Fluffy Shelter for the Abused - The Twat and the Bat

>You are Antoine Stiles, and you're heading towards your brand new job.
>You've recently completed all your training and education, and are now a fully licensed fluffy veterinarian.
>Some of your friends rolled your eyes when you told them about your career aspirations.
>”Fluffies get hurt and die from freaking nothing, dude. Most injured ones are just put down anyway. More cost effective to just get a new fluffy.”
>As a vet, you know better than that. That logic would apply to virtually any animal.
>Fluffies are fragile and can't be left in a large area unattended, yes, but so are birds.
>Fluffies are hairy and poop a lot, but so do cats and dogs.
>Fluffies are stupid and can be obnoxious, but so can....any darn animal under the sun.
>But you love them.
>They love their owners, and each other. They're affectionate and sweet by default.
>When properly trained, a fluffy is a wonderful creature that lives to make their owner happy.
>Sure, some would argue that that's their programming, but again, not any different from other animals.
>We're all programmed one way or another. Doesn't make our emotions any less real.
>Your own fluffy, Cherise, recently passed away at the tender age of 6.
>She remained happy and loving till the end, and she was the one that inspired you to specialize in fluffy ponies.
>Top of your class, and plenty of intern experience under your belt.
>It certainly went a long way in helping you get this job.
>Treating vet at the Fluffy Shelter for the Abused.
>This facility has recently garnered widespread attention for its humane treatment towards fluffies who have suffered at the hands of the dregs of society.
>The abusers who torture, mutilate, and slaughter these animals for whatever disgusting reasons they have.
>And this facility is one of the front line fighters trying to eliminate these cancerous growths on society.
>Just thinking about people who mistreat these beautiful balls of fluff just makes your blood boil.
>But no matter. You can do a lot of good here.
>An anonymous benefactor keeps the facility well funded, and it will be your job to make sure the fluffies that pass through these doors are kept safe and healthy.
>That includes immediate treatment of new arrivals, especially the ones with severe injuries.
>You've been warned that most fluffies do not survive very long after being brought in, their injuries too great.
>But you won't let that happen.
>God as your witness, you will save them all.


>You open the door to a pristine but bare reception area.
>Reminds you of a few fluffy vet clinics you've been to.
>A small toy box in one corner, a litterbox in the other. Some chairs and outdated magazines.
>Oh hey, they have a few Japanese peace lilies. How nice.
>A security guard sits behind the receptionist desk. You saunter over.
>”Hello. I'm Antoine Stiles? I'm the new vet.”
>The guard looks you over. Hard to tell his expression from the handlebar mustache, but he looks cheerful enough.
>He unclasps his walkie talkie and hits the button.
>”Mabel? New guy's here.”
>The walkie talkie crackles back with the voice of an old lady.
>”That's nice. Why you telling me?”
>”You're supposed to take him into the back and show him around.”
>”Since when?”
>”Since we left you a memo last week. Seriously, Mabel, do you even glance at your inbox?”
>”I have an inbox?”
>”Just get up here, I have to man the desk.”
>”Yeah, yeah, I'm coming.”
>The guard puts his walkie talkie back. “She's not exactly a fun loving gal, but you'll learn a lot from Mabel. She's one of the oldest caretakers here, both in years and experience.”
>”She sounds...lovely.”
>”She's not. She's a grouchy old bat that never smiles. But everyone respects her. So try not to be too put off when she acts like a callous bitch.”
>”Jackson, you wound me. I'm a humorless, sullen, chainsmoking, callous bitch. Don't think you can get lazy just because you think I can't hear you.”
>You look up to see the source of the voice.
>She's almost like one of those slightly deranged grandmas you see in a cartoon, or on some hoarder show.
>Plain black sneakers and blue jeans, both heavily stained, with an old orange shirt covered by a plaid forest green flannel button down, left unbuttoned. A pack of Marlboros sit in her shirt pocket.
>Her frail body seems to be composed of 50% wrinkles, and 50% tired indifference to everything around her.
>Her hair hangs loosely around her shoulders in wavy gray strands that go just past her shoulder.
>She can't weigh more than 100 pounds, and looks more like someone you'd see waiting for the bus at 5 in the morning than an apparently knowledgeable and experienced fluffy caretaker.
