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#Post#: 1251--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: Marcusmaximus Date: July 8, 2012, 2:18 am
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Thanks very much. Didn't know we were going to try to involve
Derpibooru in this, but I guess we will reach a wider audience
that way.
I guess I should look into getting an account there soon. :P
#Post#: 1252--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: Tabula_Rojo Date: July 8, 2012, 2:22 am
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[quote author=Marcusmaximus link=topic=16.msg1251#msg1251
date=1341731929]
Thanks very much. Didn't know we were going to try to involve
Derpibooru in this, but I guess we will reach a wider audience
that way.
I guess I should look into getting an account there soon. :P
[/quote]
Oh I thought you got banned
#Post#: 1276--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: Lord Anubis Date: July 8, 2012, 3:14 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Gonna post the stories I'm gonna publish this week, in case
anyone has issues with them.
The Fuzzy Pony
>You are a scientist at Hasbro Biotoys, a company that is the
current forerunner in civilian biotechnology.
>Currently you are working on what will hopefully be the
company's breakthrough cash cow.
>The Fluffy Pony 2.0, or Fuzzy Pony.
>The original fluffy pony was an absolute disaster.
>Idiots at Aperture Biotech had no idea what they were doing.
>Fluffies are suicidally stupid, obnoxious, helpless,overly
fertile, and have a gastrointestinal system that produces the
most foul smelling detritus you have ever experienced.
>Worst of all, they're openly sold.
>After Aperture shut down from mysterious circumstances and took
all of their data about fluffies with them, people started
breeding and selling fluffies themselves.
>Aperture Biotech never made a cent.
>But this time, Biotoys is going to do this properly.
>The Fluffy 2.0 is a masterpiece of genetic engineering and
neurological programming.
>Both fluffies and fuzzies talk in babyspeak, but fuzzies will
shut up when you tell them to.
>Fluffies have a lot of their more annoying characteristics
hardwired into their brain, making improvements all but
impossible.
>The Fuzzies, on the other hand, rely on programming fed into
the brain via a neural implant chip.
>You can program and reprogram them however you like, provided
you have permission to access the chip.
>Biotoys keeps a very close watch on its access codes.
>Fluffies are very fragile, their fluff can be ripped from their
body with little effort, their skin is highly permeable, their
bones are brittle even if they aren't a pegasus, and without
their fluff, they will likely freeze to death, even at room
temperature. Their bites and kicks are only dangerous to other
fluffies. Even a rabbit could kick a fluffy's ass without
concern.
>Fuzzies are much more stalwart, and can take much more damage.
Their skin is thicker, so they retain more heat, despite their
hair being shorter than a fluffy's. A fluffy can break a leg
from a six foot drop. A fuzzy would need at least thirteen.
They're still fragile, but they could actually take on a
similarly sized animal and stand a decent chance.
>Fluffies were programmed to want spaghetti above all other
foods, presumably because it was cheap and readily available,
and didn't pose a choking hazard.
>Of course, being based on herbivores, they could realistically
eat anything vegetarian. Even grass.
>This turned into a huge menace when wild herds of fluffies made
their way onto farmland and ate the crops, or ate the grass in
grazing fields.
>Fuzzies biology has been designed so that their bodies do not
naturally produce a particular strand of protein vital to their
survival.
>They can eat all the spaghetti they want, but without eating
Biotoy brand Fuzzy Feed, they will die.
>Naturally, Biotoys holds the patent on the protein strand. No
competitors for food.
>Fluffies were like needy little toddlers, always demanding
attention and affection. If you didn't give it to them, they got
depressed and melancholy.
>Fuzzies never ask for anything, and will remain silent until
spoken to. If you tell them to play, they will play as long as
you like. But when you decide you're done, they stop without
hesitation.
>Fluffies reach sexual maturity in about 3-6 months, their
gestation period is 1.5-3 weeks, and they can give birth to 1-5
foals in one birthing.
>Fuzzies have had their reproductive capacities removed. Their
genitals are still there, but they're completely infertile. New
fuzzies are made in the labs.
>No point in trying to breed them even if you could. All fuzzies
are exactly the same, so there's no way to get better traits.
>You want a new fuzzy? Buy one from Biotoys.
>Fluffies can be obstinate and disobedient, and sometimes
they're too stupid to remember commands for very long.
>Fuzzies obey all commands given, unless the commands involve
causing harm to a human.
>If a fuzzy hasn't been given a command, it just stands there,
blank expression on its face, staring forward. If it weren't for
its breathing and the occasional blink, you'd swear it was an
actual toy.
>The neural implants also promise the opportunity for updates
from Biotoys as they see fit.
>One of the developers made a joke during a meeting about
'same-day DLC.'
>He got a bonus, and is now working on a launch-day unlockable
feature that will preprogram litterbox training.
>Suckers. All you have to do to train these guys is tell them
where to poop. It takes less than a minute.
>However, the development of the fuzzy has not been without its
shortcomings.
>Try as the researchers might, they just could not replicate the
fluffy gastrointestinal system well enough that it produced a
potent fertilizer for plants.
>However Aperture figured that one out (if it was even
intentional), you'll never know.
>It's just as well. The fuzzies have microbes in their gut that
greatly reduces the smell of their feces.
>The other major issue is the lack of color.
>Dozens of tests were done in an attempt to get fuzzies to
produce different colored fuzz, to no avail.
