WHAT IT IS - Anon

Written by a kind Anon, hosted here for future generations of Fluffy Readers

>You're a good little brown fluffy pony foal, and your name is Chewie - "Like from Star Wars," daddy has explained, though that means nothing to you.
>Daddy takes good care of you, even if sometimes he gives you food that's not as good as candies and sketties.
>He plays ball with you, and cleans you when you're dirty.
>Sometimes he even takes you outside - but mostly you're in the house, and then almost always in the safe room.
>That's okay, because there are things in the safe room, and they are your things, your very own!
>It's only sad when daddy's not there to play with you using your things.
>Still, you're good at waiting for Daddy.
>The first thing daddy does when he comes home is play a game with you, so you spend time guessing what game it will be.
>Today you guessed ball.
>Now comes the suspense.
>You hear Daddy before you see him - the car in the driveway, and the door, and the footsteps in the house.
>You almost make pee, you're so excited!
>Daddy is talking.
>You didn't expect it, but there's someone with him - another voice!
>That daddy is always surprising you.
>You guessed ball, but you would never have guessed ball with three friends!
>Your daddy enters the room.
>The man with him is a lot like daddy, but with a different color mane, and he pets you and gives you a fluffy treat to make friends.
>You know it probably really came from daddy, but it was still nice of the man to hand it to you.
>"Fluffy, this is Kev. Kev is my old friend - he has lots of fluffies at his house."
>This idea excites you.

>Sometimes you go to the play-park with daddy and meet other fluffies.
>They give good huggies and are nice, but you don't encounter them anywhere other than the park
>"Keb bwing fwuffies?"
>"I didn't bring any of my fluffies, no," says the man.
>He doesn't understand, you weren't asking about NOW. "Keb bwing fwuffies, fwuffies wiv in Chewie safe woom."
>Daddy and his friend laugh.
>"You sure you don't want to move in with THEM?" Kev asks.
>The idea alarms you. "Dis Chewie safe woom! Chewie wiv heah!"
>You're surprised how much the thought of not living in the safe room concerns you.
>But, the safe room is in daddy's house, daddy put you in it and daddy visits you here, and therefore it is the best place to be.
>"By the way, why'd you name a girl fluffy 'Chewie?'"
>"I, uh, didn't know she was a girl for a while after I got her. Didn't peek under the fluff."
>"You can't even see those bits until they're a little older, they aren't developed. It's easier to check how curly the eyelashes are."
>"I... didn't know that."
>"Well, nice digs and all," Kev is saying to daddy, "But you need to get her a friend if you're going to go to work for like eight hours. It's the only way to keep them happy - even if it's just someone to hug while there aren't any people around, it works wonders. Increases their lifespans, and it's actually less work for you even though it seems like it would be more."
>You walk your hooves in a circle.
>Listening to talking is not as fun as playing.

>"You sure know a lot about fluffies, dude," Daddy says.
>"Daddeh know fwuffy too!" you point out, not wanting Kev to think he is better than your daddy.
>Daddy knows you, after all, and you are a fluffy.
>"Well, I've had 'em for a long time. There are a bunch of constants like that, all the things that are just programmed in. Even their basic speech."
>"I've always wondered about that. They all seem to know the same basic things when they're young."
>Kev nods. "Oh, sure. They have a working vocabulary from right after they're born, with all the things they were designed to care about focused on - 'nummies,' 'pway,' 'fwend,' 'huggies,' 'bebbehs...'"
>You look around in some excitement, swishing your tail. "Bebbehs? Wheah?" Babies need love from all the fluffies - you know that without ever having seen one.
>Daddy pets you. "Not here, Chewie."
>"Like that, see?" Kev goes on. "They have those trigger words and concepts, simple stuff to help an owner get through to them. They all make them feel certain things to cause the right behaviors."
>"No shit?"
>"Try asking Chewie about any of the basic things, they have... well, I guess there's no word for it other than 'emotions' about them. You might learn something about her."
>Daddy shrugs at his friend and then says to you, "Chewie, what is 'play?'"
>Instantly you smile. "Pway is games! Pway is togevew wif fwends! Fun games, good fow fwuffies!" You blink, then sheepishly add, "An' hoomans," not forgetting that people need to enjoy the games too.
>Daddy seems to consider this before asking, "What is 'nummies?'"