>Still, you're the FNG, so you have to make a good first impression.
>You approach her with a smile and an outstretched hand. “Hello, I'm Antoine Stiles, nice to meet you.”
>She doesn't return the smile, or offer her hand. She just looks up into your eyes.
>”So, you're the new vet, huh? Fresh out of school, I'm guessing?”
>It's hard to focus with her staring straight at you like this. It's like she's gazing into your soul.
>”Um, yeah, I um, graduated top of my class at-”
>”Neat. Well, books can only take you so far. Time to see if you can whack it in the field. Follow me.”


>Fluffy shelters tend to get a bad rap about their conditions.
>The ones that are run properly are decent and at the very least, fairly clean.
>You'd spent time at many a fluffy shelter, and though many are overstocked and undermanned, they're a far cry from the death camps that cynical people like to portray them as.
>This place is nothing like those shelters.
>It's damn near immaculate.
>It's pretty obvious that this building was a school at one point.
>Different rooms show fluffies in various states.
>Of course, almost all of them come from dark and depressing origins.
>It is a shelter for the abused, after all.
>Mabel shows you to a door and you head in.
>It's a very pleasant atmosphere, despite what so many of these fluffies have been through.
>No cages here, only separated pens, each with a litterbox, bed, and toys.
>Most of the pens have 2 or more fluffies in them.
>Makes sense, since fluffies are very affectionate, social creatures, and being able to bond with fellow victims would accelerate the healing process.
>”These are our flock, so to speak. Many of them will stay here until they die. Others, they're either recovering, or waiting to be adopted. You'll be in charge of their routine checkups and any of that medical crap you do. Some fluffies take more kindly to people than others. Watch your left.”
>”Huh?” You say as you look down.
>There's a blue earth fluffy with a sea blue mane and tail walking past you.
>”Hey there, little guy. How did you get out of your pen?”
>”Cwush weave fwu doow!”
>He points behind him with what looks like a wheel attached to his leg, which is little more than a stump.
>You try not to stare at the prosthetic at first, then you remember that fluffies don't find that rude.
>They don't find anything rude, really. That level of social savvy is way beyond their brainpower.
>”Well, we'll get that door fixed. For now, how about we get you back to your pen, buddy?”
>”No am Buddy! Mah name Cwush! Awways weave woom, say hi to fwends!”
>You try to reach out to pick him up, but he ducks your hand with a speed you wouldn't expect from a fluffy missing a leg, and runs up to your leg.
>”You new fwend?”
>You're a bit embarrassed that you got outmaneuvered by a fluffy pony. A crippled fluffy pony at that.
>”Um, yes. I'm Antoine Stiles, and I'm the new...”
>You hesitate to use the word vet, since many fluffies, like all pets, tend to get nervous around vets.
>”You new doctah?”
>You blink. “What?”
>”Hooman fwends say dat new doctah coming, hewp fwuffy fwends get bettah, so dey no haf mo' owwies an' can get nice Mummies an' Daddies!”
>”Uh, well, that's uh...yeah, I'm the new doctor. My name's Antoine.”
>You're a bit flustered to be talked to so casually by a fluffy. And a very observant fluffy to boot.
>But Crush just rears up on his back hooves and hugs your leg in typical fluffy greeting.
>”Cwush happy Antwawn is hewe. Wuv fwends be happy. You hewp fwends be happy?”
>You pet him. His tail wags a little.
>”Of course. I'll make all of your friends as happy as can be.”
>”Cwush wuv Antwawn!”
>He lets go and runs off.
>You look back at Mabel.
>”Is it okay for him to be running around like that? Doesn't seem safe.”
>Mabel's expression doesn't change, but you swear you see a glimmer in her eyes.
>You ever gotten the feeling that someone's laughing at you through their eyes?
>Feels like Mabel's laughing her wrinkled ass off right now behind that dour face.
>”That's Crush. He's kind of the shelter's mascot. The very first fluffy brought in to this place back when it opened a few years ago. He's been here longer than almost any of the workers. He's always smiling, and that helps a lot of the newcomers feel like this is a safe place. He loves walking around the place, saying hi to all his friends. So we don't bother locking his pen door. He gets along so well you'd think he'd forgotten that he's lost that leg. And he knows the ins and outs of this place a hell of a lot better than you do. So let him do his thing.”