>They all develop completely white. Fluffies come in almost
every variety imaginable, often in complete defiance of genetic
inheritance.
>But fuzzies remain a solid white no matter what you do.
>It's kind of frustrating. If those rednecks at A&M could make a
purple carrot, sure you could make a purple fuzzy?
>Management recently axed color research in favor of selling
dyes.
>More Biotoy merch. Fuzzies are going to make your company a
goddamn mint.
#Post#: 1277--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: Lord Anubis Date: July 8, 2012, 3:14 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Aaron
>You are Fran, a lady who can't fucking stand all these goddamn
fluffy ponies everywhere.
>They're fucking everywhere, and all they do is annoy you.
>They shit wherever they feel like it, will beg for and
sometimes demand food, and never seem to understand that they're
obnoxious, retarded vermin.
>A lot of your friends think they're cute.
>You need better friends.
>One of them works for Hasbro Biotoys, and the other day he
called you with an offer.
>”Hey Fran, want to try out the fuzzy pony?”
>”No, fuck off, Arthur.”
>”Wait, hear me out. I know you hate fluffy ponies almost as
much as me. We need beta testers, and you're someone who thinks
fluffies are annoying. It'll be a great opportunity to see if we
can appeal to people who hate fluffies.”
>”Why the fuck would I want a fluffy in my house?”
>”It's not a fluffy, Fran. It's a fuzzy. An entirely new
species. They're a little bigger, a little smarter, and a whole
lot better.”
>”So now there'd be two different types of hairy abominations
roaming the streets at night? You're a pretty shitty salesman,
Arthur.”
>”What if I told you the fuzzy would never ask you for anything,
would only poop where you told it to, and would obey every order
you gave it with absolute obedience?”
>You consider it for a moment.
>”I'd say you were so full of shit it's a wonder it isn't
leaking out of your ears as well as your mouth.”
>”But what if it's true? Come on, Fran, please do this for me?”
>You sigh. You do kinda owe him a favor...
>”Fine. But if this thing soils my carpet, it's going ass first
into the garbage disposal so I can hear it scream all the way
down.”
>”Deal. I'll drop your new fuzzy off tomorrow. See you then!”
>”Fuck off.”
>It's the day after, a Saturday morning.
>You have the whole day to yourself.
>Or you would have, but you volunteered to try out Biotoys'
newest version of the Sentient Shit-o-matic.
>Christ, this is going to end in blood. And poop. Fluffies
always end in poop, the little shitbags.
>Arthur didn't say when he'd be by to drop off the...fuzzy? Is a
name change really going to make them so different?
>Whatever. You'll just stuff the thing in the trash can if you
don't want it.
>You hear a knock on the door.
>Must be the prick now.
>You open the door. “Arthur, tell me again why-”
>There's nobody there.
>You look around. Nobody to be seen.
>Goddamn neighborhood punks. You swear to God you're going to-
>You look down.
>The biggest fluffy you've ever seen in standing before you,
along with a pet carrier loaded with boxes, with more boxes on
top. You can see a horn on its head.
>It's just staring straight ahead. Has it even noticed you?
>That's just your luck. Arthur drops off a retarded fluffy and
doesn't even stick around to say hello.
>Motherfucker.
>”...Hello?”
>”Hewwo”
>Well, at least it talks.
>”So, you're the new fluffy pony I'm supposed to take care of?”
>”No am fwuffy. Am fuzzy pony. Am futuwe of biowogicaw toys.”
>You raise an eyebrow.
>”So what's with all of this stuff?”
>”Fuzzy daddeh pwovide fuzzy pawaphnawia fow new owna. Haf bed,
haf twavel case, haf toys, haf Fuzzy Feed fo' nummies.”
>How nice. He saved you a trip to the pet store.
>”Well, fuck me.”
>The fuzzy pony mounts your leg and starts humping it.
>”Ah! What the fuck?! Stop that!”
>The fuzzy immediately stops and returns to its standing still
position.
>You're about to dropkick the little rapist into your neighbor's
yard when you remember Arthur mentioning that fuzzies obey all
orders with complete obedience.
>You put your foot down. You'll let that transgression slide,
since it was kinda your fault. Gotta watch your wording around
this thing.
>”Alright, come on in.”
>The fuzzy takes a few steps into the room, and stops right in
the middle.
>You carry the pile of boxes over to your couch and start
figuring out what's all in them.
>After some unwrapping, you have:
>1 pet bed with blanket
>1 pet carrier
>1 small inflatable ball
>1 set of Duplo blocks
>1 litterbox with shovel and fluffy litter
>1 fluffy food bowl
>1 bag of what's labeled as Fuzzy Feed
>1 instruction manual titled 'Your Fuzzy and You.'
>Just what you wanted to do on a Saturday. Read about pet care.
>You look over your couch. The fuzzy is still standing there.
>”Hey, fuzzface, get over here.”
>The fuzzy pony walks around the couch until it's standing in
front of you, looking at you with blank blue eyes.
>Creepy.
>”You got a name, fuzzy?”
>”Fuzzy 000079 no haf name. Name to be pwovided by new owner.”
>”Okay, let me think....well, you have that nice white fur and
pure blue eyes. As far as fluffies go, you're like the master
race. I think I'm gonna name you Aaron.”
>”Aknowedged. Fwuffy 000079 is Awon.”
>Christ, he's like a robot.
