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#Post#: 1526--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: Lord Anubis Date: July 12, 2012, 2:42 am
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The ongoing adventures of Marshall and Sweetheart continue.
**************************************
>The sun's almost down when you and Sweetheart arrive at the
Hasbro Biotoys building.
>A quick check of the front doors show that it's locked.
>You hold the fuzzy up to your face. “Where to next?”
>”Go to wed doow on otha side of building.”
>A quick walk over to the other side shows a propped open fire
door.
>You carefully walk through.
>You find yourself in some sort of hallway.
>Doors with clipboards attached dot the walls.
>”Is this the right place?”
>”Affiwmative.”
>A peek into some of the rooms suggests that this place is a
research facility.
>Plenty of cages and testing apparati.
>”It's empty. Where are all the test subjects?”
>”Hoomans weave when woud noise happen. Fuzzies taken to cages.
Den man come and open cages, teww us eat, sweep, make poopies,
and go out wed doow.”
>”The eating and shitting I get, but why did he tell you to go
into the city? Seems like this is a place that wants to be kept
secret.”
>The fuzzy doesn't respond.
>”Hey, fuzz for brains, I asked you a question.”
>”Fuzzy not know. Fuzzy is bwoken, owna must buy new fuzzy.”
>That's really starting to annoy you. He's been repeating it
since you threw him.
>”Alright, then were would I go to fix you?”
>”Bwoken fuzzies go to vetewinawy wing.”
>Conveniently, there's a small map on the wall that points out
the important areas of the facility, including the veterinary
wing.
>Sweetheat's been awfully quiet about all this. You look down.
>She's asleep, softly snoring with her ear pressed against your
chest, your heartbeat lulling her off to dreamland.
>You lift her up a bit and kiss her on her forehead.
>”I should have named you Sleepy Head.”
>She mumbles a little and smacks her lips, then goes back to
snoozing.
>The veterinary wing looks like the rest of the facility, only
with larger cages.
>There are a few fluffies here, with various injuries.
>One has an eyepatch.
>Another is missing almost all of her fluff, and her skin is
showing signs of second and third degree burns.
>One in the corner has been fully amputated, and is connected to
tubes on both ends.
>The one closest to you makes you glad that Sweetheart isn't
awake.
>She's been cut cleanly in half, her front resting on a pillow,
while her missing back half has been replaced by several tubes
and bags and bandages.
>She doesn't show any signs of discomfort, and the heart monitor
attached to her shows a stable, if somewhat quick, heartbeat.
>Or maybe it's entirely normal for fuzzies.
>You're hardly an expert on fluffy physiology, much less these
new creations.
>”So, this is where you go to get better?”
>”Afiwmative.”
>”Good.”
>You drag the fuzzy over to an empty cage and throw him inside,
locking it behind him. “If you need anything, just press the
call button.”
>”Whewe caww button? No see button fow fuzzy.”
>”Shut up.”
>“Aknowedged.”
>Your hostage/guide now securely restrained, you exit the wing.
>Whatever's going on here is big.
>As best as you can tell, this is some sort of new fluffy.
They're quiet, obedient, and less of a hassle.
>They apparently also murder fluffies.
>So that's a problem.
>You have nothing against fluffies. They're loud and stupid and
sometimes annoying, but they rarely mean any harm.
>Besides, it's how they were made to be. Hardly seems fair to
hate something for things it can't control.
>If your captive fuzzy was speaking the truth, and all the
fuzzies in the lab have been turned loose out in the city,
that'll be bad news for all the fluffies that have come to
Cleveland.
>There's gotta be some way to stop them.
>You realize that during your introspection, you've wandered up
to a door labeled, “FUZZY STORAGE.”
>Well, seems a good a place as any to start.
>The door is a sliding one, and you see no way to close it that
doesn't require a password. Entering, you find yourself in a
room lined with cages.
>A food bowl, bed, and litterbox are in each cage.
>And they're all at ground level.
>A hundred cages, all empty.
>Shit, they've already left.
>Must have gone out through that fire door you came in through.
>The cages are remarkably clean.
>All poop is in the litterboxes, there are no pieces of food
outside of the bowls.
>They must be programmed to be very neat.
>You guess that's going to be their selling point.
>No more training! These fuzzies never make a mess!
>How boring.
>If you want a pet that acts like a robot, just buy one of those
Haibo robot dogs.
>Or better yet, don't get a pet at all, because if you can't
care for another living being responsibly, you have no business
owning one.
>Sweetheart is a very well behaved little fluffy, but even if
she wasn't, you'd still love her all the same.
>You don't get a pet because it'll obey your every whim, or
because it stays out of the way until YOU want to play with it.
>You get a pet because they're living creatures, with their own
ideas and desires.
>If a fluffy's mannerisms annoy you, get a fucking dog or
something.
>Don't get a fucking meatbag droid that talks like a toddler.
>Suddenly, you hear a sound not far behind you.
>It's the soft pitter patter of hundreds of padded feet.
>Oh.
>Fuck.
>The fuzzies are coming back.
>You look around.
>No other door besides the one you entered.
>And that's where the noise is coming from.
>Fuck it, if you're going to have to face them, best to do it
without your back to a wall.
>At least in the hallway you can fall back to this room if you
have to.
>As you step out into the hallway, you can see a mass of white
fluff and blue eyes.
>They all stop when they notice you.
>There's about 15 yards of space between you and dozens of
fuzzies.
>All of them staring you right in the eyes.
>This is how you die.
>...
>Or not. They don't move a muscle.
>”Um...hi...?”
>”Hewo, hooman.” They all say in unison.
>Christ, that's creepy.
>They remain motionless, save for the subtle rise and fall of
their chests as they breathe.
>”...What are you all doing?”
>”Is dawk time. Fuzzies go sweep now.”
>”Eh? Whewe Sweehawt?” You hear Sweetheart yawn.
>Uhoh.
>She stretches her little hooves, arcs her back like a cat, then
turns around.
>Now the dozens of fuzzies are all staring at her.
>Wait for it...
>”AHHHH! MUNSTAS! MUNSTAS HUWT SWEEHAWT! HEWP SWEEHAWT DADDY!
SWEEHAWT SCAWED!”
>She latches onto your shoulder like it's the only lifeboat on
the Titanic.
>She continues bawling, her voice still raspy from the attempted
choking. Her screams are periodically interrupted by a short
coughing fit.
>She's shaking so hard.
>Not gonna lie, you're pretty scared yourself.
>Even if they're only somewhat stronger and bigger than a
fluffy, there are still over 60 of them.
>Not sure if you could take them while still protecting
Sweetheart.
>All at once, the fluffies turn their gaze from Sweetheart back
to you.
>”Well, if you guys are sleepy, don't let me keep ya. Go on
ahead to your beds and get some rest.”
>”Aknowedged. Fank yoo, hooman.”
>The fuzzies start walking towards you.
>You back into the corner, Sweetheart whimpering with her eyes
shut, fear tears rolling down her face.
>The fuzzies ignore you and all shuffle into the storage room.
>Once they're all in their cages, you slowly back away.
>The fuzzies still don't show any reaction to you. Some of them
eat, some of them poop, some of them just lay on their beds and
go to sleep.
>You have no intention of kicking this ant's nest, so you power
walk the hell out of that wing.
>You find yourself in the administrative area as you try to calm
Sweetheart.
>She's stopped crying, mostly because her coughing has gotten
worse.