>Oh, she's definitely laughing at you internally.
>Laugh it up, you old bat.
>”Come on, I'll show you the fluffies that need to be examined today.”
>She leads you to a small pen with 4 fluffies: 2 mares and 2 little babies.
>The babies are currently sleeping on top of what is presumably their mother: a lime green mare with a forest green mane. She's also sleeping.
>The other inhabitant is a rare pinto fluffy.
>Your heart plummets as you see the stumps of what used to be her legs.
>Amputated fluffies make you sick.
>As a trained medical professional, you understand that amputation is sometimes warranted.
>But it was only fairly recently that it was made illegal to amputate fluffies for any reason other than a legitimate medical emergency.
>What sort of demented monster do you have to be to do that to an innocent pet?
>”Hey Patchy, it's time for your checkup. Meet the new meat.”
>The fluffy perks her head up at looks at you with a happy expression.
>”New fwend? Make shuw Patchy nu get sikkies?”
>It's nice to see that this fluffy isn't upset about losing her legs.
>So many fluffies will do nothing but ask for their legs back after amputation.
>”That's right. My name is Antoine, and I'm going to give you your checkup.”
>”Yay! Wuv Antwawn fwend!”
>Her stumps wiggle a bit. It's clear she'd be trying to hug you right now if she could.
>Mabel walks away while you kneel down to pet Patchy.
>You'll have to initiate the physical contact for her.
>She beams, and leans her head into your hand like a cat.
>”Patchy wuv huggies!”
>You reach down under her to get a good grip on her. Barbaric though the practice may be, amputated fluffies are at least easier to carry.
>You can tell her teats are plump and full. Are the napping babies hers?
>You lift her up into the air, but she starts wriggling like mad immediately.
>”Nu! Nu wan up! Nu wan up! Pwease down! Patchy scawed!”
>She's shaking with fear.
>You quickly put her back on her blanket, and she calms down.
>She looks up at you with tears in her eyes.
>”Pwease nu up, fwend. Patchy nu wike up.”
>”Well, how am I supposed to get you to the checkup room if I can't move you? You can't walk on your own.”
>”How about you use this?”
>You turn around and see Mabel tossing a small carrier directly at you. You barely catch it before it collides with you.
>”Why did she freak out like that? I know fluffies don't like heights, but she was barely 2 feet off the ground.”
>”Did you check her file first?”
>”No, but what-”
>Mabel sighs. “Kid, these ain't your typical happy house pets here. It's the shelter for the abused. Every single one of these fluffies bought a ticket to this place by enduring abuse and severe mistreatment. See that green and red guy over there playing with his blocks? When he came in he was skin and bones and filth because his owner couldn't be bothered to feed him. That white pegasus with the missing wing? His 'daddy' had anger problems and ripped that wing off. The purple one that's currently staring at the wall and drooling? His owner was a drug dealer who thought it'd be a laugh to drop a human sized hit of LSD into his food. Now he slips between being normal and having his mind transported to the time vortex.”
>”Way sense a distuwbance in da Fowce!”
>”Whatever you say, little buddy. Point is, these aren't like normal fluffies. Many of them have a lot of trauma and they haven't gotten over it. Hell, many of them never will. So you have to read their files before you interact with them. If you had done that first, you would have known that Patchy here gets flashbacks to her time as a milkbag whenever she's lifted face down off the ground. She needs to feel like she's on solid ground. Put her in the carrier if you want to move her. Got it?”
>Yeesh, she really went off on you there.
>God forbid you should warn me about this beforehand.
>”Yeah, I got it.”
>First lesson learned: Read the files first. Treat the fluffies here with caution and care.
>You put the carrier on the ground in the pen and slide Patchy into it. This time she stays calm when you lift up the carrier.
>”Fank yoo, fwend....Patchy no wememba name...”
>”Antoine.”
>”Fank yoo, Antwawn!”
>The situation apparently resolved, you carry her over to the labeled room.
>”So what's a milkbag?”
>Mabel frowns and rubs her temples.