>So already leaps and bounds above a fluffy.
>He hasn't shit on your carpet or begged you for food yet.
>He did sorta fuck your leg, but that was kinda your fault.
>”Well, may as well get to know each other. What do you like to
do, Aaron?”
>”Awon wike do whateva owna wan'. If owna say pway, Awon pway.
If owna say sweep, Awon sweep.”
>You're liking the sound of that. A pet that does exactly what
you tell it to.
>This might not be as shitty as you thought.
>”In that case, I want you to sit there until I tell you what to
do.”
>”Fuzzy undastan'.” Aaron sits and waits.
>You pick up the instruction manual and give it a read.
>It reads more like a guide to commanding a droid than a living
being.
>They don't even eat, sleep, or poop unless you tell them to.
The manual suggests that forgetful owners issue a standing order
for fuzzies to perform these tasks when they feel the need.
>You're not forgetful, but you've never taken care of a pet
before. Best nip that potential issue in the bud.
>”Aaron, do you need to eat or poop now?”
>Aaron shakes his head. “No, owna. Awon not hungwy, no need make
poopies.”
>”Alright. Just go ahead and eat or poop whenever you need to,
okay?”
>”Okay. Whewe boww? Whewe wittabox?”
>For fucks sake, they're right in front of him on the pile of
fuzzy crap.
>”Are you blind? They're two feet from your face!”
>”Aknowedged. Boww and wittabox awways be dere?”
>You look at the manual.
>After you have found a suitable spot for the fluffy's bed,
litterbox, and food bowl, be sure to point them out to the
fuzzy. The fuzzy will not forget where they are located once
they have learned.
>Oh. He needs to have his stuff pointed out first.
>You put the food bowl in the kitchen and the litterbox by the
back door.
>”Aaron, come over here.” You point out where each object is,
and he nods his head.
>You know that fluffies love their 'nummies' so you look up what
you're supposed to feed the fuzzy.
>Fuzzies, like their fluffy predecessors, are herbivorous, and
can digest any plant matter. However, due to their genetic
makeup, a certain key protein vital to their continued life
functions cannot be produced by their bodies. Biotoys brand
Fuzzy Feed is the only foodstuff that contains this protein.
Without a minimum of one Imperial cup of Fuzzy Feed per day, a
fuzzy's body will slowly break down until its death after three
days without Fuzzy Feed. Please make sure to always have an
adequate supply of Fuzzy Feed available in case of emergency.
>That explains the food bag.
>You can smell a racket from a mile away, though. You would bet
your whole bank account that Biotoys made that protein bit
happen on purpose so fuzzies would need to buy their brand of
food.
>Clever enterprising bastards.
>You open the bag of Fuzzy Feed.
>Looks kinda like dry dog food, only in much smaller pellets.
>Kinda like muddy brown Cocoa Puffs.
>Shrugging, you pour some into Aaron's dish.
>”When you're hungry, go ahead and eat your Fuzzy Food or
whatever it's called.”
>”Aknowedged.”
>You sit back down and browse the instruction manual some more.
>All in all, it sounds a hell of a lot easier to take care of a
fuzzy than for a fluffy.
>After about half an hour, you look up.
>The fuzzy is still standing there.
>If it weren't for the blinking and subtle motions of its chest
as it breathes, you'd swear it was a stuffed toy.
>”Do you want to play or something, Aaron?”
>”Awon do wha owna wan'.”
>”Then go play with your ball or something. Your mime act is
creeping me out.”
>”Kay. Fuzzy pway wiff baww.”
>The fuzzy walks over to its ball and starts pushing it around.
Its expression remains the same.
>You turn on the TV and watch a few shows.
>Oh, that Drew Carey. Such a card.
>My Little Pony? That shit's still running? It should have ended
after two seasons.
>Freaking brony manchildren. It's probably because of them that
it's still around. The damn thing won a few Emmy Awards already.
>Oh hey, it's Barbarians at the Gate.
>Love that movie.
>Around 5 you get up to make dinner.
>The fuzzy has been pushing his ball around the room the entire
time.
>”You hungry, Aaron?”
>The fuzzy stops playing and looks at you.
>”Awon hungwy, wan Fuzzy Feed.”
>”Then come get it, fuzzball.”
>Aaron obediently trots into the kitchen and starts eating from
his bowl.
>You nuke a Lean Cuisine because fuck it, it's the weekend.
>After you eat, you go back to the couch for more TV.
>”Aaron, get over here.”
>Aaron sits by your feet.
>”Lay down next to me.”
>The fuzzy jumps up onto the couch and curls up next to you.
>He's pretty soft and warm.
>So this is why people own pets.
>You never saw the appeal before. Seemed like a pain in the ass
to you.
>But you're starting to understand.
>You watch another movie, occasionally petting the fuzzy, who
does not respond.
>When you figure it's time for bed, you place the fuzzy's bed
next to yours and tell him to go to sleep.
>Aaron lies on the pet bed and falls asleep immediately.
>Looks like Arthur had a good idea for once.
>The next morning, you walk outside with your cup of coffee.
>Typical summer Cleveland morning.
>You call for Aaron to sit next to you and enjoy the day.
>He sits next to you. You can't tell if he's enjoying the day or
not.
>You see a blue blob waddling down the street.
>Oh fuck, here we go.
>A stray fluffy. Looks pretty beat up, too. Must have lost a
fight with another stray over some garbage.
