Saturday Night is Game Night

>Your fluffy has been exceptionally well-behaved since the incident.
>She obediently eats everything she's given, and makes little to no noise.
>Well, you did cut out her tongue in a fit of pique, so that's not unexpected.
>It wasn't without its downsides, though.
>Without the tongue there to manipulate while she chews, you had to switch her to softer food.
>You learned this almost right away, when she choked on pony chow and you had to kick her in the stomach to dislodge it.
>"Howwa a-a!" she sputtered. "Pwaah nno huww fwuffa! Fwuffa oo fwuffa, fwuffa a foo-a!
>Fucking hell.
>Can barely understand her now.
>The meaning became clear when she tried to dive back into the food right away, shaking in panic.
>She was scared you'd punish her again for rejecting food.
>Whoops, another whole pony pellet stuck in the throat.
>You kicked her again, then picked up the bowl and the slobbery pellets.
>"Nnnoo! Fwuffa howwa! Nno haa foo-a!" she cried out, sobbing.
>You made do that day by adding water and mashing up the pellets with a hammer, creating a sloppy paste.

>Fuck that noise, though.
>Two days later you go to the store to switch her over to soft food.
>Or so you thought, before pricing some; that shit's fucking expensive.
>This means that she's actually getting pasta MORE often, since it's cheaper.
>The irony is not lost on you.
>Her eyes dance as you set the plate of pre-mushed noodles down in front of her.
>"Here you go, Helen Keller," you grouse.
>"Faann oo a-a!" she peals. "Wuh oo!"
>"Yeah yeah," you reply, "shut your shit up."
>She ravenously attacks the plate of red mush, gobbling down mouthful after mouthful...
>... but soon begins to slow down.
>Next she's taking small bites, considering each swallow carefully.
>"Hahha hayh funna," she says, looking at you.
>"What the fuck did you just say?"
>"Hahha hayh funna!" she repeats, insistently. "Hayh funna! Hayh funna!"
>She points at the food.
>"First of all, I can't understand you because you sound like fucking Helen Keller," you answer irately. "And second, that's spaghetti, the same shit you always ask for. Eat it."
>"Hayh funna..." she insists, pouting.
>"Not gonna eat it?" you ask, rattling the utensil drawer.
>Her eyes go wide with fear. "Howwa! Howwa!" she yelps, diving back into the food.
>She eats morosely, clearly not enjoying it.
>It hits you. She was trying to say it tastes funny.
>Well, of course it does with a missing tongue.
>Looks like irony levels remain stable for now.

>You leave her to eat and turn on your Xbox to wreck up some ancient Chinese cannon fodder.
>Nobody can stop Lu Bu.
>After about fifteen minutes she waddles over to you and nuzzles your leg, rubbing sauce on it.
>"Pwa?" she asks.
>"What?" you answer, completely engrossed in the game.
>"Pwa! Pwa!"
>"Fucking Helen Keller, I can't understand you. Shit! Worthless fucking AI generals!"
>She starts bawling, convinced that you're mad at her instead of stupid-ass Diaochan.
>You pause the game with a groan.
>"Stop crying! What do you want?"
>"Pwa!"
>"Pwa?" you repeat. "What are you, a Lilipea?"
>"Pwa! Pwa!" she sobs.
>You think about what you know of fluffy ponies.
>After all, they only understand like thirty words and six concepts.
>She just ate and it's not bedtime... must want to play.
>You lean over to pick her up... and notice the sauce all over your pants.

>"Fuck! You got marinara all over my leg!"
>She quails away from you.
>"Howwa a-a!"
>"You know you're not supposed to touch anything after spaghetti dinner until I wipe you off, you little dumbass. Now we have to play the sponge game."
>"Nnoo! Nno wa' pwa!" she whines. She fucking HATES the sponge game.
>"Too bad," you say flatly, grabbing her up by her legs.
>"Nnooo!" she squeals as you rub her fluffy sides up and down your pantleg, smearing marinara sauce into her.
>"Did you get some on the floor too?" you ask her.
>"Nno! Nno ehh foo-a onn fwooa!" she cries.
>"Sure. Let's go look. You remember the punishment for lying, right?"
>She resumes crying as you carry her back to the kitchen island.
>Of course, there's a healthy portion of sauce on the floor. She's never once managed to eat spaghetti without leaving some.
>"Uh-oh. Looks like you DID leave some on the floor. And you lied!"
>You rub the blubbering pony belly-up along the floor, wiping up the sauce with her back fluff.
>"Fwuffa ha' 'ame!" she wails.
>"Don't like it, Helen Keller?" you tease. "Well then, remember to ask me to wipe you off after spaghetti!"
>"Howwa! Nno mo' 'ame!"
>"You know the bath game comes after the sponge game," you admonish. "Otherwise we have to play the sponge game again and again, every night."
>The pony is crying quietly now, too disconsolate to say anything; you carry her to the sink and wash her off.
>She squirms and swats at you with her hooves when you try to wipe her face, and you have to hold her head still with your other hand.
>Just like always, though; her weak swats don't hurt and you're used to them.

>"Nno waa baf 'ame," she complains, rubbing her damp face with her hooves afterwards. "Wann pwa bwa'. Wann pwa baww."
>"Well you shouldn't have lied to me," you answer. "Now you have to play on your own. If you behave yourself I'll play with you tomorrow."
>Her eyes tear up. "Howwa... Hawahawa howwa..."
>What.
>You've worked out 'howwa' from context by now; it's 'sorry'.
>The fuck does 'hawahawa' mean?
>You set her down in her fenced play area and head back to your game, the word rattling around in the back of your consciousness.
>After a cesspool of a campaign which you only manage to turn around by virtue of your Lu Bu-ness, you switch off the game and head to bed.
>You pick your pony up; she's forgotten most of the details of the evening and is happy to see you again.
>"Hawwo!" she chirps, cuddling your arm as you carry her to the bedroom.
>"Hi," you reply, "time for bed."
>You set her down inside the safe closet.
>"Huh?" she asks, putting a hoof on your leg.
>"I said, time for bed."
>"Huh! Huh!" she insists.
>"What the fuck is so hard to understand? It. Is. Time. For. Bed."
>You turn to leave but she latches onto your shin.
>"Wann huh bafow bah! Wann huh!" she shrills.
>She wants a HUG.
>"... Fine."
>You pick her up and squeeze her gently as she nuzzles your chest.
>"Hawahawa wuv a-a," she mumbles into your shirt.
>There's that word again.
>"What the fuck is 'hawahawa'?"
>She cocks her head at you.
>"Hawahawa ih Hawahawa, a-a," she answers, smiling.
>She points at herself with a hoof.
>Oh, fuck it all.
>She thinks Helen Keller is her name now.
>Jesus Christ.
>"Hawahawa wuv a-a," she repeats as you set her down. "A-a wuv Hawahawa?"
>You sigh.
>"Yes, I love you too, Helen Keller. Go to sleep."