>”Shady breeding mills, the large scale operations, they need mares devoted solely to feeding all the babies. Can't let the mothers do it, they go right back into the breeding pits as soon as they're ready to get knocked up again. The ones that can't birth anymore, or keep making ugly colored babies, they get pumped full of hormones so they make milk nonstop. Then their legs are cut off, and they're suspended over the baby pens just low enough for the babies to suckle from them. They can't fight, they can't move. Patchy here suffered through that kind of life for who knows how long before the mill got caught and shut down.”
>”Jesus...”
>”It's a wonder she survived past the first day. She had fluff rot all along her stomach from the straps holding her up. We were able to treat it before it got terminal, but she was fed the hormones for too long. She won't stop producing milk. So we let her stay with babies that have been abused or had a mother who was abused. We milk the rest out of her if we need to.”
>You put Patchy's carrier on the examination table and stop.
>You feel almost numb, like Patchy's story just suckerpunched you in the soul.
>How could anyone, much less a fluffy, survive past such a horrible experience?
>Your introspection is cut short by a pair of bony fingers snapping in your face.
>”Hey, Earth to Major Twat, you got a fluffy to examine.”
>This old lady is starting to get your goat.
>”Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just...that was such a horrible story...”
>”Yep. Real tearjerker. Now snap out of it and focus.”
>Grumble grumble.
>You locate her file in the drawer and open it up.
>Finally, some familiar territory. You've perused plenty of these at school.
>With the knowledge of her past history, her medical records all seem to make sense.
>There are notes about her observed behavior.
>To your surprise, despite the living hell she was subjected to, she's happiest when feeding babies.
>The babies give her plenty of hugs, because she can't give any herself.
>The other fluffies help her move around when needed, and give her plenty of praise for helping feed all the hungry foals.
>Guess she's mostly moved past the trauma. She's in a safe place surrounded by plenty of love, where she can turn her disability into a gift for others.
>Second lesson learned: Bad beginnings do not always mean bad endings.
>You check under the fluff for any signs of sores or fluff rot.
>You see several long lines along her skin that are discolored. Presumably from the straps she was suspended from.
>Luckily, no signs of trouble.
>Fluff, ears, eyes, and mouth are clean. No sign of tooth problems. Pulse is normal.
>”Well, Patchy, you look perfectly healthy to me.”
>”Patchy am good fwuffy!”
>You look at Mabel, expecting another lecture about how you forgot some crucial step or something.
>Mabel just raises an eyebrow.
>”What? Why are you staring at me for?”
>”Aren't you going to tell me I missed something?”
>”How the fuck would I know? You're supposed to be the doctor here. I assume you know how to do the doctor type crap. I just shovel their shit, fill their food bowls, and make sure you don't accidentally kill them somehow.”
>Whatever. You think buried under all that crabby rigmarole was a tacit acknowledgment that you did the checkup properly.
>”You're all good to go, Patchy. Ready to get back to your pen?”
>”Wan see babehs! Fank yoo, An...”
>”Antoine.”
>”Antwawn! Patchy wuv yoo!”
>She'll hopefully remember your name after a few days.
>You put her back in the carrier and ferry her back over to her pen, placing her down on her blankets.
>The babies are beginning to get up, and they carefully roll off of their mother.
>”Hewwo, babehs! You haf nice sweepies? Babehs hungwy? Nee' miwk?”
>”Mik, Paty! Mik!”
>Judging by their speech, they're barely past newborns.
>Patchy smiles and with a bit of struggle, rolls on her side, presenting her teats.
>”Dwink miwk, babehs. Be stwong fwuffies, gwow up an' be good happy fwuffies!”
>They happily comply and begin suckling.
>Their mother sleepily opens one eye and smiles.
>”Fank yoo, Patchy. You good fwend, Hewp Mewody.”
>Awwwwww.
>”Kid, if you're going to stop and drink in every cute thing they do, you're not going to finish today's checkups before quittin' time. Hustle it up.”
>Dang it.
>You go back to the exam room and check who's next on the list.
>”Andre's up to bat. I'll call him for ya.”
>Mabel pokes her head out the door.
>”Hey, Andre! Front and center!....That means come over here!”
>Patchy was lucky to have such relatively good health, considering her past.
>But Andre seems like he's gonna be tougher.
>He's got weak blood pressure, and cardiovascular problems related to bad circulation.
>His muscle density is also fairly thin, and he's very prone to fatigue, so he spends a lot of time napping.
>Well, at least he's in a place where he won't have to do anything strenuous.