>All that screaming couldn't have been good for it.
>”Does your throat still hurt, honey?”
>Sweetheart sniffles and nods her head.
>”Well, let's see if we can find some medicine for you.”
>Should be somewhere around....aha! A kitchen.
>It's pretty small, only a few tables, a fridge, some shelves,
and a vending machine.
>And mounted to the wall is the first aid box you were looking
for.
>It's one of those large metal ones that are stocked with
virtually everything a workplace would need for first aid and
general pain relief.
>And that includes throat lozenges.
>Individually wrapped for your convenience.
>You put Sweetheart on a table and unwrap a lozenge.
>”Daddy haf candee fo Sweethawt?”
>”Yep. This is a special medicine candy. You lick it, and it'll
make your throat feel better.”
>You take a seat and hold the candy in your fingers as she takes
little licks.
>”Candee taste funny...”
>”That's the medicine. Keep licking, it's good for you.”
>Sweetheart's obviously disappointed by the candy, but she does
as you tell her.
>Your hand is getting sticky, but you don't mind. You're just
happy that she's not thinking about the dozens of killer fuzzies
in the building with you.
>You check your watch.
>Jesus, it's almost midnight.
>You've been too stressed to realize it, but you're actually
pretty hungry.
>”Hey Sweetheart, is your throat feeling better?”
>Sweetheart nods happily. “Fank yoo fo' medicin candee, Daddy!”
>”You're welcome. Just sit there and let me take a look around.”
>Sweetheart plops her rump down on the table and sits like a
puppy waiting for a treat.
>You toss the half-licked lozenge and wash your hands.
>May as well see what sort of grub they left behind.
>You check the fridge.
>Oh boy, condiments. Part of a balanced meal.
>Expired carton of milk, moldy sandwich, and a tupperware
container of roasted eggplant with squash and what smells like a
raisin sauce.
>You'd rather starve that touch that.
>The freezer just has half a gallon of freezer burned chocolate
ice cream, an ice cube tray, and a Lean Cuisine box so covered
with ice you'd probably need a hammer to break it.
>Okay, so that was a bust. Time to check the vending machine.
>Not a bad selection. Some candy, plenty of chips, drinks, some
gum, and peanut butter crackers.
>You don't have a lot of small bills, but your foot should be
able to give you a hefty discount.
>Still, you don't want to break stuff in from of Sweetheart.
Sets a bad example.
>”Hey Sweetheart, what's that?” You point behind her.
>When she turns around, you kick the glass as hard as you can.
>It shatters, and Sweetheart quickly turns to the source of the
nosie.
>”Daddy, wha happen!”
>”Dunno, honey. I guess the chip machine broke. Maybe he'll feel
better if we helped him carry some of these chips.”
>”Okay, Daddy, Sweethawt be hewfuw fwuffy!”
>”I'm glad to hear it.” You say as you hand her a bag of
Ruffles. She happily drags it away in her mouth.
>You grab the peanut butter crackers, the Famous Amos, and two
bottles of Dasani.
>”Follow me, Sweetheart.”
>You exit the kitchen with Sweetheart close behind, chip bag
held in her teeth, dragging along the floor.
>Enough aimless wandering. You need to find information about
these things.
>You enter the office of one Arthur Imous, Vice Director of R&D.
>It's a nicely sized room, with a large workdesk, a couch in one
corner, and a whole lot of Indians memorabilia on the walls.
>Eh. Baseball is boring.
>You open the bag of chips for Sweetheart and put her on the
couch. She sits there and munches on her chips with hungry glee
as you sit yourself at the desk.
>This Arthur guy is still logged in, but you need the password.
>You start opening drawers, seeing if maybe he left a Postit
note with the password written down somewhere.
>The left hand drawers are all vacuous office supply stuff. No
notes.
>The top right hand drawer just has a pair of scissors, a key,
some rubber bands, a tube of superglue, and a craft knife that
seems to be crusted with blood.
>What in the....
>The second drawer has a small scoop, some grocery store plastic
bags, a little bag of fluffy chow, a box of tissues, and what
looks like a short dowel about a half inch in diameter and a
foot and a half in length. It too has bloodstains.
>The last drawer is a big one, the kind you store folders in.
>It's locked.
>You get the key out of the first drawer.
>You're afraid of what you'll find in the last drawer.
>Taking a deep breath, you unlock the drawer and pull it open.
>It's what you suspected, but worse than you feared.
>Inside is a cage just small enough to fit, with the door on the
top.
>Within the cage is the body of a fluffy pony.
>You resist the strong urge to retch.
>Much of its fluff is missing, either having fallen off or been
cut off, probably with the scissors.
>The thing is barely more than skin and bones, its ribs sticking
out.
>There are cuts all over its body, many of the larger ones
seeming to have been held together with superglue.
>Its genitals have a rubber band wrapped tightly around them at
the base, and it's clear it had been there for awhile, as the
penis and scrotum have turned necrotic and black from lack of
circulation.
>Everywhere you look, you can see bruises in large blue patches
on its skin.
>Its lips are cracked and shriveled from dehydration, and it's
lying in a pile of its own filth.
>Arthur, you sick son of a bitch.
>You kept a fluffy in your office just to torture it?
>What kind of deranged fuck would ever-
>”Hhhhhhhhhhhhhh”
>Holy fuck, it's still alive!
>”Hhhhhhhh”
>It can barely talk with its throat so dry.
>You open one of the Dasani bottles and very carefully pour a
tiny bit into the fluffy's mouth.
>”Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhewwwwwwwp fwuuuuuuuffyyyyyyyyy...”
>You feel sick to your stomach.
>There's nothing you can do for the poor guy.
>Even if you were a vet in the best pet hospital, it's clear
this fluffy is beyond recovery.
>So you do the only thing you can do.
>You reach inside the cage and snap the fluffy's neck with one
quick stroke.
>One last gasp of air exits the fluffy's lungs. “ffffaaank.....”
>You push the fluffy's eyes shut and close the drawer, locking
it again.
>Who could do something like that to another living being?
>You can barely fathom it, but if you ever run into this Arthur
guy, you're going to give him a taste of his own medicine.
>Luckily, the noise of the crunching chips drowned out any noise
Sweetheart might have heard. She's still sitting there on the
couch, munching on her dinner without care or concern.
>Focus. Nothing you could have done for that fluffy. Concentrate
on the task at hand.
>Okay. Still need a password, and the search of the desk has
proved fruitless.
>You sit back and scan the room, looking for ideas.
>Indians pennants, Indians news clippings, Indians jerseys,
photos of what you must assume to be Indians players...
>Fuck, now you feel like an idiot.
>You type in 'Indians' and the system opens up.
>You browse through the files for anything promising.
>A lot of advertising ideas, some records of tests and
experiments, and a whole lot of biological data.
>”Daddy? Pway?”
>”Not now, Sweetheart, Daddy's doing something extremely
important.”
>Sweetheart sighs and lies down on the sofa, looking bored.
>You notice a baseball in a plastic case on the desk.
>It's signed by Cy Young.
>Wow. That guy you've actually heard of. He was a legendary
pitcher back when the Indians were called the Naps.
>If that autograph is genuine, it must be worth a few grand.
>You take it out of the case and toss it on the couch. It
bounces off and rolls onto the floor.
>”Here you go, honey. Play with the ball.”
>”Baww!”
>Sweetheart jumps off the couch and starts pushing the ball
around, bumping it into the furniture and walls.