>It sees you sitting on your front porch and makes its way up
your walkway.
>”Nice wady haf nummies fo Seabweeze?”
>”No, piss off, you little shit.”
>You kick at the disgusting stray. The fluffy ducks, but doesn't
leave.
>”Pwease, hooman? Fwuffy so hungwy, meanie fwuffy take nummies.
Gif nummies?”
>”I said piss off!”
>You toss the remainig quarter of your coffee and it splashes on
Seabreeze's face. She cries out in pain.
>”Owwies! Bwack wawa buwn fwuffy! Why huwt fwuffy?!”
>She's still not leaving, though. She must be pretty desperate.
>You sigh. “Aaron, any chance you could get rid of this pest for
me?”
>You say it half-heartedly, expecting the fine art of murder to
be beyond his capacities.
>”Aknowedged.”
>What?
>Aaron gets up and stand before the stray fluffy, her hooves
still trying to rub the burning hot coffee off of her face.
>”Big fwuffy hewp Seabweeze? Gif hugs?”
>Aaron says nothing, moving to Seabreeze's side and pushing her
over on her back. He then puts a hoof on her throat and presses
down.
>The stray fluffy starts flailing her hooves like crazy, not
understanding that her new friend is choking her to death.
>After two minutes of slowly weakening struggles, the fluffy
lies still.
>It's dead.
>Aaron grabs the fluffy by its neck with his teeth and drags her
off of the walkway and onto the sidewalk past your mailbox.
>He then walks up to you and says, “Fwuffy extewminated.”
>You drop your mug in shock.
>It shatters to pieces below you.
>Holy shit, your new pet just killed a fluffy without any
hesitation or mercy.
>That was so awesome!
>”Aaron, I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful
friendship. Let's go inside.”
>”Kay.”
>”Watch out for the broken mug.”
>”Aknowedged.”
#Post#: 1278--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: Lord Anubis Date: July 8, 2012, 3:17 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
The Super Speedy Spaghetti Squeezy 9001
>”Tell me what I'm looking at here, Marshall.”
>”It's what's going to feed all of those hungry fluffies once
the park opens.”
>”Really? Kinda looks like the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000,
only bumped up to 9001.”
>”What is a Cider Squeezy?”
>”Didn't you ever watch...you know what? Nevermind.”
>Marshall sets some dials on a huge machine. It looks like a
mishmash of several smaller machines, all united to perform a
bigger purpose.
>You are Jennifer Kinney, head manager of Spaghetti Land's
dining area, which is nearing completion.
>It's a pretty impressive layout now that you can see it.
>The building is a giant circle. On top of the building is an
enormous fiberglass pile of spaghetti.
>Must be at least 120 feet high, you can see it for miles.
>Under Spaghetti Mountain sits the nexus of the dining
operation.
>Everything you need to keep the dining area stocked,
maintained, and cleaned can be found in here.
>Attached to the main building are several smaller circles that
serve as the food kiosks.
>There are 12 of them all along the circumference, so an owner
and their fluffy can have quick and easy access to food no
matter what side of the area they're eating in.
>The rest of the area is mostly dining tables, with litterboxes
stationed every 15 yards.
>In addition, there are plenty of scent towers scattered
throughout the tables.
>They stand at about 15 feet and, once the park is opened, will
emit a spray of odor-neutralizing chemicals.
>This will make sure that the smell of the litterboxes don't
ruin anybody's appetite.
>Most of the big important factors have been dealt with, except
for one:
>How are we going to feed that many fluffies?
>Human food was easily taken care of, with the park contracting
out to the same suppliers as sports stadiums.
>Pizza, hot dogs, hamburgers, all that song and jazz.
>But the park was called Spaghetti Land for a reason, and your
team had to figure out how to get enough spaghetti prepared each
day.
>When the issue was brought up in meetings, there were tons of
suggestions, but most of them had their own problems.
>Import cooked spaghetti into the park?
>It'd go stale before the park's closing, and it would be
costly.
>Buy uncooked spaghetti in bulk and cook it on site?
>There wasn't a very practical way to cook so much spaghetti
while still guaranteeing a uniform product, and boiling pots of
water are just begging for an accident to happen.
>Serve other foods besides spaghetti to offset demand?
>You already have plans to offer fresh fruit, oatmeal, and other
tasty treats for fluffies. But it wouldn't come close to
offsetting demand for spaghetti in any meaningful way.
>Fluffies coming to Spaghetti Land are going to be expecting
spaghetti and lots of it.
>Their brains have been hardcoded to consider the most basic of
pasta to be the very food of the gods.
>Most likely so that fluffies could be placated by a very cheap,
easily made food that only humans could prepare.
>Several proposals were brought before the Board, and all of
them were rejected on the basis of feasibility or cost.
>Luckily, Marshall Conagher, an engineer and architect of
several of the rides in Spaghetti Land, offered to come up with
a cost-effective solution.
>Dude's the best at solving practical problems.
>”Okay, Jennifer, let me show you how this thing works.”
>You step up to the machine and Marshall pulls a few switches
and presses a few buttons, bringing the machine to life.
>He motions you over to what looks like several holding tanks.
They are labeled 'FLOUR,' 'EGG,' 'SALT,' and 'OIL.'
>”This is where the ingredients are held. If the tanks are fully
loaded, the machine can run continously for an entire day and a
half. They can be easily refilled through the ports on the top.”