>According to the history, he was found in an alley covered in bruises and cuts, along with his friend, another stallion named Timmy.
>They're completely inseparable, and so their checkups are done at the same time.
>Groovy. At least they don't have any bad disfigurements. Just two normal flu-
>You see Mabel step away from the entryway and two fluffies walk in.
>Sorry, not two fluffies.
>One fluffy and what seems like a large-ish dog in a white fluffy costume.
>You should have seen this coming.
>A new guy prank! How fraternal.
>You wonder if all the new employees get this joke played on them.
>”Har har, Mabel, very funny. Put a dog in a fluffy costume and try to get me to examine him. I wasn't born yesterday, you kn-”
>”Hewwo.”
>”JUMPING JEHOSHAPHATS!”
>You leap back onto a chair behind you.
>”Jumping Jehoshaphats? Jesus, kid, do you even know any swear words?”
>”That thing's a fluffy?!”
>Mabel takes a glance at the giant white fluffy, then back at you.
>”Either that or the worst sheep impression I've ever seen.”
>That's the biggest fluffy you've ever seen.
>His shoulder is a bit taller than your knee!
>Why did his file not mention anything about his size?
>You check again.
>Oh....it did. You just glossed over the height and weight without realizing the huge discrepancy. And his picture didn't have any frames of reference to show how big he was.
>Gonna have to be more careful about that in the future.
>Your little display made Andre scared, as his ears are currently flopped down and his head is lowered.
>Timmy looks angry. His cheeks start to puff a bit.
>”Why you scawe Andwe? Andwe not do anyfing to you!”
>Mabel just raises an eyebrow.
>Yeah, yeah, you know. You're getting chewed out by a fluffy.
>You get off the chair and kneel down.
>”I'm sorry, I was surprised by how big he was. He must be so big so he can give even bigger hugs, right?”
>Andre perks up and nods.
>Fluffies aren't too different from people, after all. A little flattery will get you everywhere.
>Timmy looks at Mabel.
>”It's alright, Timmy. He's kind of a twat, but he's the new doctor. He'll make sure you and Andre are healthy so you can get back to napping and playing and crap.”
>Timmy lets the air out of his cheeks with a soft “fwoop”.
>”Pwease nu scawe Andwe again. He fwend, nu wike be scawed.”
>You smile and pet Timmy. “I promise. Now let's get you guys checked up!”
>Timmy lets you pick him up and place him on the examining table.
>The checkup for him is pretty routine. A small bald patch on his ear is treated with some lotion, and he's otherwise the picture of health. At least for a recently rescued alley fluffy.
>You bend over to lift Andre.
>Fluffies are known to be very light, their fluff making them look bigger than they really are.
>Andre, not so much.
>”Hrrrrrk!”
>You're not exactly the picture of strength. A bit of a weenie, really. The veterinarian coat covers it a bit, but your true power level is shown in your difficulty in lifting a giant fluffy.
>Even if your only audience is an shriveled up corpse with an attitude to match, it's still emasculating.
>”Hey Hercules, how about you just kneel down and examine him down there before you pull something?”
>You almost want to ignore her and keep trying to lift him.
>But the idea of throwing your back out on your first day on the job sounds more painful that bruising your pride.
>Just barely, though.
>”Wan down!”
>You let Timmy down off the table, since you won't be putting Andre up there with him.
>They quickly hug and you get to work.
>You can see a few discolored spots on his skin, presumably healing bruises.
>A few scabs from cuts, all looking like they're healing properly.
>All the same, you swab some hydrogen peroxide on them to make sure they don't catch an infection.
>Andre's medical problems make a lot more sense with his size in mind.
>It's a biological application of the square-cube law.
(Google it; this isn't the time or place for a math lesson)
>He's a lot stronger than other fluffies, but not on a relative scale.
>In other words, his increased strength is not equal to his increased size.
>His heart is bigger, but it has to work much harder to pump blood through his larger system.
>Exceedingly tall people tend to have bad circulation problems as a result of their longer cardiovascular system, and Andre is no exception.
>Under the fluff, you can feel that his legs are a bit colder than the rest of him.
>According to the file, he has to take some pills for these conditions, which you locate in a drawer, along with a jar of peanut butter labeled 'PILLS HERE' and some plastic spoons.