>Fuck you, Arthur. You don't get to have nice things.
>You continue to skim the computer for over an hour, mostly
getting confused by terms you don't understand.
>Dammit man, you're an engineer, not a biological geneticist!
>When you've had enough, you roll back from the computer to
stretch a bit.
>It's 3 in the morning.
>You have access to the data, but you're ill equipped to
interpret it in any meaningful way.
>No other way around it.
>You need backup.
>And you know just who to call.
>You just hope that asshole will answer his phone this late at
night.
**********************************************************
Next time, CROSSOVER!!!
Hope Vanner doesn't mind.
#Post#: 1602--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: coalheart Date: July 13, 2012, 4:26 am
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Tomorrow is my 5th wedding aniversary so I don't plan to come
back anytime until monday.
Please feel free to use the pics I uploaded into the artists to
do list thread and I'll see to upload them in my tumblr and DA
next week.
Now I go have a weekend of fun with my wife :3
#Post#: 1603--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: Lord Anubis Date: July 13, 2012, 5:05 am
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[quote author=coalheart link=topic=16.msg1602#msg1602
date=1342171598]
Tomorrow is my 5th wedding aniversary so I don't plan to come
back anytime until monday.
Please feel free to use the pics I uploaded into the artists to
do list thread and I'll see to upload them in my tumblr and DA
next week.
Now I go have a weekend of fun with my wife :3
[/quote]
I too am going to be off celebrating (my cousin's wedding), so
no clue how in touch I'll be.
And congrats!
#Post#: 1617--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: PhilSrobeighn Date: July 13, 2012, 11:01 am
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And tomorrow's Bastille Day for me! Which is what I call the
dreaded day in which people congratulate me simply for surviving
a year. :P
Update: apparently I have plans tonight... so I went ahead. You
had the chance to stop me.
#Post#: 1723--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: Lord Anubis Date: July 18, 2012, 1:08 am
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More hugbox for the hugbox gods!
****************************************************************
*********
>You are an owner who has taken your yellow and green fluffy,
Marigold, to Spaghetti Land, the one and only theme park
designed for fluffies.
>In exchange for being an absolutely perfectly well-behaved
little girl for 3 whole months, you've driven all the way to
Cleveland with the Deluxe Super Fluffy Package, which includes
free access to all the rides with Fast Pass, a weekend long
all-you-can-eat food pass, and discounts for the stores.
>Expensive? Yes
>Worth it? Totally.
>Marigold is acting the same way you did when your parents took
you to Disney World.
>She can't decide what part of the park excites her most, so her
head is constantly spinning left to right as she trots along,
her leash clipped to your belt loop.
>You both just sat through the Fluffy Theater of Tomorrow.
>An informative ride that's more or less a fluffified version of
Disney World's Carousel of Progress.
>Never heard a fluffy say “asshowe” since you accidentally left
the TV on South Park while you left Marigold at home to get some
groceries.
>Well, Marigold loved it. She's been humming the song ever since
you left.
>After that Goof Fluffy Ride, anything would be better.
>Gotta admit, though, it has kept her close to you. You've yet
to feel the leash go tight from her trying to run ahead.
>Even with her leash and collar, that could end badly.
>There are TONS of fluffies running free. You suspect quite a
few of them are the ferals you saw earlier.
>Still, they've been on their best behavior, and you can see
people on golf carts rounding up any ferals that start fighting.
>Sure hope they're being taken to a shelter and not a wood
chipper.
>”Daddy! Daddy!”
>You look down. “Yes, Marigold?”
>Marigold points a hoof at Spaghetti Tower. “Wan sketti! Pwease
can haf?”
>Might as well. You have unlimited food for the entire weekend.
Marigold's probably worked up an appetite from all her
skittering around. And you could go for a bite yourself.
>”Sure. Let's get some food.”
>”Yay, nummies!”
>Man, that tower is a lot bigger when you're standing under it.
>The food court is huge, and bustling with crowds of hungry
fluffies babbling about “skettis!”
>Whoever designed this place designed a pretty good system to
feed so many customers.
>There are 12 kiosks sticking out of the sides of Spaghetti
Tower, and each one is manned by 3 cashiers and 4 attendants.
>With 36 lines, waiting time is short, and with the tower being
placed right in the middle of the park, hungry humans and
fluffies are never too far away.
>As you wait with Marigold, who is bouncing up and down in
anticipation, you watch the employees work.
>Lined along the inner walls of the kiosk are all the typical
stadium fare for humans, such as personal pizzas, hot dogs, corn
dogs, burgers, etc.
>You see they even have a large pot from which they're ladling
heaping plates of hot spaghetti onto a plate.
>Just the sight of that most cherished of foods sends the
waiting fluffies into a frenzy on shouts and flailing legs.
>One fluffy gets too excited and soils himself.
>Unfortunately, he was being held by his owner, whose shoes are
now covered in foul-smelling fluffy ****.
>The nearby fluffies try to cover their noses with their stubby
hooves, mumbling “no smeww pwetty...”
>The owner starts screaming at her fluffy pegasus, who is
flinching and uttering apologies in typical fluffy form.
>You watch as she leaves the line in a huff, her shoes making a
sloshing slap with each step.
>Sucks to be that fluffy. No spaghetti for him.
>There was a litterbox not ten feet away, too.
>And 25 feet away.
>Seriously, there are litterboxes everywhere in the food court.
>And they're being used, too. Plenty of fluffies eating their
spaghetti suddenly asking their mommies and daddies to undo the
straps holding them to the benches so they can poop.
>Smart move, installing so many litterboxes.
>Because the poop goes straight down a grate, which then feeds
into a pipe, the smell doesn't linger.
>Going back to watching the employees serve food, you notice
that the spaghetti they're getting out of the pot is being
served in very large portions. Too big for a fluffy.
>You see an employee then go to the back of the kiosk. There are
3 of what looks like those popcorn containers you see at movie
theaters, only filled with spaghetti.
>She takes a small plastic bowl and places a much smaller amount
of spaghetti into it, then pouring marinara sauce onto it out of
a push dispenser you usually use for mustard and ketchup.
>One of the spaghetti containers is low, and you see a door
above it open.
>Fresh spaghetti tumbles down into the container.
>How efficient.
>You wonder why the fluffies get a different spaghetti than the
humans.
>Your turn in line. Time to find out.
>”One large fluffy spaghetti bowl for Marigold here...”
>Marigold squees with joy at the prospect of delicious
spaghetti. “Wuv skettis! Fank yoo fo' skettis!”
>”...and a large bowl for me, too. Both with marinara. Meatballs
for me if you have them.
>You swipe your food pass and the attendants hands you your
bowls.
>They do have meatballs. Score!
>You walk over to an empty table and Marigold hops up on the
bench.
>You don't bother strapping her in, since she's still on her
leash, and she's proven to be trustworthy.
>You place her bowl before her. “Here you go, honey. Dig in.”
>Marigold just stares for a few seconds, her jaw hanging open.
>Then she just bursts into tears.
>Uhoh. “What's wrong, Marigold?”
>”Mawig-g-gold so h-h-happy! Haf s-s-skettis, haf fun wides
w-w-wif Daddy, haf so much f-f-fun!”
>She jumps into your lap and hugs you tightly.
>”Fank yoo, Daddy! Fank yoo fow take Mawigowd to Sketti Wand!”
>Awwwww, she's overwhelmed with happiness.
