In Which Special Huggies Are Prevented.

FractalFluff, April 5, 2014; ??:?? / 20094
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In Which Special Huggies Are Prevented.


The brainstorming session was not going well.

You've been passing the prototypes from hand to hand around the table, futzing with the removable padding, clipping and unclipping the snaps, taking it on and off the plush toy pony that's serving as the model. The device isn't too complex: just an assembly of padded straps, really, all made from the kind of tough woven polymer fabric used for seatbelts or safety harnesses. The execution is sound, and as for the idea — well, it definitely fills a niche.

The question is, how do you sum it up in a catchy little title? Sure, its purpose is simple enough; but how do you convey that purpose nicely?

"Safer Hugs" was shot down in flames. So was "Filly's Friend"; since the product is aimed at adult fluffies of both genders, it was deemed too narrow in its focus and likely to mislead the public into thinking the device was only for immature females. "Foal Foiler" was likewise deemed too confusing. The "Poppa Stopper" met with some interest at first, but was rejected after a little further consideration threw up some Unfortunate Implications.

Eventually, after several hours, you find you've been circling one particular name like bath toys circling the plughole: the HugBlox Harness.

"Are we really going with that?" says Rhona, trying for catty but mostly sounding tired.

"Are we going with anything else?" asks Geoff, wearily. He tactfully doesn't mention that she's the one who suggested "The De-Foal-Iator".

You put it to a quick vote. HugBlox it is. You all head out for bad pizza and better, though ultimately regrettable, beer.


***

You're Geoff. As one of the product development team at a small third-party provider of aftermarket fluffy-pony accessories, and more specifically as the only one who can still stand to look at fluffies, much less own one, it has fallen to you to road test the HugBlox Harness. Or rather, it has fallen to Lilac.

"Wiwac nu wike dummeh stwappies," she fusses for the umpteenth time.

"Just stand still, Li," you tell her, trying to follow the diagram on the mockup packaging. This new prototype is more complicated than the original; you're not sure it's an improvement. "Wrap waist harness under abdomen and over back," you murmur. "Secure main unit, then draw tail between vertical straps and adjust sliding toggles to prevent... yeesh."

"Owwies! Taiwy owwies!"

"Sorry, Li, didn't mean to..." You're really going to have to talk to them about the spring-loaded slider-toggle things; they're bulky and it's too easy to snag fluff or tail hairs while you're adjusting them.

"Wiwac nu wike..."

"It's just for a little while.We can take it off now, but you'll have to wear it while you're in the park, okay?"

"Otay," says Lilac, miserably.

She fusses some more when you actually get to the park. When you take her out of her PoniPod stroller and start re-attaching the HugBlox, she begins making a high-pitched whining noise like a dying capacitor. She doesn't stop until you flick her muzzle and tell her you'll take her straight home if she can't be good.

"Otay... daddeh," she says.

"Now go and play with the other fluffies," you tell her.

 You feel a bit guilty as you watch your pony waddle over to a knot of gambolling fluffies, legs spread like a cartoon cowboy's, stopping every few steps to wiggle her butt in a vain attempt to stop the HugBlox from chafing various uncomfortably private bits of her anatomy. The idea was for her to give the device a full "test run"; that's why you brought her to the park with the most extensive fluffy run in the county.

Nearly a square quarter-mile in total, completely fenced in and with mesh overhead to keep off the birds, the run includes not just open areas with sandpits and fluffy-safe shrubs, but also dips into a wooded area with some nice mature trees. Here and there, small "hidey holes" have been dug (lined with sturdy plastic drums so that there's no danger of a collapse), and there are fluffy-sized play tunnels and Wendy houses set up in various places. All this adds up to a lot of privacy.

People who want to get their mares good and knocked up but don't want to traumatize their little angels through an artificial and regimented breeding process (or pay for a visit to a commercial stud) arrange "play dates" here with stallion owners. Just let them run off into the trees for a while and allow nature to take its course. Less predictable and no good for serious breeders, but fine for a bog-standard family pet.

Of course, there's usually a certain amount of enthusiastic verbal and physical interruption from people who don't want their mares good and knocked up, but who have not thought through the likely consequences of letting a wannabe dam have her baby-fits in an area full of convenient hiding places and all-too-obliging stallions.

Hence, HugBlox.

Lilac glances back at you, looking dejected and insecure. You wave encouragingly.

"Off you go, sweetie! Have fun!"

As you watch your disconsolate pastel-tinted John Wayne impersonator fidget off into the deciduous zone, though, you suspect that a full trial may not be on the cards. Her tail covers up most of the device from behind, but from the side she's a mass of straps. And walking that way, she's not exactly looking her most seductive — in fact, you see several fluffies stop .what they're doing to point and laugh. Regardless of their physical effectiveness, HugBlox may be successful at preventing special huggies in the same way as saddle shoes, coke-bottle glasses and bowlcuts.

No... no... looks like she is getting some attention after all. A large red-fluffed individual has wandered over and started to make her aquaintance.

"Good luck with that, buddy," you mutter. You identify a convenient bench about as far from any likely action as possible, and sit down to read your tablet.

***

You're Lilac, and you're most uncomfortable. The meany strappies pinch and tug on your fluff and make walking not-fun. They make a bunchy feeling between your leggies that you really don't like. And other fluffies were meanies, and laughed at you.

