The Fluffy Factory: Sister Act (1/2)

It is a sunny Monday morning, not a cloud in the sky; it is also utterly terrifying for you. Today is your first day at your sister's fluffy pony shop. From eight in the morning to four in the afternoon, you will be, for all intents and purposes, your sister's glorified office bitch. Granted, this is a lot better than the other things you could've ended up doing. For instance, you could've ended up in the basement, and while you don't have an entirely clear picture of happens down there, you are fairly certain you don't want any part of it. No, from this day forward you will be working on the top floor of your sister's shop, mostly in the grooming shop and doing whatever office tasks she asks of you.

 

Speaking of time, if you're going to get there on time you'd better leave now. She didn't tell you exactly what the dress code was for work, so you're just wearing what you'd normally wear. By the time you get to the shop, having fought traffic for the last half hour, it's only about five minutes before 8 o'clock. Your sister's black Porsche is already outside, along with a few cars you don't recognize; and one other car you do: an angry looking red Mustang.

 

Perfect. Tiffany beat you here.

 

After finding a place to park, you timidly get out of your car and go up to the front of the shop. After peeking through the plate glass windows for a few seconds, you find that there are no humans in the front of the shop, only rows of cages lined against the back and side walls, each one containing a tiny sleeping fluffy pony. Hesitantly, you open the door and go inside. Once in, you find that the red door to the office side of the building is open. That must be where Sarah is, so you go through it. It takes you a moment to find her office, but sure enough she's inside… And so is Tiffany.

 

"Hey there, Lucy," Tiffany says, a rather sinister grin on her face. You skitter over to the farther side of your sister's desk, trying to use the glass monstrosity as an obstacle to protect you from your cousin. She chuckles openly at your behavior, but Sarah seems less than amused. She places her elbows on the glass top and clasps her hands in front of her face.

 

"All right, I'm only going to say this once. Tiffany, leave Lucy alone. I've got you two working in different places of the shop for a reason. If I find out you've been fucking with her, I'll have no qualms about firing you."

 

Tiffany looks slightly insulted, but raises her hands in defeat. "Relax, cousin, I ain't gonna fuck with her."

 

Sarah tilts her gaze over to Tiffany, the look on her face less than believing. "Yeah, I know better than to believe that.”

 

You have been silent throughout his entire exchange, and to be honest you're trembling a little bit. Tiffany smiles at you from across the desk, but says nothing. Sarah, looking up between both of you, suddenly stands and points from Tiffany to the door.

 

"You'd better go ahead and get started with the ponies in the basement," she says, her voice carrying a frigid edge. Once your cousin is gone, she seems to relax a little bit, then motions for you to sit in the chair in front of the desk. You oblige, beginning to think that being trapped with your cousin for eight hours a day is not worth getting your mother off your back.

 

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," you say, your hands fidgeting in the lap of your skirt.

 

"You let me handle her," Sarah says, her voice suddenly regaining that hard edge. "Fluffy ponies are one thing, but if it comes down to you or her, you know who I would take."

 

You smile at your sister a little bit, but her affirmation doesn't really help your nervousness. In an attempt to help calm yourself down, you decide to change the subject. "So… Um… What exactly am I going to be doing again? I mean, besides the grooming shop stuff."

 

Sarah smooths back her hair, again taking her seat on the other side of the desk. "You're going to be helping keep an eye on the foals. If any of them get out of line, take them out of the inventory and bring them to me."

 

You blink at her for a moment. "And… What, exactly, are you going to do with them?"

 

Your sister looks back with chilly eyes. "Don't ask."

 

Well, that doesn't help you feel better at all. "…Right. Um, what else do you need me to do?"

 

"Whitney's going to help you in the grooming shop today. There shouldn't be too much traffic, since it's getting colder and all. You know how to trim a fluffy pony, right?"

 

You nod a little. "Of course. I know how to trim, rinse, shampoo, wash, comb, brush…"

 

Before you can get too much farther with your repertoire of fluffy pony grooming skills, Sarah raises her hand. "Okay, okay, I get it. How much work were they making you do in that shelter out east?”

 

"Um, well… Pretty much all of it."

 

"Oh, Lucy. Why do you constantly let people run over you? Well, anyway, Whitney should be here in a few minutes. Until she gets here, why don't you see how the foals outside are doing?"

 

Taking the hint, you stand up and nod. Before you can leave the office, Sarah reaches into one of the desk's drawers and hands you a card. On it is your name and a picture of you; it's your plastic work ID. You clip it onto your shirt pocket as you walk out of the office section and back to the showroom floor, where all of the young fluffy ponies are still sleeping. Slate and Cherry are snuggled together in a corner of the giant playpen, the former snoring loudly. You can't help but giggle. Quietly, you begin walking the cages. None of the occupants are yet awake, although more than a few are shifting around and talking in their sleep. As you move past, a bright pink unicorn with a silver mane and tail stirs, sitting up on its haunches and yawning.

 

"New fwiend?” it asks, instinctively reaching out its forelegs to hug you. "Fwuffy sweepy, wan' nummies!” it adds, still in such a state of grogginess that its needs blend together. You walk back to the cage to face the fluffy pony within.

 

"Good morning, little guy. Just hold on for a few minutes, everyone's going to get nummies soon.”