>Definitely worth the money to take her here.
>You cuddle with her awhile until she's calmed down enough to
eat.
>You plop her back down in front of her spaghetti. “Fank yoo fo'
skettis, Daddy!”
>She immediately digs in, her lips smacking as she dines on
spaghetti and red sauce.
>You start in on your own spaghetti and meatballs.
>Man, that's not bad at all. The meatballs are definitely of the
precooked and frozen variety, but they've been soaking in the
marinara sauce, and they're plump and moist.
>Marigold, of course, is in fluffy bliss right now, and her tiny
mouth can barely chew fast enough.
>You can hear a fluffy a few tables away choking from eating too
fast.
>The owner is trying to force the food up or down her throat,
but the Heimlich Maneuver would crush a fluffy pony's delicate
ribcage.
>Looks like some fluffy's about to die doing what it loves most.
>...”Marigold, don't eat so fast.”
>She obeys.
>Still curious why fluffies get different spaghetti, you ask
Marigold if you can have a noodle.
>She stops eating, her snout covered in marinara. “Otay, Daddy!
Mawigowd is good fwuffy, shawe sketti!”
>You pet her, careful to avoid the areas stained with sauce.
>You grab a noodle with your fork and chew on it.
>Bleh. It falls apart in your mouth, and it tastes more like
dough than pasta.
>And the marinara is clearly little more than tomato paste and a
few scant spices.
>Not gonna lie, pretty gross.
>Not that any of the fluffies seem to mind. They're all digging
into their spaghetti without any complaints.
>Seems like spaghetti is spaghetti to fluffies, no matter how
crappy it is.
>You offer her one of your own noodles in exchange for hers.
>She opens her mouth and you lower it in.
>She happily noms on it without indicating it's any better than
her own spaghetti.
>Yep, they definitely can't tell the difference.
>You make a note to start buying the absolute cheapest brand
when you get home.
>Once the meal is done and Marigold's face is once again clean
thanks to some moist towelettes (that apparently were moist
enough to drown a few fluffies already), you're both ready to
hit the rides again.
>You find yourself gravitating towards the merry go-round.
>They even have horses modeled after G3 My Little Ponies.
>Adorable. Too bad there isn't a Rarity. You ****ing love
Rarity.
>You put Marigold down on a Rainbow Dash, who is currently
dressing in style.
>You carefully strap her in and tell her to hold on as best as
she can.
>She's a fluffy pony, so that's asking a bit much.
>But she enjoys the ride, giggling the entire time as the
carousel slowly spins around and Rainbow Dash (with her stylin'
hat) gently bobs her up and down.
>She enjoys it so much she begs you to let her ride again.
Twice.
>Eh, no big deal. Fast Pass. Suck it, basic ticket commoners.
>After she's had enough of that, you take her over to the big
performance area, where Uni the Unicorn, beloved TV character of
fluffies around the country, is about to put on a show.
>Marigold adores her. Every morning, she's glued to the TV
screen, singing and dancing along with Uni.
>She doesn't even realize it's just two chicks in a big fluffy
suit.
>All she knows is that she wants to be just like Uni.
>Fine by you, since 'Uni' is a very polite 'fluffy' who always
reminds her viewers to “wisten to Mummas and Daddehs!”
>You manage to grab a seat in the third row, close to the stage.
>Man, that Deluxe Package is ****ing awesome. You're beginning
to consider getting whatever the equivalent is for Disney World
next year and going there by yourself.
>Your sister wouldn't mind taking care of Marigold. All she ever
wants to do when she comes to visit is play with her.
>As the seating area quickly fills, the floor space gets
positively coated with wild fluffies, all eager to see Uni.
>You surmise from their exciting babyspeak that many of them
made the trip just to see her.
>They're lucky the park is letting them in at all, considering
they don't have any money.
>Then again, turning them away or killing them would have looked
terrible on TV, especially on opening day.
>That fat **** of a mayor looked like he was about to have a
brain aneurysm at the ribbon cutting ceremony.
>What was his name? Hamfist?
>Teehee.
>Oh look, the show's starting.
>Uni walks on stage, singing the Journey song that had become
her theme for the last few months.
>Her normal episodes had been replaced with footage of her
making her way across the nation, from California to Cleveland,
stopping at key points every week.
>Pretty creative way to advertise, really.
>But it had an unexpected consequence.
>TONS of stray fluffies from the cities had embarked upon an
epic quest to follow Uni wherever she went.
>Her stops at cities and landmarks only further helped the herds
to find their way.
>Of course, it was a goddamn Smörgåsbord for abusers, who hit
the road (and the fluffies), leaving a trail of destruction.
>But there were also plenty of people who would ride alongside
the herds, giving them food and water and words of
encouragement.
>Most of the fluffies probably would never have made it through
the southern regions without the help.
>”Hewwo, fwends! Uni wuv aww yoo good fwuffies!”
>All the fluffies in the crowd cheer. Marigold waves her hooves
in the air, hoping to get Uni's attention.
>You see a lot of the feral stallions are humping the ground
furiously, many of them trying to climb over the divider.
>You pick up Marigold and hold her closely.
>You're not about to let another trip end with a pregnancy.
>Man, your sister was in so much trouble after that vacation to
the Grand Canyon.
>Well, that was fun.
>You even found yourself dancing and singing along with Uni as
you held Marigold in your arms.
>After the show is a photo op with Uni for VIPs.
>Hey look, you're a VIP. Deluxe Package, baby.
>When you tell Marigold she's about to meet Uni, she goes
ape****.
>She runs in circles around your legs.
>”Uni! Uni! Uni! Uni! Uni! Uni! Uni! Uni! Uni! Uni! Uni! Uni!”
>Great, now your legs are tangled.
>The Uni meet is in a fairly unremarkable building.
>Probably to keep all those feral stallions away.
>No shortage of footage on the Internet of Uni getting gangraped
by hordes of **** herds.
>You flash your Deluxe card to the guy at the door and he lets
you in.
>Uni's just standing there, a line of eager fluffies at her
side, and a photographer to take pictures.
>The fluffies and their owners walk up, and Uni greets them. The
fluffies will babble something back, give Uni a big hug, then
smile for the camera.
>Pretty much like the photo ops for Disney characters back when
you were little.
>As a kid, you always marveled at how big Mickey Mouse was,
because he never looked so big in his cartoons.
>Of course, now you know it was just a guy in a costume.
>Not that the fluffies will ever figure that one out with Uni.
>You're behind some guy with a blue pegasus fluffy.
>”Man, they've pulled out all the stops for this place, am I
right?”
>”Tell me about it. Bravo here's been having the time of his
life. Well, after the Good Fluffy Ride.”
>”Oh, you went on that one too? What did you set it to?”
>”Extreme”
>You raise an eyebrow. “Yikes. Was he misbehaving?”
>The guy smiles. “Not after, that's for sure. That virtual
fluffy got torn to shreds by some big shadowy monster. The
graphics were amazing, too. You could see every drop of blood
being spilled from its carcass. Why, what was your setting?”
>”Easy. Marigold here never misbehaves. The 3D fluffy just got
lost after running outside. Still traumatizing enough for her.”
>”I bet. Pardon me, it's our turn. Come on, Bravo! Let's go meet
Uni!”
>”Yay, wuv Uni! Wan be One Twu Spshaw Fwend!”
>A minute later, a slightly dejected Bravo is trundling out of
the tent with his owner, and it's Marigold's turn.
