Dr. Stein’s Custom Fluffies (Challenge No.57 winner)

Vanner, June 30, 2014; 19:07 / FB 23287
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Challenge 57: Dr. Stein’s Custom Fluffies



>In all the years that fluffy ponies have been around, you’ve always taken what you could get and thought nothing of it.
>Your fluffies have run the gamut from bog standard earth fluffies to an exotic spider fluffy that you housed for the winter.
>Ah, little Charlotte. You can still remember those adorable fangs and how they injected liquefying venom into the foals she sustained herself on that winter.
>Still, you’ve always just kind of wanted something special; something that wasn’t just a regular fluffy or a variant species.
>You’re perusing the Fluff-TV forums reading through the “available” board.
>It’s your usual mishmash of free “get these fucking fluffies out of my home” and high priced “seventh generation Martini” fluffies with the trademark “Rape Stare.”
>As you gloss over an ad for waterhead fluffyshys, you finally reach an advertisement that piques your interest.
>”Fluffies Custom built to order. All breeds, genders, colors, and temperaments available. Delivery in two weeks.”
>>Now this promises to be interesting. How does one custom build a fluffy?
>It can’t possibly be a custom breeder, that’d take six weeks, and even then you can’t guarantee color and gender, to say nothing of temperament.
>Call up the breeder, and you’re greeted with a prerecorded message.
>”Dr. Steins Fluffy Vet Clinic welcomes you. If this is an emergency, put the remainder of your fluffy in a bag, and come directly to the hospital.”
>Heh, they really know their market.
>”If you’re calling about an appointment, please press one. If you’re calling about custom fluffy design, press two. If you’re calling about the class action laws…”
>You press two.
>Wait, what was that about a class action?
>The phone rings for a moment and you’re greeted by a plesant female voice on the other line.
>”Dr. Steins Custom Fluffies. How can we design your perfect pet?”
>”So, what kind of fluffy can I get?” you ask with a hint of doubt. “Anything I want?”
>”Certainly, sir!” she replies. “You can custom order anything from a brown earth fluffy smarty to an iridescent black Lunafluff.”
>It takes you a moment to put together what the hell she means by that, but you remember that Kids cartoon that kicked off fluffies so long ago.
>”So, I can order, say, a pure white alicorn fluff that never makes a peep?”
>”If that’s what you want,” she replies.
>”How about a pinto unicorn toughie friend?”
>”Anything you want, we can make,” she says. You can hear the smile in her voice, as if she’s got a yes answer to any question you might throw her way.
>This may be just what you’re looking for; a completely custom fluffy job.
>It’s halfway across the country, but you’re going to be in that city in two weeks anyway on business.
>”Alright, here’s what I want,” you begin. “First, it’s got to be an Alicorn. Second, it’s got to be smart. We’re talking genius level fluffy here. I want it to be male, and as far as color goes…”
>What’s a fluffy you’ve never had but always wanted?
>”Shimmering silver with violet eyes,” you say at last. “I always wanted a shimmering fluffy but I could never find one.”
>You hear keys clicking on the other end of the phone and the soft humming of a professional searching for an answer.
>”Got it,” she says after a moment of quiet humming. “Alright, looks like we’ve got the ability to make that fluffy.”
>”Now when you say make…”
>”Dr. Stein uses a customized and trademarked process for fluffy pony design,” she replies. “Your fluffy pony will come fully trained and ready to love for years to come.”
>Awesome.
>Crazy expensive, but awesome.
***
>There’s no such thing as an unwanted fluffy, you’ve always said.
>Each and every fluffy in your network of shelters serves a purpose, even if it’s just another body to simmer in the Fluffycide! vat.
>You are Dr. Francis Stein, legendary fluffy pony veterinarian, and designer.
>For years you’ve repaired beloved pets back to a state of functionality from near death, and it was last year that you realized you could do so much more.
>You see, fluffy pony parts are pretty much interchangeable.
>Organs and limbs transplant with a minimum of good surgical technique and the hyperactive regenerative systems of the fluffy take care of the rest.
>Their genetic similarity make transplantation so easy, a backyard abuser could do it, and often has.
>You can’t count the number of times you’ve seen a “baby legs” fluffy come into your clinic after some psycho sewed foals to its mother’s amputated hooves.
>Good idea or no, your custom fluffy business is taking the fluffy community by storm.
>So much so, you’ve had to keep contract with an alicorn breeder just to keep decent base stock.
>And of course your next order is no different.
>Some guy in Iowa wants the works. Alicorn, shimmering, clever.
>It’s not unexpected, but the iridescent ones are always such a pain in the ass.
>Iridescent fluffies are recessive and rare to boot, so you mostly only get iridescent earthies in stock.
>Luckily, you’ve got a breeder for them too.
>Here, dozens of alicorns play with balls, blocks, and crayons, and coming running up to you as soon as you enter.
>”Wuv Doctah stein!” the cheer, as you pass out treats to the waiting alicorns. “Wuv doctah stein so much!”
>”Fwuffies haf nu mummah ow daddeh?” one asks you.
>”That’s right, my little darlings,” you say. “One of you is going to a new home. Now which one is it going to be? I need a fluffy that’s smart. Who’s the smartest fluffy here?”
>The alicorns rush around, trying to show off just how clever they are; some with art or blocks, others with simple tricks like standing on their back hooves, or hiding under boxes.