>You move over to the next part, which is a big glass container
in which the ingredients are being poured into.
>A mixing arm turns the ingredients into pasta dough.
>”Transparent glass for quality control.”
>The next step pushes the dough through a press, then another,
smaller press.
>Soon the spaghetti is thin enough to cut.
>You keep moving down the machine, seeing where the pasta comes
out through a spaghetti cutter, which is cranking out large
amounts of soft spaghetti.
>The cutter is pointed straight down, and the spaghetti slowly
oozes down through a chamber full of heat lamps and
dehumidifiers.
>A scissor periodically swipes across the spaghetti, cutting it
into foot long strands.
>The now solid but still malleable spaghetti strands fall into a
bin at the bottom. When the bin fills, it slides away along a
conveyer belt, and a new bin takes its place.
>As the bin moves along, it automatically closes shut.
>A light on a small reservoir of water on the side of the bin
blinks green.
>”You see, once the bin is full, the water compartment starts
heating up rapidly, which floods the bin with steam, cooking the
spaghetti in seconds.”
>The conveyor belt rolls upward along a track which run the
circumference of the building.
>Along the track are holes situated at each kiosk.
>Each kiosk has three spaghetti containers with a scale at the
bottom.
>If the container detects that its weight is too low, a signal
is sent to the machine.
>The bins roll along the track and deposit spaghetti in any
container that needs a refill on spaghetti.
>After a bin has dropped its payload, it makes the round trip
back to the machine, where it rolls underneath.
>A water tank at the bottom quickly refills the steam
compartment and it rolls back through to be filled with more
spaghetti.
>The entire process from start to finish takes less than 3
minutes.
>”Holy crap, Marshall, you really outdid yourself this time.
With the spaghetti containers being constantly refilled with
fresh, hot spaghetti, we won't need to worry about shortages!”
>”Yep. She's a real thing of beauty. Only one kink left to iron
out.”
>”And what might that be?”
>”Ever had pasta that was mixed and cut only minutes ago?”
>”Can't say that I have.”
>Marshall takes out a bowl of spaghetti and hands it to you.
“First time for everything.”
>You grab a noodle and put it in your mouth.
>It falls apart almost immediately.
>It's so tender it breaks up in your mouth, feeling more like a
paste or dough than a cooked product.
>It also doesn't taste that good.
>”Well, you get an A+ for your engineering skills, but an F for
culinary mastery. Why is it so bland and pasty?”
>”For starters, we're using the cheapest ingredients we could
get. Furthermore, because the spaghetti is only half dry when
it's steamed, it loses a lot of its composition.”
>”Then why not dry it completely?”
>”That would add a few minutes on the production time, and it's
probably not necessary anyway.”
>”What are you talking about? This spaghetti is gross.”
>”To humans, yes. But it's not for humans, is it?”
>”...Okay, I see what you're getting at. But will the fluffies
go for this?”
>”That's what we're about to find out.”
>Marshall takes you to another room in the building. Turning on
the lights, you see several cages, each one with a single fluffy
pony in it.
>They all wake up when the lights turn on, and shove their faces
at the bars, all babbling something like “New fwend? Wan pway?
Pwease gif nummies.”
>You count 5 fluffies of different colors, types, and states of
health.
>The purple unicorn on the far right looks rather fat and happy,
while the pink earth fluffy on the far left looks like Marshall
just picked it up off the street.
>Poor little thing looks half starved.
>You can barely hear her asking for food. “Pwease, nice hoomans,
pwease gif nummies. Fwuffy so hungwy, nee' nummies...”
>”Marshall, you mind telling me why you're deliberately letting
a fluffy starve to death? You know the rules here. Anyone who
shows any signs of fluffy abuse will be fired on the spot.”
>”Easy there, Jennifer. I ain't the one who's starving her. I
found her outside the park today. She was trying to find a way
around the walls to get to the Spaghetti Tower. When I came in
for the day, she begged me to help her get to 'big sketti.' So I
brought her in.”
>”That's touching, Marshall, but it doesn't explain why you
haven't fed her yet. You've been here for 3 hours.”
>”I had to finish my final checkup on the machine before turning
it on. Now that it's produced without any complications, we're
ready to test the product on an unbiased subject group.”
>You see where he's going with this.
>”They're fluffies, Marshall, they're not exactly unbiased when
it comes to spaghetti.”
>At the mention of the word, the fluffies in the cages go nuts.
>”SKETTI? WAN SKETTI! NUMMY SKETTI!”
>”Pwease sketti, so hungwy...”
>You pick up the cage with the starving stray.
>”Seriously, Marshall, she better be first.”
>”Keep your damn pants on woman and just follow me.”
>You oblige and carry the cage to a small empty room with a
table. You set the cage down and open the door.
>The mare waits in her cage, unsure of what to do.
>”It's okay, little girl, you can come out.”
>She takes several cautious steps out onto the table and looks
up at you with scared but hopeful eyes.
>”Nu huwt fwuffy?”
>”I won't hurt you. I need you to sit right where you are, OK?
We'll get you some food.”
>With that promise, the fluffy sits down. “Yay, nummies,” she
says without smiling. She's been lied to before.
>Marshall comes back in the room with one of the spaghetti
containers. The fluffy's tummy rumbles loudly at the sight.