>Marigold slowly approaches Uni.
>Uni looks down. “Hewwo, fwend! Yuu fwuff so pwetty! What
fwuffy's name?”
>Marigold laughs. “Fwuffy name Mawigowd!”
>”Mawigowd! So pwetty name fo pwetty fwuffy! You haf wotsa fun
in Sketti Wand?”
>Marigold nods furiously. “Dere be wides, and-and games, and
pway, and...and...SKETTIS!”
>She hugs your leg. “Daddy is best Daddy! Wuv Daddy fo' take
Mawigowd to Sketti Wand!”
>Uni laughs. “Mawigowd vewwy wucky, haf such good Daddy! Awways
be good to Daddy, because Daddy wuv yuu!”
>Marigold tells Uni all about the rides she's been on, and all
the yummy spaghetti she's eaten. Uni promises to get some
spaghetti later, then gives Marigold a great big hug.
>You put your arm around Uni's neck as you all pose for a photo.
>Goddamn, that's some soft fluff.
>No wonder every stallion under the sun wants to tap that.
>You lean in to her ear and mutter “This must get tiring after
awhile.”
>You can hear a woman's voice whispering under the suit, not
through Uni's mouth speaker.
>”I'm just glad they let the ferals in. Some of them have been
following us all the way from California.”
>Then the mouth speaker turns back on.
>”Otay, Mawigowd. Uni wishes she could stay and pway wif yuu,
but haf so many fwends to give huggies to! Mawigowd go haf mo'
fun in Sketti Wand, okay?”
>”Kay! Fank yoo, Uni! Wuv yuu!”
>Uni waves. “Uni wuv Mawigowd! You is good fwend!”
>Another go on the merry go-round and a quick trip to Spaghetti
Tower later, and Marigold's all tuckered out.
>You carry her towards the gate as she mumbles “Nuu, Mawigowd no
sweepy, no wan weave Sketti Wand...” while yawning.
>”Let's go back to the hotel, honey. We'll come back tomorrow,
okay? It'll all be here when we come back.”
>”Yayyyy....” Marigold is starting to drift off into sleep.
>She snoozes during the trip back to the hotel.
>You lay her in her bed, and she curls up into a ball, mumbling
the Uni theme song in her sleep.
>You fall onto your own bed and turn on the TV.
>Breaking news. There are a lot more fluffies than expected
headed towards Cleveland.
>Ohio is reporting record highs of herd sightings, and a whole
lot of so-called 'mega herds' have been seen crossing the
country.
>That's not good. Cleveland better have some good exterminators.
>Good thing you're only here for the weekend. Today wasn't too
bad, and you saw the park workers collecting the ferals and
putting them in trucks that had the labels of local shelters
painted on the sides.
>If they can keep most of the wild fluffies away from Spaghetti
Land, this'll be a pleasant vacation.
>Then the power goes out.
>You just lay there in the darkness, silent save for Marigold's
soft snoozing.
>How can an entire hotel lose power?
>You get up and make your way over to the window.
>You bang your shin on the dresser.
>It takes all of your willpower not to unleash a string of
profanity across the room. Best not to wake Marigold in this
blackness. She'd just get scared.
>You open the blinds and find that it's not just the hotel. Most
of Cleveland has blacked out.
>Well, not all of Cleveland. Spaghetti Land is still lit up for
the most part. They must be on a separate power source.
>After a few minutes, the power returns.
>Odd.
>You make sure everything's still working.
>The TV is now reporting on the blackout.
>Seems like the Perry Nuclear Power Plant is dealing with a
massive fluffy invasion that's causing serious problems with the
energy production.
>You guess more pilgrims on the Spaghetti Land Trail.
>Then the power goes out again.
>You might consider cutting the trip short a day.
**************************************************
I'll probably do one more story before the end of the hugbox
week, where Marigold plays on the astroturf. Then she and her
owner get the hell out of there before it gets bad. Sound good?
#Post#: 1724--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: PhilSrobeighn Date: July 18, 2012, 1:56 am
---------------------------------------------------------
It's like an octopus, reaching out its tentacles and crossing
over so many stories. And I love octopi.
And yes, after you've had a Magic Your Way Platinum Plan with a
Concierge Level Suite in a Luxury Resort on the Monorail line,
all other theme park experiences pale.
#Post#: 1774--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: PhilSrobeighn Date: July 19, 2012, 11:49 am
---------------------------------------------------------
>Be a fluffy pony owner
>Your wife and you have a fluffy pony a piece, Font and Lexi
>(Lexi being short for Lexicon)
>You consider yourself good disciplinarians
>You have put in time with a sorry stick and a sorry box
>From it, you have gotten good behavior
>No demands for certain foods, no poop outside the litterbox
>At least most of the time
>You try not to spoil them
>But now you have dropped $218 for two passes to Spaghetti Land
>Not to mention a great deal of cash for travel and lodging
>Hotels normally upcharge an unreasonable amount for fluffy
lodgings
>Cleveland-area hotels seem to be even worse
>High demand for the opening week of the world’s first fluffy
theme park
>Low supply of fluffy-friendly hotels anywhere
>basiceconmoics.pdf
>It has been a long day already
>Font and Lexi hit the ground running
>Every fluffy wants to get their paws on the Spaghetti Mountain
>You’ve heard complaints all day from owners
>“What? You ate half an hour ago!”
>“Pwease daddy, wan mowe sketties fwom sketti moun’in”
>Argument, but the fluffy always wins
>Owner drops another $10 into the kiosk for another serving
>Glad you bought a $35 all-you-can-eat pass
>Had breakfast first thing
>You and your wife tried the spaghetti from the servers
>Font and Lexi got an extra half a serving a piece
>While you went to one of the vendors around the food area
>Got yourself some good human food
>See a couple of humans eating the spaghetti with their fluffies
>Either they want the all-you-can-eat or are encouraging the
fluffies
>Not that the fluffies seem they need the encouraging
>You guess they might actually like the stuff
>You never cared for Spaghetti-O’s, you figure this might be
similar
>Trip to the litterbox after breakfast
>Squeezed out poop just to make sure
>Then hit the rides
>Started tame with the merry-go-round
>The gentle up and down motion of the G3 ponies gets your
fluffies used to rides
>Step it up to a swing ride
>Both cheer and say “Wook mummy! Wook daddy! Fwuffy fwy!
Weeeeee!”
>They love every moment
>Notice a few pegasus fluffies are getting back in line over and
over
>Thrill of a life for most pegasai fluffies
>After that, your fluffies are real daredevil enthusiasts
>They run about wanting to try everything
>A rollercoaster that barely tops off over your head
>A lift and drop ride no higher than a basketball goal that
doesn’t really drop them
>Ferris wheel, boat ride, train
>Snack, the midway
>It’s not even a proper lunch time and your feet are killing you
>“What go on nex?” Font asks
>“Wan go wowwah coastah ‘gain!” cheers Lexi
>Check your map of the park
>You don’t want to trudge all the way over to the other side for
another hour line
>Not until you rest your feet for a while
>Nearby is a ride with no line
>Described in the map as a moving theatre of animatronics
>You suggest a story-ride with artificially inflated enthusiasm
>“YAY! STOWY WIDE!” cheer both fluffies
>Walk to the large, round building
>Several signs advertise the ride as a long show
>Ask kindly that you “manually evacuate” your fluffy
>Which means squeeze the poop out of them
>The doors open after a few minutes
>You find a seat
>After a few minutes, the lights dim just a little
>Enough for the fluffies to say “Ooooh, dawk!”