>You like daddy's silly game of asking about the simple things that just are - like everyone doesn't already know!
>It's good when he focuses on the important stuff.
>"Nummies is... foodies!"
>"Okay, but what are 'foodies?'"
>"Foodies is nummies!"
>"... what happens when you eat them?"
>You almost want to hug daddy, just to remind him of the sensation of comfort. You say through your smile, "Happy tummy!"
>"What happens if you don't eat nummies?"
>Your smile disappears from your face.
>For some reason, you suddenly feel agitated and hungry.
>You walk close and paw daddy's shoe. "Daddy... no gif nummies? Chewie wuv daddy!"
>Daddy just laughs and says "You trying to bribe me?"
>But then he gives you a fluffy treat, so everything is okay.
>That wasn't a good question, though.
>Daddy looks up at Kev. "So... they offer more affection to get food? That's manipulative, huh?"
>"They're engineered to make you love them, what do you expect?" Kev puts his hands together. "Do another one."
>Daddy boops you on the nose like you like, then says "Chewie, what's a 'friend?'"
>You find yourself feeling a confusing mix of things.
>Security - or the desire for it.
>Comfort, the kind of wholeness that comes from not being alone, like you are sometimes in the safe room.
>The opportunity to be happy in the group, to be fed, to play, make the babies and give the huggies.
>All the things that make life good.
>"Fwend... shawing. Fwend fow shawing happy. Shawing... eveyting," you say with finality. "Hafta shawe."

>Daddy's lip seems to have quirked in a funny way that makes you giggle at him while he pets you.
>"They have to share because no one wants a pet that doesn't play well with others," notes Kev. "Anyway, you get the idea, it's fun to ask the fluffies questions, man. So, want to see something cool?"
>Daddy sounds a little distant when he says, "Yeah, sure."
>Kev kneels down, patting your mane.
>You've decided Kev is okay, and if he wants to play the question game too you won't be mad.
>Kev tilts his head, looks you dead in the eyes, and says "What is love?"

>Your heart soars at the very thought.
>What an easy question, you're the best at this game!
>It feels like it's already on the tip of your tongue, to say what love is.
>It's that good feeling, the happy feeling that COMES from friends - like a belly full of spaghetti and a soft hug and a pretty smell all at once, and you carry it around with you.
>Love is what you have for sunny-shine and bebbehs and fwend, and all good things.
>But instead you find yourself saying, quite against your intentions, "Bebbeh, don' huwt me. Don' huwt me. No 'mo."
>There is total silence.

>Then, both of the hoomans break out laughing.
>"Why does... since when... HOW?" Daddy gasps between his laughs.
>You're happy that he's enjoying himself, but you don't understand why you said that.
>While you try to puzzle it out, Daddy's friend chuckles, "It's an easter egg. Something they probably left in from beta stage in the factory - when you ask that question, it's what they say. Some internet geek biologist, I guess. Go on, try it."
>Daddy sighs and says, "What is love?"
>Again, without meaning to or knowing where the words come from, you only say "Bebbeh, don' huwt me. Don' huwt me. No 'mo."
>The desire to say it is gone as soon as it's come, with no explanation - daddy does it a couple of more times, and it starts to bother you a little.
>Strangely, it looks like it's starting to bother daddy, too.
>His lips are frowny, you hate to see him like that.
>"What's wrong man?" Kev asks him, confirming your thought that Kev is a good hooman, because caring about Daddy is good.
>"It's just... this ain't cool with me, dude. All these things they do that we like, they're just tricks, aren't they? Biological imperatives, designed to keep them alive and make them good pets. They don't even really... have real feelings."
>Kev doesn't say anything to help daddy for a moment, and you're not even sure what he's talking about with all those words at once.
>Then, to your shock and amazement, Kev's arm shoots out, and he grabs daddy's shirt at the collar, pushing him against the wall!
>"H-hey!" Daddy stammers, nearly falling over.