>You select a rather ugly colored alicorn who’s managed to arrange magnetic numbers in order up to ten.
>”Bwanchie get nu home!” he giggles, as you put him into the kennel.
>The alicorn aren’t really sad that they didn’t get chosen, and instead wave to Branchy as you head out.
>”Bye bye bwanchie!” They call Bbe gud fow nu mummah an daddeh!”
>You set Branchy aside, and head into the smaller kennel with soft, but true white lighting.
>Dozens of cages line the walls, and in each is a single fluffy of various shades and hues.
>Each has a kibble dispenser, a water bottle, and a toy to play with.
>There’s nothing sharp or even remotely dangerous here, as one cut could ruin their shimmering, beautiful coats.
>As you come into the room, the constant babble of fluffies goes silent and they all back away from the doors of the cages.
>You hadn’t trained them to do this, but they quickly figured out that any fluffy who threw a fit when the got pulled from the cage got a serious whipping, then disappeared down to “da bad pwace.”
>It only takes a moment to find your fluffy, a stunning silver Pegasus who only bites his lip as you pull him from the cage.
>He’s barely holding back sobs as you place him in the kennel next to Branchy.
>”Nu fwiend haf pwettiest fwuff!” says Branchy as you head to “Da bad pwace”
>Now it’s time for eyes.
>You walk down the row of cages, your heels “click-click-clicking” across the tiled floor as fluffy ponies cry out in fear.
>It screams make you smile a little as the fluffies quail in terror from the sound of your shoes.
>You actually quite enjoy that they call you “Docta Munsta,” but you make sure to harshly punish any that does so in ear shot.
>After all, forbidden fruit tastes sweetest, even to a fluffy pony.
>Ah, there’s one in the back. Shimmering golden fluff, sparkling grey mane, and most importantly, violet eyes.
>She’s been here for months, though most of that time has been spent laying one her side and sobbing “wan die”
>Sadly, she’s not getting her wish today.
>You pick her up with no resistance as the rest of the basement cries out in terror.
>The carpet of mutlticolored fluffy that hangs paralyzed from the wall only tries to turn away as you prepr the donor for surgery.
>A sniff of ether, a few taps with the bone hammer, a bit of pulling, and voila! Two perfect violet eyes ready for transplant.
>Pack the empty sockets with dissolving gauze and then glue them shut to heal.
>You’ll probably be back later for her fluff, but you’re pretty sure she won’t care at that point.
>Eyes on ice, you head back upstairs to find your assistant taking Branchy into prep for his surgery.
>The other fluffy just trembles as you approach.
>”Fwuffy gon die?” he asks.
>”Fraid so,” you reply. “Are you going to fight me? Scream and cry and wail and make a mess of yourself?”
>”Fwuffy nu wan die,” he sobs softly. “Jus wan wuv nu mummah.”
>“At least parts of you will be loved,” you say, pressing the rag against his face. “It’s just bad luck that you’re a fluffy.”
>With a quick stick and a flick of the wrist, the fluffy’s hide comes off in a single velvety sheet of skin and fluff.
>It’s like taking a sweater off, really, except in this case the sweater is still alive for a few minutes.
>You pass them off to an assistant before going to work on the wings with a screwdriver and scalpel.
>It only takes you a moment before the wings squelch off the pegasus’s scapula like wet pop beads.
>The donor’s fading fast, but there aren’t any other surgeries scheduled for the enxt few days.
>Normally, you could keep a skinless fluffy alive for days in a heated kennel, but there’s no real need right now.
>Plenty of fluffies in the basement for that, and this one didn’t need to be made an example.
>You waltz over to the surgical area where Branchy is already asleep and under the careful eye of your assistant.
>”So do we need to reset this one after we’re done or just let him heal?” he asks.
>”No, Branchy will be happy to get out his ugly brown coat and into something more luxurious,” you reply.
>“But let’s get those eyes in his head before anything else. Hand me that melon baller, won’t you? And pop those wings off next; we need to get them in place before we put the pelt back on.”
***
>it’s been two weeks, but you’ve arrived at Dr. Stein’s Custom Fluffies.
>The wait’s been almost too much for you. Your very own bred to order custom fluffy.
>They must do some sort of accelerated cloning process to get them ready that fast, but who cares?
>Your heart leaps as your shimmering fluffy pony trots out of the back like a proud Arabian stallion.
>He’s everything you could have hoped for and he barrels into your waiting arms.
>”Nu daddeh!” he squeals. “Wuv nu daddeh! Bwanchy wan be bestest fwuffy fow nu daddeh!”
>”Well?” asks Doctor Stein. “What do you think?”
>”He’s perfect!” you reply. “I’ve never seen a better looking fluffy.”
>”Bwanchy pwetty now!” he says. “Bwachy have ugwy ppoopie fwuff, buh now haf pretty spawky fwuff!”
>You look to Dr. Stein, who just kind of shrugs.
>”Who knows why fluffies say what they do?” she says. “I hope you two have a long and happy life together.”
>”Daddeh wan go pway?” asks Branchy. “Pway wif otha fwuffies?”
>Sure, that seems like a good idea.
>You fuzz his head and notice a small scar beneath the fluff where the horn meats the head.
>Huh, must have slipped with the clipper or something. Oh well.
>Branchy is your fluffy, and he’s perfect just the way he was born.