>Not enough to elicit more than one or two “Waaah! Scawwy!
Wights go away!”
>A pleasant, older-sounding voice is piped into the room
>“Welcome, owners and fluffies, to the Fluffy Theatre of
Tomorrow
>Presented by Fluffy Brother's Engineering, LLC
>For your safety, and the safety of others, please remain seated
during the show
>If you need to evacuate a fluffy, pull-out litter trays are
below each seat.”
>As with most of the rides, the same message repeats
>Except read by a fluffy in fluffy-speak
>“Hewwo fwuffies! We gonna watch pwetty show wit nice hoomans!
>Pwease sit in Fwuffy seat and stay dewe tiw wight come back
>If need make not-pretties, ask hooman to put you in
good-poopies box
>Good-poopies box will come magicawy fwom seat on the fwow!
>Dis nice wide, enjowy da show!”
>There is a much-needed pause as most fluffies want to poop in
the magic box
>Font and Lexi included
>They giggle as the magic box is replaced
>You smile as you hear tiny fans clearing the air
>Suddenly, you hear a whir of motors and the whole theatre
starts moving
>And throughout the speaker system you hear a catchy song
It’s a wonderful day to be a fluffy;
Today is a happy fluffy day!
It’s a wonderful day to be a fluffy,
And tomorrow is going to be the same!
Today we have fun at work and play,
We make things better every day,
So when tomorrow comes everything will be
Even better for you and me!
It’s a wonderful day to be a fluffy;
Today is a happy fluffy day!
It’s a wonderful day to be a fluffy
Each and every day!
>As the song plays, the theatre rotation settles on a stage
>The scene is a fence in a yard between two houses with large
windows
>A man in a lab coat, red baseball cap, and reflective
sunglasses greets you
>You can tell by the motions and facial expressions that it is
animatronics
>Still, really good animatronics
>“Hello fluffies! Oh, and hello to mommy and daddy too!”
>The recording has a nice southern drawl
>“Welcome to my neighborhood! I am a fluffy pony scientist!
>Wait, but you don’t know what a fluffy pony is!
>Because it is years ago, and fluffies are just being made!
>Wait, you know what a fluffy is? How wonderful!”
>The script is well-written to deal with fluffy reactions
>It eases the fluffies into pretending they are in the past
>“We are thinking of everything here with fluffy ponies
>They are happy ponies that know how to talk!
>People are going to be very happy to have them as pets!”
>A light comes on behind the window to the left to show a happy
owner and fluffy
>“Fwen!” says the robotic fluffy
>“Yes, good fluffy!” says the robotic owner
>The narrator says “We’ve made them to be loving creatures.
>When they get sad or hurt, do you know what they’ll ask for?”
>There’s a fluffy looking sad that appears in the right window
>The owner is holding it kindly
>“Fwuffy needs hugs!” the soundtrack plays
>You feel a tug at your side
>Lexi is giving you a big hug
>Her eyes are still wide and staring straight at the stage
>“These creatures are great, and have good litter training!”
>The left window lights up again, showing a fluffy moving to a
box
>“Uh-oh! Need poopies!” the fluffy says
>The lights go out and you hear an “Uh-oh! Sowwy!”
>The fluffies gasp and giggle at the pretend fluffy’s dilemma
>“Well, it’ll be okay,” assures the narrating scientist
>“We’ve got a great treat though! We’ve made fluffies to love a
certain food!
>Can you guess what it is?”
>The fluffies in the audience shout “SKETTIES!”
>A fluffy in the right window is shown in front of a plate of
spaghetti
>Shaped exactly like Spaghetti Mountain, notably.
>“Yay! Fwuffy have sketties!” the soundtrack plays.
>“Yep,” the narrator concludes, “These little toys are
wonderful.
>And things are going to keep getting better for them, because
after all…”
>And the song starts up again
It’s a wonderful day to be a fluffy;
Today is a happy fluffy day!
It’s a wonderful day to be a fluffy,
And tomorrow is going to be the same!
Today we have fun at work and play,
We make things better every day,
So when tomorrow comes everything will be
Even better for you and me!
It’s a wonderful day to be a fluffy;
Today is a happy fluffy day!
It’s a wonderful day to be a fluffy
Each and every day!
>The scene continues through two more rotations
>Each one paints a sugar-coated picture of the brief history of
fluffy pony
>The second shows feral herds with a good smarty friend
>A large African-American arresting abusers
>The third is showing more modern fluffy relations
>The fluffies in the audience are enraptured with the fluffies
on stage
>You find yourself enjoying the story too
>You remember when fluffies first came on the scene
>How they were prone to drowning, pooping everywhere
>You swore you’d never get one
>But as time marched on, things got better
>Techniques in breeding and training made fluffies better
disciplined
>Fluffy herds are learning to stay safe underground too
>Some of them have even taken up basket-weaving
>Some of them build bracelets and sell them on the streets
>You watch the third scene wind down
>One of the underground feral fluffies is in a tête-à-tête with
the narrator
>“Don’t worry fluffy, we’re working to make things better!”
>“You weaw asshowl, mistah.”
>You'd get a bit put off at this, but you noticed that almost
all the fluffies had already said that word
>As if the fluffies instinctively feel the robotic host is an
asshole
>“Oh, poor fluffy. Hey everyone, let’s cheer him up by singing
our song!”
>The song has been repeated so many times, even fluffies have it
down
>And you’ve got such a nice feeling about the progress of
fluffies, you want to sing
It’s a wonderful day to be a fluffy;
Today is a happy fluffy day!
It’s a wonderful day to be a fluffy,
And tomorrow is going to be the same!
Today we have fun at work and play,
We make things better every day,
So when tomorrow comes everything will be
Even better for you and me!
It’s a wonderful day to be a fluffy;
Today is a happy fluffy day!
It’s a wonderful day to be a fluffy
Each and every day!
>Now the scene shows the future
>At least as envisioned by Fluffy Brother's Engineering, LLC
>Products of the future abound
>A television that broadcasts a sub-frequency understandable by
fluffies
>The fluffies now converse about politics and world affairs
>A fluffy automated kitchen
>The fluffies now make their own Spaghetti-mountain shaped
spaghetti
>Video games so intuitive that fluffies play along with owners
>“Wook, Dawe,” an animatronic fluffy says, “Fwuffy scowe ovah
nine towsan!”
>“What? Nine thousand?” says the animatronic host
>The fluffy kitchen of the future translates that into a
spaghetti order
>Starts spraying spaghetti
>(straight up, you notice, so that it all lands in the sink
again)
>“Well,” the robotic host says, tipping his Jetsons-esque red
cap
>“That’s what tomorrow will bring!”
>“Hooway!” cheer the fluffy-bots on stage
>“Hooway!” cheer the fluffies in the audience
>And so the scene moves on, song and all, once again
>The lights come back up, and you gather your fluffies
>Employees of Spaghetti Land come in to clean up any messes
>Your feet feel much better
>Good rest
>The next day, your fluffies are getting worried about the trip
home
>Have them snug in their fluffy-carriers
>“Daddy, we scawed!”
>“Come gif huggies!”
>Tell them you can’t take them out
>They nearly start to cry
>Just then, you get an idea
>You whistle the first few bars of the song from Fluffy Theatre
of Tomorrow
>The fluffies perk up and sing
Is a wonfuw day to be fwuffy;
T’day is happy fwuffy day!