>You aren't fast enough to stop Kev, of course, but your feet begin motoring the second you see all this happen.
>Mouth wide open, you run into Kev's pant leg and clamp down as hard as you can, shaking your teeth around the fabric and letting out a muffled battlecry of, "Dn't hwwt mh' d'deh!"
>Kev straightens up and lets go of Daddy immediately.
>Daddy wipes his shirt flat, saying "What the hell was that, dude?"
>You back off and position yourself between this mean man and Daddy, protecting him in case of another attack.
>Kev wasn't a good hooman at all, he was a bad hooman disguised as a friend, it's almost inconceivable!
>"Sorry," Kev says, puttin up his hands in a gesture of peace that you don't trust for a second, "But I'm trying to prove a point. See how your face is red?"
>"No I don't fucking see! I can't see my own face, man!"
>"Well, you feel it, then. And your heart is racing, and you kinda wanna deck me."
>"Uh, yeah!"
>"YEAH!" you agree with daddy, though you have no idea what 'deck' means in this context.
>Showing solidarity seems more important.
>"All of those are just biological imperatives, too. But they're pretty real to you, aren't they?"
>Daddy, previously tense, seems to relax a bit.
>You're not quite ready to do the same, deciding to set your back against Daddy's shoe to brace for any assault.
>"I... guess they are."
>"Doesn't matter if nature or some science put them in, that kinda stuff is the real deal, man. Besides which, think about this - no perfectly-engineered cutesy-ass pet would ever rush a human with its teeth like Chewie did just now. That was something from whatever they used to make fluffies that they didn't get rid of. That's nature."

>Daddy seems not to know what to say.
>You help. "Weave, meanie Kev! Chewie pwotect Daddy a'ways!"
>Gotta show your teeth for good measure, teeth are scary.
>"Well, I can see I'm not wanted here," says Kev jauntily. "I'm gonna go, see you in a few. But remember what I said about getting another fluffy pony."
>Your eyes (and teeth) follow Kev as he exits the room.
>Daddy, now that the danger has passed, gets huggies.
>He returns them.
>You have saved Daddy, and it is better than any treat or candies or sketties.
>A day passes.
>Today while waiting in the safe room for Daddy to come home from work, you guessed ball would be the game again.
>As long as that meanie bad hooman Kev doesn't come, of course.
>Daddy takes extra-long.
>The sunny-shine from your window goes away.
>You feel lonely, and start to worry - if you can't see Daddy, he might be anywhere.
>Or nowhere.
>You make some nervous pee-pee in the litter box, then curl up in your blankie and try not to cry.
>You have to be brave like you were with the meanie.
>You are asleep when daddy comes home.
>You're so tired that you're barely awake when he enters the safe room, and too groggy to jump up and meet him right away.
>His big nice hands come to the blanket, and you feel something settle next to you.
>Something fluffy and red, that smells pretty.

>It's a wingie-friend, and it is asleep, breathing steadily.
>Daddy puts his finger to his mouth in the sign that he makes when you have to be quiet.
>At first you almost can't, because you're so excited to have another fluffy here, with you, in the safe room.
>But you know that you shouldn't wake the sleepy fluffy right now if daddy doesn't want you to.
>Instead you flatten yourself against his shoe in the hardest hug your tiny body has ever given.
>In the morning you play and play.
>Even when daddy goes to work, you get to keep playing.
>It's amazing.
>Your new friend doesn't have a name yet, but he's very nice.
>He says Daddy got him from the "'doption centah,' which is a place with a lot of nice fluffies but no mommies or daddies."
>It sounds sad to you, but that doesn't matter because your friend is here.
>He doesn't have a name yet, but you teach him all your games, all the ones daddy has made up, all the ones you can play with your things - which you will be happy to share with him, because that's what friends are for.
>You even teach him the silly question game, which makes you both giggle at the obviousness of all the answers.
>Actually, you go so far as to start to like the fun of taking turns saying that one particular question to each other.
>Sometimes you manage to time it so that you ask each other simultaneously.
>"Wat is wuv?"
>And then both of you respond, not knowing why, "Bebbeh don' huwt me. Don' huwt me. No 'mo."
>And you, too, laugh uproariously.
THE END