baybes!" she demands. " 'Ou nu wub Betta! Wet Betta haff baybees, ow Betta gonna wun 'way an fine nicey nyu Dadi!"

"Now Becca, that's a very unkind thing to say to Daddy. I hope you're not going to be an ungrateful pony," says Daddy sadly. "Look at everything I do for you. I've given you a nice saferoom all of your own, I've bought lots of toys so Becca and Daddy can play together, and I make you lots of nice nummies to eat every day. I even buy you shiny-sparkly jewelry to wear so you can be the prettiest little fluffy. And I'm not even saying you can't have babies. All I'm asking you to do is wait for a little while. You don't want to be a bratty fluffy, do you?"

"Nu wan stupi Dadi toysies! Nu wan pway dumi games wiff stupi Dadi! Wan baybees! Wan giff dem huggies! Nee baybees for giff miwkies an wuv! Betta gun be bwatty! Betta be bwatty tiw get wat wan!"

"Well, Becca, I'm very disappointed indeed. I think maybe you should go to your room and think about what a bad fluffy you've been."

The mare walks slowly out of Daddy's kitchen office and waddles unhappily toward her saferoom "Meanie Dadi," she mutters under her breath. "Nu wike stupi toysies. Fine nyu Dadi, got bettaw toysies fow Mummah an Baybees..."

***

Becca's Daddy is disappointed with his young mare's attitude, but not entirely surprised. Since acquiring her, he's tended to indulger her a little too much. Toys, games, handmade accessories; he even created the pretty mosaic decorating the floor of the saferoom for her.

Standing up to stretch before he starts work again, he notices that one of the toys he bought is lying on the floor. And there, lying nearby it: two more of the dear little fluffy-sized accessories he's made for her. "Well, that won't do at all," he murmurs. "Good fluffies put their toys back in the toybox when they're done." They'd been having such fun playing with the toys earlier; dress-up and grooming games with fluffies are irresistably cute. Perhaps she'd be in a better mood later, and then they can play some more.

***

When she hears the sound of Daddy's fingers on the computer keyboard again, the mare knowns that he has turned away and isn't watching where she's going. She abruptly changes direction, heading for the front door and its pony flap. The flap is unlocked — Daddy probably thinks she won't go outside with her eyes like they are. But with no heitation, Becca shoulders through the door and out into the cold spring air.

"Betta be bwat if wan. Bwat bwat bwat. Betta wun way," she mutters as she picks her way very carefully down the porch stairs. "Betta wun way, fine nyu Dadi. Nu wan meany ow' dumi-Dadi. Betta fine nyu Dadi fow wet Betta haff hew baybees. Nu faiw, teww Betta dad Betta can be fwuffy-mummah, den nu wet haff baybees. Dumi ow' Dadi... meanie... huuhuuhuu... Betta wun way..."

She is weaving now, her steps getting more laboured. She doesn't normally have to walk this far. "Huuhuuhuuu... weggies p'ease hewpie Betta. Weggies take Betta faw way fwom dumi-Dadi. Huuhuuhuuu... nu wan stupi SAFEWOOM! Wan nyu Dadi... gif ... BESTES safewoom... fow... baybees! Nu... wan ... nu wan stupi SKETTIES... nu wan Dadi stupi TOYS... Nu wan wook pwetti fow Dadi! Jus wan baybees... jus wan haff baybees... huuhuuhuuhuu..."

Puffing out her cheeks, she scowls and redoubles her waddle, even though she's wheezing like a 20-year-old old pug. "Betta... wun... way... dumi... Betta... giff... Betta gon... gon... fine... nicey... nyu Dadi... fow... hhhh... Betta 'n... baybees..."

Suddenly her legs fold under her and she rolls to her side, gasping. Becca manages to right herself and move two small steps further. Everything is dark already, but the blackness becomes more complete as she falls again. Her fluff feels impossibly hot against her body.

Suddenly there's a shout, and running human-not-hooves are shaking the hard groundies a little under her fallen body.. "Hey, look, it's one of those fluffy ponies..! And there's something stuck to — Oh my GOD, what is that?

"What's it had done to it?"

"What's it got on its eyes?"

"What's happened to it's ears?

"Should we call the cops?"

"Fuck, no. Call that dude who delivers bath salts. He'll get here faster."

***

Done with his letter, Becca's Daddy stands and goes to retrieve the abandoned toys he noticed earlier. He picks up the scalpel from the floor, taking a moment to wipe the congealed blood from the blade, then scoops up the severed ears too and carries everything into the saferoom. In his hard shoes, he has little to fear from the curved chunks of smashed bottle glass and carefully angled ceramic tiles cemented around the door. The leathery hooves of an indoor fluffy are another matter.

The rag-strewn dog's bed is still stained brown and sepia from last night's games; an unfinished dish of special spaghetti lay on the floor nearby. "Belly sketties are the bestest sketties," he croons to himself..The provider of the Sketties, a large grey rat, lies on top of the saturated litter-box.

And there, standing by the bed like a tiny sentinal, is the most fun little toy of all! He picks up the miniscule vessel and watches the clear liquid slop around freely inside as he shake it. Grinning at the memory, he murmurs in a singsong voice: "Baby want ba-ba? Shall Daddy give the babies a nice ba-ba instead of boring old mumma milkies? Drinkie up, babies. Plenty in the ba-ba for all the pretty foals."

He's putting the toys away in a Tupperware box when he remembers that he sent Becca to her saferoom a short time ago. But she's not here now; where could she have wandered off to?

***

Nancy is gently pressing swabs soaked with mineral oil against the crap glued to the mare's face. Acetone would be faster, but they can't use it on her skin — certainly not near her eyes.

"...nu wan be pwetti... nu wan joo-y... wan... wun..."

Her eyelids have been glued at half-mast with what looks like cyanoacrylate, and then two large sparkling rhinestones have been stuck on top. She has a tiny sliver of vision along the bottom of the lids. More rhinestones have been glued here and there on her body. Her scalp has been pierced several times horizontally, and locks of artificial lilac hair have been dragged through the holes and knotted into her real mane. Her ears have been hacked off and replaced with scraps of stiff, glittery plastic. A surface piercing has be jammed in her forehead, in imitation of a horn; her wings are unbroken, but all the feathers have been ripped out and much larger wings ripped from some large model bird — a seagull, maybe? — have been stuck in place.

Worst of all...

Worst of all...

Don't think about it. Fix what you can fix.

Nancy is trying to steady her shaking hands as old Doc Novak proceeds with the operation. She watches the local anaesthetic go into the mare's body, bleakly relieved that at least the poor thing will get break from the pain she must be in. It meant losing precious seconds, but there was no way Doc would perform a Caesarean on this mare without it. She's too close to death as it is, and the foals are almost certainly a lost cause anyway. The contractions are long over, the amniotic fluid drained away. If they weren't crushed to death inside of her, slamming hopelessly against the closed mouth of her vagina as the contractions rippled through her, hey would have suffocated anyway.

The only baby who even came close to being born is the one whose blood-stained head protrudes from her plot. From the blood, it looks like the only reason he got that far is that he was a pointy; his tiny horn having somehow torn her tissues just enough to get his head through.

That was all. Her body couldn't push his shoulders past the blockage: a hard, painful plug of cyanoacrylate glue, closing off her birth canal and sealing her foals inside.

"Who would do this?" mutters Doc Novak. "Didn't the know she needed to have these babies?"

***