Is a wonfuw day to be a fwuffy,
And t’mowwow gonna be da same!
T’day we have fun at wowk and pway,
We make tings bettah evewy day,
So when t’morrow comes evewyting’ll be
Even bettah fow ou and me!
Is a wodfuw day to be a fwuffy;
T’day is a happy fwuffy day!
Is a wonfuw day to be a fwuffy
Each an evewy day!
#Post#: 1775--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: Lord Anubis Date: July 19, 2012, 11:52 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Looks good. Better post it soon, people are pretty curious about
the Theater of Tomorrow after I teased it twice.
#Post#: 1882--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: Lord Anubis Date: July 24, 2012, 12:03 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Okay, the last Marigold story is DONE.
Vanner, take note of a few minor changes I made to the dialogue
in the part with Dwayne (it's at the end). I'll post in a few
minutes, then you can post tonight or tomorrow. Whichever works.
********************************************
>Oh my God, the worst has happened.
>Okay, not THE worst. Rarity didn't get written off the show.
But it's a close second.
>This was a bad idea.
>You're no stranger to large herds.
>They've been showing up in larger and larger numbers ever since
you got to Cleveland.
>But this...this is beyond a herd now.
>It's more like a swarm.
>You had no idea there were this many fluffy ponies in
existence.
>You couldn't hope to guess with any accuracy how many there
are, but it has to be a million.
>And they just keep coming into the park.
>The entrance looks more like a floodgate, with scores of
fluffies pouring in every second.
>And here you are, standing on top of a food court table,
Marigold held tightly in your arms, as you watch a literal sea
of fluffy ponies stampede past you.
>You feel like Simba in that scene from the Lion King. You know
the one.
>In fact, go ahead and Youtube up that music, because that's
what it feels like.
>You really should have just cut your trip a day short like you
planned to earlier.
>Okay, let's step back a bit. How the fuck did you even get
here?
>Well, Monday morning, you woke up yet again to a hotel room
devoid of power.
>You'd complain to the front desk, but it's not like they can do
anything about it.
>Apparently the thousands of fluffies that took over the power
plant? There were more.
>They're blocking up everything.
>Even if they went in with hedge trimmers and BB guns, the
damage they've done is huge.
>The police are too busy with all the fluffies in the city to be
able to coordinate any sort of team to get into the plant to at
least shut it down before it gets really bad.
>Apparently Mayor Hamfist or whoever called in the National
Guard, and they're trying to stop the incoming so-called 'Titan
herds' before they reach the city.
>Good luck with that. There are millions of fluffies out there.
MILLIONS. They couldn't possible have enough ammo for that.
>You've packed all your stuff into your car, but you can't
resist heading back to Spaghetti Land just one more time.
>At the very least, you want to warn Marshall and maybe get his
contact info. Dude's pretty cool.
>And he has never watched FiM.
>Yeah, I know, right?
>I bet he'll like Applejack. He seems the type.
>You have to drive slowly, though. Seems like there's a small
herd on the street every few dozen yards.
>Honking your horn works on the urban herds. They know not to
fuck with a 'metal munsta.' It's a fight they'll never win.
>But a lot of the rural ferals hardly ever deal with cars, so
the smarty friend treats it like any other clearly overwhelming
threat.
>Cheeks puffed, hooves stomped, threats uttered.
>You hate having to kill fluffies, no matter how dickish they
are, especially since Marigold is buckled into her fluffy seat
next to you.
>But it's either that or drive around the smarty into the
oncoming traffic lane.
>Fuck it, time to keep up the motor vehicle winning streak.
>”Why caww make bumpies, Daddy?”
>Amazingly, the barriers from yesterday that encompass the
parking lot have held up.
>They've also been upgraded with barbed wire all along the
sides.
>Did they hang fluffies there as an example? Or were they pushed
into the wire by the masses that are still trying to get into
the promised land?
>Whatever the case, the barriers are covered with fluff of many
colors. Mostly blood red.
>And the fluffies still try to push forward.
>Those in back cry “No stop! Sketti wand awmowst hewe!”
>Those in front cry “Owwies! No push fwuffy! Meanie ouchy fings
huwt fwuffy! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh owwie!”
>Still only one entrance in, surrounded by even more barbed wire
that leads down the street a few yards.
>With incoming cars keeping them from walking right up, and the
barbed wire keeping them away from the sides, it's an effective
way to keep the demanding horde at bay.
>But it makes going to Spaghetti Land feel like a visit to
Guantanamo.
>As you park (as close to the Spaghetti Land entrance as
possible) and get Marigold out of her seat, you can't help but
feel a sense of dread.
>This was supposed to be a happy theme park, where fluffies
could have fun and play and eat and do everything their little
hearts desired.
>The ultimate place of fluffy safety and joy.
>And look what's happened to it.
>Millions of ferals are converging on Cleveland, and most of
them only want what was promised in the TV advertisements.
>Enough food that they won't ever have to choose which of their
babies gets to survive.
>A safe place where sadistic humans and the cruel ravages of
nature can't hurt them.
>A fun place where fluffies that have only known the miserable
existence of the wild could actually be happy.
>And look at them.
>Being held back with barbed wire and concrete walls, prisoners
from the outside.
>It breaks your heart, knowing that the only thing these
fluffies will ever get is death, either by the exterminators,
the barbed wire, starvation, or the humans who want their city
free of what they consider an infestation.
>You and Marigold walk through the entrance, both of you sharing
the same expression.
>Marigold is a one of a kind fluffy. She gives thoughtlessly,
and thinks of how to make others happy.
>She won't be able to enjoy the park, having seen all those
fluffies outside, hungry and desperate.
>Maybe the trip home would cheer her up.
>You'll sing the Uni song, talk about all the rides she had fun
on, and how she made new friends with Sweetheart, Pam, and her
babies.
>And you'll try not to remind her of what it was like outside
the gates.
>For a park that's only been open for 3 days, it looks like a
run down shopping mall.
>So few people here. Even if it is a weekday, there should still
be tons of people.
>Most of them probably left already. No power outside of
Spaghetti Land, ferals everywhere, it seems like the obvious
thing to do.
>In retrospect, you should have done the same.
>The gate that surrounds Spaghetti Land is covered with
fluffies.
>There isn't a single empty space on the ground around the
gates.
>And they're all pushing.
>You'd laugh, since a fluffy has less strength in its body than
a rabbit, but the chain link fence is starting to sag.
>Weaklings or not, millions of fluffies pushing against
something will do something.
>Best to just head to Spaghetti Tower, as far away from the
ferals as possible.
>It's your last day here. May as well use your Deluxe pass while
you can.
>”I'll take a fluffy bowl and an adult bowl. Double meatballs
and sauce. And could you get Marshall Conagher for me?”
>The cashier just raises her eyebrow. “Who?”
>But one of the attendants grabs his walkie talkie and presses
the button. “Marshall Conagher, Marshall Conagher, please report
to Spaghetti Tower, Kiosk 7. There's a man to see you. Marshall
Conagher, you have a visitor at Kiosk 7.”
>Toss the guy a fiver and take Marigold and the food over to a
table.
>Marigold eats, but there's no enthusiasm in her munching.
>She's actually had enough of Spaghetti Land.
>You and her both.
>But the ferals have other plans.
>You see some guys run through the entrance, shouting at the
tops of their lungs.