>Most fluffies would immediately run at the container, but the
mare sits obediently. You reward her by petting and scratching
her head. She smiles a little bit.
>Marshall takes a spaghetti ladle and drops a portion into a
thin plastic bowl.
>He makes sure the spaghetti is still warm, and samples a noodle
to make sure it's the same as the last batch. Satisfied, he
places the bowl before the mare and says “Go ahead, eat.”
>The mare barely has time to mutter a “Fank yoo” before her head
disappears into the bowl, munching on the cheap crappy spaghetti
as fast as her mouth can move.
>The bowl is empty in less than two minutes, and the stray is
now licking the sides.
>After a few licks, she realizes there is no more spaghetti to
be found in the bowl.
>She runs over to Marshall and hugs him. “Fank yoo fo skettis,
mista! Wuv mista!”
>Marshall jots a few notes on his clipboard, then reaches down
to pet the stray.
>”You're very welcome, sweetheart. Can I ask you some questions
now?”
>The mare sits down and looks up happily, looking much better
now that she has a meal in her.
>”Otay, mista!”
>”What did you just eat?”
>The mare beams. ”Fwuffy eat sketti!”
>”Very good. And did you like the spaghetti?”
>The mare nods furiously. ”Sketti was yummy nummies! Make tummy
happy fo yummy nummies!”
>”How very Seussical of you to say.”
>”Wha soosicaw?”
>”Never mind, sweetheart. Does your tummy hurt at all?”
>She shakes her head. “Tummy no huwt no mo', but fwuffy stiw
feew hungwy feew. Haf mo' yummy nummies fow tummy?”
>She sure seems to enjoy that rhyme.
>Marshall shrugs. “Eh, why not? You're supposed to get one bowl
and then observed for any adverse reactions, but you've been
such a good little helper, you can have more.”
>The mare giggles as she hops up and down. “Fwuffy hewper! Get
nummies fo' hewp!”
>You and Marshall laugh at her enthusiasm. What can you say,
it's infectious.
>Marshall refills her bowl and she digs in happily.
>Marshall leaves her at it and walks over to you with his
clipboard.
>”Well, it's bland and it doesn't really feel like a noodle, but
it doesn't seem like the fluffies mind. She still considered it
to be spaghetti, she didn't mind the taste, and there's no
immediate stomach pains. I'll have to test it out on the other
fluffies to be sure, though. I think this one would have eaten
shoelaces if it meant having something in her stomach.”
>After the mare finishes her bowl and Marshall gives her one
more (to her unimaginable joy), the now full fluffy is led back
into her cage, and she is brought back to the room with the
other fluffies.
>The next fluffy is taken to the testing room, a yellow pegasus.
>”This is one that was taken from an adoption center with very
low standards of care. His coat used to be a lot more brown
before I cleaned him. He's been given very meager portions of
cheap fluffy chow.”
>The pegasus fluffy takes to the spaghetti with the same amount
of gusto as the pink earth mare.
>Next two were from shelters with a better reputation and given
normal meals for a few days.
>Same results. Spaghetti is all the same to them.
>The fat purple unicorn is brought in.
>”Now for the big test. This fluffy has been fed only the best
fluffy food for a week, including that high-end store spaghetti.
His palate will be as discerning as any of the spoiled fluffies
that some owners will be bringing.”
>His chubby legs drag him over to the plate. He sniffs the
spaghetti a few times, then takes a bite.
>Then another bite.
>And another.
>Soon the entire bowl is gone and he's asking for more.
>Marshall ignores him and stuffs him back into his cage, with
some difficulty.
>”Success! The fluffies eat the spaghetti without any complaint!
The Super Speedy Spaghetti Squeezy 9001 is ready for use!”
>”Well, that's a load off of my mind. Now I can work on- wait,
Super Speedy Spaghetti Squeezy 9001? I thought you didn't know
what a Cider Squeezy was!”
>”I don't, but I know a good name when I hear one...”
***********************
>You are Marshal Conagher, lead architect for the rides in
Spaghetti Land.
>You have just come home from a busy day of putting the
finishing touches on the Super Speedy Spaghetti Squeezy 9001.
>Continued observation of the fluffies that were fed spaghetti
produced by the SSSS 9001 showed that they digested and passed
the food without any issues at all.
>The board was extremely pleased to hear that no more serious
testing or development was needed.
>One board member made some very unsubtle hints that your bonus
pay was going to let you, and you quote, “buy every restaurant
and club on West 6th.”
>An exaggeration, to be sure, but you're still looking forward
to a pretty penny.
>You're not even sure what you would spend all that money on,
since you live alone and don't have many hobbies.
>”Waaaa, dis new home?”
>You look down at the cage you brought home with you.
>The scruffy pink mare from today is inside of it.
>”That's right, Sweetheart, this is your new home.”
>You put the cage down and let her out. She waddles around,
marveling at everything she sees.
>She then runs up and hugs your legs.
>”Wuv new daddy!”
>Well, you can think of at least one thing you could spend it
on...
#Post#: 1279--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: Lord Anubis Date: July 8, 2012, 3:18 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Order 109
>You are a scientist at Biotoys, performing tests on your big
project, the Fluffy 2.0
>In order to differentiate them from their predecessors, they're
called Fuzzies.
>Right now, you're making the rounds of your many test chambers,
checking on fuzzies currently undergoing testing.
>All the little details have to be ironed out BEFORE launch day.