Now there's a big red fluffy who wants to play with you. You thought he was nice at first, but he seems to want you to go a long way from Daddy. You don't want to lose your Daddy. You love him very much, even if he put meany strappies on you. He was probably trying to be nice, really. He said the strappies would stop meanie boy fluffies from giving you owwies, and that's nice, even if the strappies aren't fun.

But now the big red fluffy is pushing you! You don't like this at all. He's pushing you down behind a fally-over tree; Daddy and the other grownup humans won't be able to see you! Daddy's going to lose you for sure! You start to huuhuu for your Daddy, but the bad red fluffy bites your ear and tells you to be quiet and calls you a dummy! You don't even dare to shout for helpies. You huuhuu very quietly, and ask the strappies to help you. But you can only whisper, and they don't hear you properly. They must not, because they don't help.

Now the bad red fluffy had got behind you and he's playing some kind of horrible jumpy game. You don't want a big fluffy jumping on you. This is awful!

"Wift taiw, dummeh," says the fluffy. Dribbling tears, you lift your tail like you're making poopies. (Oh no... you hope you don't need to make poopies anytime soon! You can't take the strappies off without Daddy!) As soon as you lift, the bad red fluffy jumps on you again.

"Wut dis?" he demands, wriggling about. "Wat wong wif yu speshuh pwace, dummeh? Wet Smawty gif speshuh huggies!" He's wriggling against you and kicking you with his front hoofsies and your peepers are making more and more saddie wawa because you don't know what's going on but it's all wrong and horrible...

"Dis speshuh pwace..?" mumbles the stallion to himself. "Nu feew wite... mawe gut dummeh speshuh pwace. Gonna gif speshuh huggies anyway! Enfenfenf!"

You don't like the mean smelly stallion. You don't like being losted from Daddy. And you especially don't like this jumpy-speshuh-pwace-enfenf game that he's playing. You put your head way down between your forelegs and whisper to the strappies: "pwease stwappie-fwends, meanie fwuffy huwtin Wiwac! Stwappie-fwens saf Wiwac! Pweasy-pwease, nu wike dis game! Nu wan jumpies game wif meanie! Wan Daddeh!"

"Enfenfenfenfeewweiwdenfenfenf —YEEEEEEEEEEE!"

The strappies must have heard you this time, because the red fluffy suddenly stops playing the enfy-jumpy game and stands very still. But he's screaming now and still standing with his front-leggies and most of his front half on your back. You try to run away from the screamies, but the bad fluffy won't let go! He's coming with you, still screaming YEEEEE YEEE YEEEEEE! You waddle down the path as fast as you can anyway, huuhuuing till you think your poor chestie will go pop, and finally you are out of the woods. And there, on a bench, is Daddy!

With a sudden access of energy, you quicken your waddle. The bad fluffy must be scared of Daddy, because he decides to stop following you. You feel a sort of rippy-feeling from somewhere around your nethers, but you don't worry too much about that — what's a little tail-fluff, or whatever, after all the scary things that have happened today? Glancing back, you see that the bad fluffy is lying down; he curls up on his side and — this is very confusing — clutches his special place as if he's trying to hug it?

You ignore him and keep running as fast as your stubby leggies can carry you. Heedless of the pinchies and the bunchy feeling, you run towards your Daddy. "Daddeh!" you sob. "Daddeh! Saf Wiwac! Saf Wiwac, Daddeh!"

"Aww, what's wrong, Li?" sighs Daddy, sounding a little cross that you're back so soon. Sobbing, you explain: "Meanie... bad fwuffy... gif pushies... and Wiwac nu wan... an bities on eawsie... an jumpies... an nu wike... an him gu enf-enf... den Wiwac wun way... an... an... an... an WiwacwannaguHOOOOOWME!"

Feeling that you've covered all the salient points, you stop talking and begin making loud saddies instead. You don't let Daddy take the strappies off before he puts you in the PoniPod and wheels you back to the car park. You don't even let him take them off when he puts your pod in the vroom-vroom friend and straps you in with even more strappies. You wear your strappies and hug your tail and suck your hoofsie all the way home. Not until you're safely inside the house do you let Daddy unclip the strappies and take them off you. You bolt for your litterbox, not a moment too soon.

You're dimly aware of Daddy looking at the strappies. "Is that blood? You're not hurt, are you, Li? Didn't see any cuts... hard to tell with all that fluff... damn, this toggle's broken already... Wait, is there something stuck in... what... that's not... is that... OH SHIT!"

Daddy runs out of the saferoom, clutching the strappies. You watch him unhappily from your litterbox. Why did he take your strappies? They're pinchy and bunchy, but they're your friends. They saved you from the mean fluffy and helped you find Daddy. First he made you wear them when you didn't want to — and now you like them, he's taken them away!

***

You're Geoff, and you're outlining a doozy of a design flaw in the new prototype.

"Well, folks, the good news is that our concept is essentially sound. The HugBlox harness can successfully prevent special huggies when worn by a mare."

Cheers all round.

"The bad news is, we seriously need an alternative to those spring-loaded sliding toggle things."

"Why? Aren't they secure enough?" asks Jeremy.

"I think I can safely say that they're plen-tee secure," you reply fervently.

"Then why do you want them changed?" demands Rhona.

"Because my fluffy came home with a stallion's junk stuck in her belt, is why."

"...Ah."

"Minus the stallion."

"...Oh."

There's a long, uncomfortable pause.

"Maybe... Velcro?" suggests Phil.

"Yeah," agrees everyone. "Velcro..."

***