 

The little unicorn is highly annoyed with your reply. "Wan nummies now!” he yelps, waking up the fluffies in the cages nearest him. Jarred from their sleep, they begin to whine and cry about the monster that woke them up. Before long, every single foal in the cages is awake crying, whining, or soiling themselves with fright. The combined din soon becomes loud enough to wake up Slate and Cherry, who waddle around in the playpen and try to figure out what's happening.

 

"Why babehs cwy?!” Cherry demands of you, as you walk over to the pen.  “Munsta make babehs cwy?”

 

Slate puffs his cheeks angrily, stomping around the playpen in a show of protectiveness that would make you giggle if you weren't currently so frustrated. "Slate hewp babehs, make munsta go 'way,” he says repeatedly.

 

Overwhelmed, you start skittering around to each cage, trying to calm the occupant within on an individual basis. This, of course, fails spectacularly. Just as you're about to lose it, you hear the front door open behind you.

 

"What in the world is going on in here?" Whitney asks, dropping her bag on the floor and walking over to you. You can only find a sufficient explanation of the situation in one word:

 

"…Munsta.”

 

Whitney flashes you a broad smile. "Yeah, that seems to happen a lot. Hold on, I'll show you the fastest way to fix this." She walks back toward the center of the room, and sharply claps her hands once. "Time for breakfast everyone!"

 

As if by magic, the young fluffy ponies' conversation changes in an instant from terror to anticipation. At least they've stopped shitting themselves. Unfortunately, more than a few are now covered in the product of their fear.

 

"Okay, you start taking the dirty ones out of their cages. I'll go get the bags of food from storage."

 

This task is both easier than and not as easy as it seems. Although the foals are very compact and easy to carry, they squirm happily whenever you pick them up, asking you to hug and play with them. The first two that you pick up you have to carry barehanded; as soon as you drop those two in the sink in the grooming shop, you look around for and find some gloves, and put them on before going back to retrieve the rest. By the time you're done, the grooming shop's double sink has about twenty unhappy foals filling it up.

 

"I can wash these for you if you want," Whitney offers.

 

"No, no, that's fine. I'm really good at giving fluffy ponies a bath."

 

"You've bathed foals before?"

 

Uh oh. Now that you think about it, you haven't really dealt with foals and bathtime before. Oh well, how hard could it be?

 

You quickly find out. After clearing out one side of the double sink, you take one foal at a time out to wash them. As you soon discover, trying to wash a terrified baby fluffy pony is like trying to tell a cat to jump in the swimming pool. They thrash and whine and screech as loudly as their tiny lungs will let them. It's like trying to clean a terrified potato.

 

"Dammit, stay still! I'm not trying to hurt you!”

 

“Wawa bad fo' babeh!  Pwease hewp babeh, mumma!  Babeh scawed, munsta huwt babeh!”

 

For some reason, being called a monster only serves to make you even more frustrated. With more than a little bit of anger, you set that foal aside, placing it in a large plastic box lined with a towel.

 

"Pwease hewp!  Munsta huwt babeh!  Munsta huwt fiwwy!”

 

"I did no such thing!” you say to her, frustratingly fighting with the thrashing, yellow Pegasus filly you're trying to wash currently. You're not even halfway done with the foals in the sink before Whitney arrives.

 

"Not as easy as you thought, is it?" she says, motioning for you to step aside a little so she can help.

 

"They won't stay still!"

 

“Munsta huwt fiwwy!” the yellow Pegasus screeches again.

 

You open your mouth to refute that statement, but before the words can escape your lips, the thought you were going to append to your rebuttal makes your blood run cold. So stunned are you by it, you cease washing, and simply stand there with the writhing, screeching foal in your hand.

 

"What's wrong?" Whitney asks.

 

"Uh… Nothing, never mind," you stammer, once again washing the angry foal in your grasp.

 

For that split second, for just the briefest moment in your mind, your frustration overwhelmed you. All you wanted to do at that instant…

 

That yellow Pegasus wouldn't be crying anymore.  You need some air, and offer to switch jobs with Whitney, as there are foals outside that have yet to be fed.  She agrees and sends you to the storage room, but sends two gorgeous white earth foals along with you.

 

“What am I supposed to do with these?”

 

“Just leave them on the table in storage.”

 

Okay.  With one squirming foal in each hand, you make your way back there.  There's a metal table inside, with a deep pan on top.  You set the foals in it to prevent them from injuring themselves.

 

“No wike game!  Fiwwy cowd!”

 

“Pwease hewp fwuffy, fwuffy scawed!”

 

Now that it's just two again, you feel a little more sympathy towards their plight.  “It's okay, someone will come play with you soon.”

 

“Cowd!  Pwease huggies!”

 

You scan the bags of food, looking for the foal mixture.  It was a blue tag, right?  Or was it red...just as you're about to give up and go ask Sarah, you hear the door to the basement open behind you.  You turn to behold Tiffany and some guy you don't know coming up the stairs.

 

“Oh, you must be the new girl,” he says, walking out of the storage room with a brief wave.  You blink at him before returning your eyes to Tiffany.  Her hands drip with red liquid as she walks over to you, but the two crying foals in the pan catch her attention before she gets there.

 

“New fwiend pwease hewp?” the white filly asks.  She then sees the blood.  “Boo-boo juice!  Fwuffy no wike!  Hewp!”

 

“Wh-where did the bl--” you begin to ask, but stop yourself, realizing the answer is probably not something you want to know.  Tiffany grins at you a little.

 

“Part of the job, cousin.”

 

Dear god, what have you gotten yourself into?