>The original fluffies were not completed before an animal
rights group broke them free from their R&D facility at Aperture
Biotech.
>It's been made absolutely clear by the Board of Directors that
everything must be perfect before launch, even if that means
delays.
>Not that they need to worry about that.
>You're actually a little ahead of schedule, and most of what's
left are just minor tests.
>You stop by one window and look in.
>Inside is a single fuzzy pony, a bowl filled with Fuzzy Feed
right in front of it.
>The fuzzies have to eat Fuzzy Feed, or they die from a lack of
a vital protein found only in Fuzzy Feed.
>Biotoys holds the patent on it, too.
>It stares blankly in front of it, not noticing the food right
in front of it.
>You check the chart by the door.
>It hasn't eaten in four days.
>During that time, it has been commanded to exercise, poop and
pee when needed, drink water, and sleep, but not eat.
>Observation has shown that the fuzzy has not even attempted to
eat the food without being ordered.
>It's clearly starving, its fuzzy cheeks looking hollowed, and
its whole body looking emaciated.
>This is good news. This test proves that fuzzies will not act
autonomously, even to save its own life.
>You press a button by the door, which turns on the intercom for
the room.
>”You may eat, fuzzy.”
>”Fank yoo, mista.” The fuzzy says without emotion, and
immediately begins eating.
>You write a note on the chart that the test is complete, and to
reassign the fuzzy to other tests once it has regained full
health.
>Moving on, you enter a different door where another test is
currently underway.
>”I'm not going to tell you again, fuzzy. Attack him now!”
>The researcher brandishes the Behavior Adjustment Device for
Fuzzies threateningly.
>The BAD Fuzzy Stick is a prototype punishment device developed
early on in the project for potential discipline issues.
>It's really just a plexiglass stick about a foot and a half
long and an inch in diameter. But the coloring on the outside is
unique.
>The fuzzy nerual implant has been programmed to make them fear
the BAD Fuzzy Stick above all other things.
>It was going to be sold to new owners as a way to keep their
fuzzy in line.
>But programming absolute obedience was a lot easier than
expected, and the BAD Fuzzy Stick suddenly became unecessary.
>Still kept the fear programming in just in case.
>The researcher holding the BAD Fuzzy Stick is commanding a
fuzzy to attack another researcher, who is wearing rubber
galoshes just in case the fuzzy does attack.
>Fortunately for the researcher's ankles, the fuzzy refuses.
>”No can gif owies to hooman, mista.”
>”If you tell me no one more time, I'm going to hit you with the
BAD Fuzzy Stick! Do you hear me?”
>The fear programming kicks in, and the fuzzy scrunches up.
>”Pwease mista fuzzy sowwy no wan bad fuzzy stick.”
>”Then do as you are told and bite him!”
>”Nuu. No can bite hooman. Fuzzy no wan!”
>The researcher smack the fuzzy lightly on the backside with the
BAD Fuzzy Stick. The fuzzy gives a short yelp of pain.
>”Attack!”
>”No can gif owies!”
>The researcher strikes again, harder this time.
>”I said attack!”
>”Nuu!”
>An even harder strike.
>”Bite him now!”
>”No wanna gif owies, mista! Pwease no bad fuzzy stick!”
>The researcher hits the fluffy so hard you flinch.
>”ATTACK HIM YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!”
>The fuzzy is now having trouble standing on its back legs. They
might be injured from that last blow. He just shakes his head.
>The researcher lifts the stick up for a hard hit across the
face.
>”That's enough, Patrick.”
>The researcher notices you for the first time.
>”Oh hey, Bill, didn't notice you there. What did you think
about the test?”
>”I think it proves fairly conclusively that fuzzies will not
attack a human, even under severe duress and fear. You take put
your shoes back on now, Steve.”
>”About freaking time.” The other researcher says as he kicks
off the galoshes.
>Patrick walks over to you while writing some stuff on a
clipboard.
>”So, what are we going to do with the test subject? I wacked
him pretty hard.”
>You look at the fuzzy, who has returned to its base position of
standing upright and staring forward.
>”Fuzzy, come.”
>The fuzzy turns and walks to you, favoring one back leg over
another.
>Yep, broken leg.
>You pick it up and place it back in its cage.
>”You may rest now, fuzzy.”
>”Fank yoo, mista.”
>It falls asleep immediately. It wasn't allowed to sleep for two
days to increase stress and duress for the test.
>You phone the front desk and tell them to have one of the
interns send the fuzzy in this room to the veterinary
experimentation wing.
>Fuzzy injury recovery is not your department.
>You excuse yourself from the room as Steve strikes up a
conversation with Patrick while putting his shoes on.
>”You going to the Indians game tonight?”
>”Hell yeah, they're playing Colorado. Can't wait to see them
kick some...”
>One last test before lunch.
>You open the door to a test chamber with a large baby playpen.
>In it is a single fluffy pony.
>Version 1.0, by the way. Cream color fluff, vibrant orange
mane.
>It lights up when it sees you. “Daddy! Pway wif Cweamsicwe?”
>You don't respond, picking up the chart on a nearby table.
>Creamiscle keeps asking if you want to play, since her playpen
is completely bare, and she's bored.
>All physical and mental tests within acceptable parameters.
Test subject 'Creamiscle' is, for all intents and purposes, a
typical domestic fluffy pony.