>Well, it works on dogs.
>You spoon out a small dollop and push the pills into it.
>”Okay Andre, say 'ahhh'”
>Andre opens his mouth, with a surprisingly deep “Ahhhh”.
>You slide the dollop off onto his tongue, and he closes his mouth.
>His tongue smacks against the roof of his mouth as the sticky treat goes down his throat.
>”Nyam, nyam, nyam, nyam...”
>Finally he swallows the medicine, and you see Timmy looking at you expectantly.
>You scoop out a tinier portion and feed it to him.
>”Num num num num...”
>He's a bit messier, and some gets on his face.
>Andre leans over and licks it all off, making Timmy giggle.
>”Hee hee! Siwwy Andwe! Timmy no am nummies!”
>”Okay, you two are free to go.”
>Timmy waddles over to you. “Sowwy fo' be angwy. Jus no wan' Andwe be scawed.”
>A fluffy apologizing without prompting? That's rare.
>”I understand, Timmy. You're a good fluffy for wanting to protect your friend.”
>Timmy smiles and hugs your leg.
>”Fank yoo, doctah twat!”
>”My name isn't....oh, never mind. Just run along, you little knucklehead.”
>Timmy giggles and walks back as Andre approaches.
>He doesn't say anything, just looking up at you.
>”...Yes?”
>He hugs your leg with one hoof. Which is nice, because a normal fluffy hug coming from Andre would have knocked you on your ass.
>”Wuv.”
>He steps back and lowers his head. Timmy runs over and climbs up on his back.
>”Go back to pway pwace, Andwe!”
>Andre silently walks out the door.
>”Quite a diverse cast we have here, huh?”
>Mabel doesn't respond. She's leaning against the door frame and staring at the corner of the room, which appears to be empty, save for a blanket.
>”I'm going outside for a cig. You think you can go without training wheels for half an hour?”
>”I think I'll be okay.”
>Mabel stares straight at you for a second, then walks away.
>Every time she stares at you like that, you feel like she's looking straight through you.
>It's a bit creepy.
>No matter. On to the next one.
>Says here it's Peanut's turn.
>Ooooo, poor little guy got his tongue cut out and left for dead on the streets.
>He was already litterbox trained, and got along well immediately with the other shelter fluffies, so it's likely he had an owner who did this to him.
>Why would you ever do that? Why would someone own a pet if they're not mentally stable enough to care for one without mutilating it? It just doesn't make any sense.
>The shelter has a pretty nice layout, so finding fluffy pens is easy. Peanut is pushing a ball around with his snout.
>When he sees you, he perks up and greets you.
>”Huwwo, mihhha. Uuu hwehhh?”
>Man, you think it's hard understanding fluffies normally? Try when they're missing their tongue.
>”Hello. I'm Antoine, and I'm the new doctor. It's time for your checkup. Ready to go?”
>”Yehhhhs. Waahh up!”
>He rears back on his hind legs and reaches out to you. You oblige and pick him up.
>Plopping him down on the exam table, you run through the motions.
>His health speaks to his previous ownership, and you're about ready to put him back when he starts groaning.
>”What's the matter, Peanut?”
>”Mihhhha, hooofffiee haf owwwie. Pweeae howp?”
>Oh crud. He's in pain, and you can't understand what he's trying to tell you.
>”Is it your hoof? One of your hooves are hurting?”
>You look around the hoofs. No cracks, cuts, splinters, or bruises.
>”Guuuuuu, hooofffiiiie!”
>You're not going to get anywhere on your own. You'll have to find Mabel and see if she can understand him.
>Though you'd rather do anything else than ask that old bat for he-
>”Hewwo, Antwawn! Fwend okay?”
>You look in the doorway. Crush is standing there, cheerful and leaning on his wheel leg.
>A fluffy is checking to see how you're doing on your first day of work.
>This day just gets stranger and stranger.
>You know what? To heck with it. Better than dealing with Mabel.
>”Hey Crush. I'm giving Peanut his exam, but I have a problem.”
>Crush's brow furrows, and he walks in.
>”Wha wong, Peanut?”
>”Cwuuuuh, haf hoooffie owwie.”
>”Peanut say he haf teefie owwies.”
>”Wait, you can understand him?”