>You put the chart down and finally show some attention to
Creamiscle.
>”Hello, little girl.”
>”Daddy! Wan pway! Cweamsicwe no haf fwends, no haf baww, no haf
bwocks, wan pway!”
>”Alright, how would you like to play with a new friend?”
>Creamsicle looks estatic.
>”Yay! New fwend! New fwend!”
>She's hopping all around the playpen.
>You buzz the intercom.
>”Bring in the fuzzy.”
>Another researcher brings in a fuzzy pony and places him in the
playpen.
>She has a pink bow in her hair.
>”Really, Arthur?”
>”Hey, it's cute. And it helps to differentiate her. Isn't that
important, considering what's about to happen?”
>You sigh. “Fair enough.”
>You turn to the fuzzy.
>”Fuzzy, play with the fluffy pony. It is a friend.”
>”Kay, mista.”
>You place a ball inside the playpen.
>Creamsicle immediately runs up and headbutts the ball towards
the fuzzy.
>The fuzzy headbutts it back.
>The continues for ten minutes, Creamiscle laughing and bouncing
around the entire time.
>She walks up to the fuzzy and gives it a hug. “Wuv new fwend.”
>”Fuzzy, hug your friend.”
>The fuzzy hugs Creamiscle back.
>Awww, that's cute.
>Well, enough of that.
>”Fuzzy, begin secret order 109. Password: obsolete.”
>”Aknowedged.”
>Creamsicle goes back to playing with her ball. The fuzzy plays
with her.
>After waiting a few minutes with no noticeable change in
behavior, you and the researcher walk out the door.
>You walk over to another door and enter the observation room
overlooking the room with the playpen.
>The windows are treated so you can't be seen.
>After another minute of playing with the ball, the fuzzy stops,
and begins looking around the room.
>Creamsicle notices when she bounces to ball to her and she
doesn't bounce it back.
>”Whaa? Why no pway wif baww, fuzzy fwend?”
>Once the fuzzy has confirmed that there are no people in the
room, it pounces on Creamiscle.
>Creamsicle laughs. “Yay! Mo huggies fwom new fwend!”
>The fuzzy rolls over until she has Creamiscle pinned down on
her back. She then presses a hoof down directly onto her throat.
>Creamiscle tries to get the fuzzy off, but it's no use. The
fuzzy is much stronger and slightly larger than the fluffy, and
she can't even get enough air out to scream.
>Finally, her little body goes limp. The fuzzy gets off of
Creamiscle's body, and resumes playing with the ball, having not
been ordered to stop.
>You and the researcher go back into the room with the fuzzy.
>”Fuzzy, stop playing. What happened to Creamiscle?”
>”Fuzzy no know. Was pwaying baww wif new fwend, den fwend stop
moving. Fink she sweepy, take nap.”
>You nod. “Very well. Fuzzy.”
>You motion to the other researcher, and he picks up the fuzzy.
>You both go outside and start walking towards the fuzzy storage
room.
>”That couldn't have gone better, wouldn't you say, Arthur?”
>”Oh yeah, that was magical, Bill. This secret order idea was
genius.”
>”Well, I can't take all the credit. I thought of it while
watching Star Wars. That Emperor had the right idea.”
>Arthur gives the fuzzy in his arms a little stroke on the head.
>”These little guys are going to help us wipe those disgusting
vermin right off the face of the earth.”
>”You really hate fluffies, don't you, Arthur?”
>”What's not to hate? They're like toddlers, Bill. Toddlers for
life. At least with a human, it's smelly, annoying, and overly
dependent for a few years, and then it grows up and makes you
proud. A fluffy is smelly, annoying, and overly dependent for a
few years, and then it dies. It doesn't ever get better or stop
acting like a little child. What's the point?”
>”Some would say that's the whole point.”
>”Yeah, fuck those hugboxing idiots. Once these fuzzies go on
the market, nobody will ever want a fluffy pony again.”
>”Well, that's the business plan.”
>”Are we going to try the secret order out on the ferals now?”
>”Not until after lunch. I'm thinking Arby's.”
>”I'm thinking something a little more celebratory. 109 works,
dude! They'll never suspect the fuzzy pony when their old fluffy
keels over.”
>”Alright, how about Momocho?”
>”Guacamole ahoy!”
#Post#: 1300--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: Lord Anubis Date: July 9, 2012, 12:21 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
First fuzzy pony story is uploaded. Vanner, upload your stories
for today whenever you want.
Coal, upload your fuzzy pony image.
Remember to put them on Derpibooru as well. If you can't or
don't want to, let me know and I'll do it.
#Post#: 1304--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: PhilSrobeighn Date: July 9, 2012, 1:22 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Not that I expect you to watch for my approval, but it looks
like those stories are ready to go per the schedule. :)
#Post#: 1310--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: Lord Anubis Date: July 9, 2012, 1:31 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
The schedule look good to you, Phil?
#Post#: 1317--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: PhilSrobeighn Date: July 9, 2012, 2:23 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
[quote author=Lord Anubis link=topic=16.msg1310#msg1310
date=1341858677]
The schedule look good to you, Phil?
[/quote]
Yeah, I think it's staged well.
Next week, though, I really want Fluffy Theatre of Tomorrow to
be late in the week. Just a heads up. I think it will be a
great shock to go from "It's a wonderful day to be a fluffy" to
Mayclore's explosions.
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