>Crush nods. “It not hawd. He speak siwwy, kinda wike babeh sometimes, but Cwush weawn to unnastan'.”
>Easy for him to say. It's like trying to understand a stroke victim who already had a speech impediment and a heavy accent.
>Still, not gonna argue with a good thing.
>You get out the dental tools and tell Peanut to open wide.
>Bleh, fluffy breath.
>Teeth look fine, but you notice a large black speck rather sneakily wedged in between two back molars.
>No vet would have given it a second glance unless the fluffy complained of a toothache.
>Which Peanut did, but you couldn't understand him.
>Telling Peanut to hold very still, you use the scraper to force the piece of food out.
>It probably wasn't stuck in that hard at first, but without his tongue, Peanut couldn't get it out, and it slowly got pushed in.
>You make sure to give him a good flossing. A few other stuck pieces of food are forced out. A stitch in time and all that.
>”Okay, Peanut. Your teeth might ache for a little bit, but it'll go away. Any other problems I should know about?”
>”Wuuuu, faaammmk wooo, mihhhaa!”
>”He say nu fank yoo, mistah.”
>”Thanks, Crush. You helped me out there.”
>Crush beams. “Cwush wuv hewp fwends!”
>He holds out his wheel hoof. You fistbump it back.
>”Bye, Antwawn!”
>Crush walks out of the room.
>Nice little dude.
>You carry Peanut back to his pen, and he gives you a big hug.
>On the way back, your eyes meet with Cosmic Ray's.
>”Dat wiww do, pig. Dat wiww do.”
>You don't even.
>You take a look around the room, watching the fluffies sleep, play, hug, eat, and so on.
>You suppose you expected these fluffies to be more, I don't know, downcast.
>They've endured such harsh mistreatment at the hands of cowards who think they're hot shit for tormenting small animals.
>But most of them are happy, or at least not depressed.
>A place like this must seem so safe and peaceful compared to wherever they were before.
>You head back to the exam room to get ready for the next checkup.
>As you're reading up on a fluffy named Mask, Mabel comes back in the room reeking of smoke.
>”I see you managed not to burn the place down while I was gone. There may be hope for you yet. Who'd you get to fly solo with?”
>”Peanut.”
>”Our resident Marlon Brando, eh? How were you able to figure out what he was saying?”
>”I couldn't. I had Crush help me out. Good to know I can rely on the other fluffies for things like that.”
>Mabel's eyebrows raise.
>”Well thank God you can learn at least some things on your own. I was worried I'd have to follow you into the bathroom and teach you how the toilet paper works.”
>Just ignore her, Antoine....
>"Next up is Mask."
>Mabel groans and rolls her eyes. "Christ, that guy creeps me out."
>"Why? Seems like aside from his injury, he's pretty cheerful."
>"He has a giant skull imprint on his face. I'm an old lady who eats fast food like it's a food group and smokes like a steam engine. I already have the specter of Death looming over me, I really don't need it literally staring me in the face."
>You can't help but smile.
>Even the old bat has some things that get under her dried up skin.


>”Okay, Valjean, time to -YEOW! That hurt! How did that hurt?!”
>Valjean is the last fluffy on the list.
>The file warned that he was 'exceedingly aggressive' and 'was not to be left in the company of other fluffies under any circumstances.'
>Exceedingly aggressive is being a bit mild.
>Treating Valjean is like treating a rabid beaver, albeit a very soft, lightweight rabid beaver.
>”Raised from foalhood to fight in deathmatches, remember? Even a fluffy can be dangerous if that's what it spends its life doing.”
>”Yeah [urk], I got that part. [Huff] What I don't get is (Valjean, calm down!) why you're just standing over there and not [hrrrk] helping me get him back in his carrier.”
>Valjean is snarling and snapping his teeth at any part of you close to him.
>You've yet to hear him say anything. From a distance, you'd think he was a crazed Pomeranian.
>”If I was helping you, I'd be getting bitten. And I'm just a poor, fragile old lady. Surely a strapping young lad like yourself can handle one little fluffy?”
>Nice try with the pity card, you old bat. You're not fooling anyone.
>”This isn't a fluffy. It's a Tasmanian Devil with flat teeth and a- YOW!”
>Valjean has sunk his teeth rather deeply into your finger.
>He didn't break the skin, but he's actually holding his entire weight on your finger as you lower him into his carrier.
>A bit of shaking dislodges your finger as Valjean plops down into the carrier.
>He wastes no time and starts going to town on the metal bars.
>As he snarls and bites, you make double sure the carrier is shut tight.
>”Do we have band aids for people? I think he broke the skin...”
>Mabel points to a cabinet.
>”Second shelf, right next to the leather gloves we wear whenever we deal with Valjean. Come to think of it, you could have used those instead of getting bitten the entire time.”
>Oh, that tears it.
>”Why didn't you tell me about those?! The file didn't mention anything about there being special equipment, how was I supposed to know?”
>”You saw what Valjean was like. You didn't think to ask if we had stuff for his checkups?”
>”Well, when I didn't see anything in the file, I just figured...”
>”You figured what? That it wasn't worth your time to ask? Shit, kid, it's better to ask a dumb question than make a dumb mistake. The file doesn't have everything, sometimes you just gotta ask about shit like that.”
>”And you would have made fun of me for it!”
>”Yeah, and you'd have been checking up Valjean with a bruised ego and some thick leather gloves protecting those soft little hands of yours. Wouldn't that have been better?”
>It's no use getting mad at her. You're just getting angry, and she's just standing there with the same expression of tired indifference she always has.
>What bugs you the most is that she has a point.
>Lesson learned: don't be afraid to ask a question that might sound stupid. A stupid question is better than a stupid error.
>”Fine. Wouldn't kill you to cut me some slack, though.”
>Mabel huffs.
>”You're in charge of making sure all these abused animals don't die on your watch. You don't have any slack to cut.”
>”True, but I-”
>Your statement is cut off as another shelter worker runs into the room.
>”Mabel, it's a Code 4. We gotta prep for triage.”
>Mabel noticeably straighten up and motions for you to follow and she follows the other worker out of the room.
>”What's the story this time?”
>”Abandoned mill, by the look of it. Some decrepit factory building filled with cages. No trace of the operators. Not even a scrap of records. The stallions were completely gone, but the mares and their babies were left behind. From the looks of it, they may have been stuck there as long as a week with nobody to help them.”
>”Love 'em and leave 'em? Men these days. How bad is it?”
>”Very. Most of them were already dead when we got word from the police. The place was probably a hellhole even before they left. The cops saw milk bags rotting in their straps, and a large pile of the dead just left in a huge pile in the corner, covered in maggots. Their food and water bowls were emptied awhile ago, so they're all malnourished. The cages were so filthy the shit was caked on. The babies were all in one large pen, and they've been standing around in their own filth for days. Who knows what kind of infections they have. They're collecting the survivors now. ETA is about an hour. We need everyone ready to receive them if we're going to save any.”
>”You guys know what to do. See if Doctor Anderson can come in to help. I'll get the residents ready for early nap time, then get to the receiving area to greet the new guests.”
>Mabel is actually moving with some sense of urgency, and her snark levels are down significantly.
>You're a bit nervous now.
>Almost as if she senses what you're feeling, Mabel turns around to face you.
>”Okay, kid. Training wheels are off. I don't know how many other vets will be available, so you better get to the emergency treatment ward and get familiar with the layout of the room where you'll be working. I hope all that book learning is worth something, because those fluffies are going to get here at death's door. It'll be up to you to pull them back. Think you're up for it?”
>You pause to look back at the wing you just left.
>The wing containing all the fluffies you had been introducing yourself to today.
>Even now, you can see them through the windows, all playing or napping, ignorant of the sudden bout of alarm going on outside the doors.
>All but one.
>You can see Crush standing by the bottom windows, his good hoof pushing on the glass, a worried expression on his face.
>He's staring right at you.
>You force a smile and nod.
>Crush smiles a little and nods back, then rolls away.
>”Don't worry, Mabel. Back at school, I was top in my class in speed and efficiency of emergency care. Maybe this time I'll actually impress y-”
>You turn around. She's already gone.
>She didn't even stick around to hear your answer!
>You know what? That's fine.
>You'll show her.
>You'll make your mark at the shelter and save every fluffy that's brought into that ward.
>You feel ready.
>You feel psyched.
>You can do this.
>You can save every last one of them.
>Looking back on it now, it's amazing how absolutely wrong you were.