>By the time they get close enough to understand, you already
know what they're screaming about.
>The ferals have managed to get over the barriers.
>All of them.
>And they're pouring into the park like a dam that's just opened
its floodgates.
>The only way into the park that you know of.
>Oh
>Sweet
>Jesus
>They're not fast, but there are hundreds spilling in at a time.
>The ones who stop to marvel at the wonder of the park are
quickly trampled.
>It's a tidal wave of fluff and screams of both joy and pain.
>The happy ones are the ones not being crushed under hoof.
>And they're all heading in your direction.
>OH FUCK, you're next to Spaghetti Tower.
>And now there are thousands of fluffies on a direct course.
>You doubt getting run over by them would result in anything
more than a few minor bruises, but you wouldn't be able to keep
your footing with them all running like this.
>Marigold wouldn't stand a chance.
>You have to keep her safe.
>Outrunning the stampede would be easy, but it would only take
you further away from the entrance and your car.
>Nowhere to go but up.
>You jump up on the table and grab ahold of Marigold.
>She screams for help as you hold her in your arms.
>As the horde reaches the food court, they wash over the tables,
jumping up on them and grabbing any food that customers left
behind in their mad dash to get the fuck away.
>You watch as two fluffies start biting and kicking each other
over the remains of a hot dog bun.
>”Is mine! You no take nummies! Bwaine kiww meanie fwuffy!”
>”Nuu! Is mah nummies! Kuwt no fwaid of dummy fwuffy!”
>They kick and bite with terrifying ferocity.
>Fluffy fights can be adorable to watch, especially with
domestic fluffies that are both too afraid of getting hurt to
really throw a good kick.
>But these are wild fluffies, and each bite tears off fluff and
flesh.
>Each kick knocks the other back.
>As they fight, another fluffy jumps up and digs into the bun.
>When Kurt and Blaine finally notice, the bun is almost gone.
>”Sebastan haf nummies! So good nummies! Dis is twuwy Sketti
Wand!”
>His cheers of victory are cut short as Kurt and Blaine both
tackle him, tearing the fluff from his belly.
>”Nuu! Why take fwuff! Owwies!”
>”Gif back nummies! Sewfish fwuffy no take nummies!”
>”Wan bwead! Gif!”
>With the fluff torn away, they bite into Sebastian and tear
away the thin skin layer underneath the fluff.
>Sebastian screams in pain as they start biting into his exposed
organs, pulling out his lower intestines.
>Then Kurt and Blaine start fighting again over who got to eat
Sebastian.
>Their struggles knock all three into the stampeding crowd, and
a cluster forms around the bloodied cannibals as all the
fluffies fight to get a taste of the “skettis!”
>You hurl your undigested meatballs all over a group of running
fluffies.
>They cry out as the foul smelling vomit hits their backs and
burns them.
>But they don't stop running.
>To stop running would be death.
>You still got that Lion King music playing? You should.
>So now here you are, standing on a food court table as millions
of fluffies flood the park.
>Everywhere you look is the same.
>Fluffies fight to the gruesome death on the tables over
leftover food, while the rest run underfoot across the food
court.
>You look down and see your bowls of spaghetti, barely eaten.
>Idea.
>You pick up Marigold's bowl and throw it off to your left.
>The oncoming fluffies see the spaghetti as it flies through the
air, and they divert course to get to it, opening a path.
>You grab your own bowl, make sure Marigold is secure in your
other arm, then jump down to the ground and make a mad dash
towards the entrance.
>You make it three tables down before the opening closes again,
and you jump up on another table.
>But by now the fluffies have seen your other spaghetti bowl,
and the stampede is starting to circle around you, all shouting
for your spaghetti.
>Shit, you only have one hand to throw it with.
>If you put Marigold down, you could throw out clumps, giving
you more chances to move towards the entrance.
>But the ferals are too tightly packed. If Marigold fell or got
knocked in, it'd be the end of her.
>Her holding on piggyback style is also out of the question.
It's going to be a bumpy ride, and she's not strong enough.
>You're not going to abandon her. Either you both make it, or
you both fall.
>Well, you'd be fine because, again, fluffies. But you could
never forgive yourself for letting Marigold get killed like
this.
>Not here. Not in Spaghetti Land.
>Speaking of fluffies dying in Spaghetti Land, where the fuck
are the NHRS? You'd think this would be their responsibility.
>”ATTENTION SPAGHETTI LAND CUSTOMERS!” goes the announcement
speakers.
>Ah, there they are.
>”DUE TO AN INFLUX OF FERAL FLUFFIES, SPAGHETTI LAND WILL BE
CLOSING EARLY TODAY TO DEAL WITH THE PROBLEM.”
>Yeah, no shit.
>”PLEASE GATHER YOUR BELONGINGS AND YOUR FLUFFY PONIES AND MAKE
YOUR WAY TO THE FRONT GATE WHERE A PARK ASSISTANT WILL HELP YOU
GET TO YOUR CAR. REMEMBER THAT FERAL FLUFFIES CAN'T HURT YOU.
THEY ARE JUST FLUFFY PONIES, AFTER ALL.”
>Yeah, that's not the problem. You have delicate cargo, and the
fluffies can most definitely hurt her.
>You toss your bowl of spaghetti and run through the gap as the
fluffies all fight to get to it.
>A large clump with plenty of spaghetti sauce lands right on a
fluffy's head.
>”Wahhh, in Sketti Wand, sketti faww fwom sky!”
>His wonder is cut short as the nearby fluffies pounce on him,
biting into his face in their hunger for spaghetti.
>It takes only a few seconds for “mo' sawce fo' sketti!” to
begin spurting out of what used to be his eye sockets.
>Now you're stuck on another table with no more bait.
>Well, fuck.
>Now this entire section of the stampede has picked up that
you've been throwing food, and they're jumping up on the table
to get to you.
>You kick them off as fast as they can climb up, and they're
immediately turned to paste by the onslaught.
>”I don't have any food left! Leave me alone!”
>”Hooman haf nummies! Gif now oh Wachew gif big-”
>You don't bother letting her finish as you kick her right in
the face.
>She cries about her broken snout all the way down until she's
swallowed by the torrent of colored fluff.
>You push them off as best you can, but they come at you from
all sides.
>”I said go away! I don't have any food.”
>”Hooman haf skettis! Awtie saww! Yu gif nummies now!”
>”No wet meanie human an' fwuffy keep skettos fo' demsewves!
Bwitney gif biggest owwies!”
>A thousand voices, all screaming at you.
>All of them demanding food.
>Well, if it's food they want...
>You look down, looking at the only thing that could get you out
of here in one piece.
>But it pains you to do it.
>Oh, this hurts.
>She's been such a faithful companion to you, and were it not
for her, you wouldn't have been so happy.
>But it's her, or you.
>Forgive me, Rarity...
>”Daddy?”
>”Shh, Marigold. It'll be okay. We'll all be okay....”
>You slowly reach down, your arm suddenly feeling much harder to
move.
>”I'm so sorry....”
>You grab ahold of her...
>And you pull your Deluxe pass off your neck.
>This is a death undeserving of one so noble, but you must do
it.
>”Hey! You guys want food?”
>The voices somehow manage to get even louder, and they all
clamber up to get to what you're holding up high.
>”This is a Daddy pass! It lets you get as much food as you
want!”
>”Gif Daddeh pass!”
>”Wan Daddeh pass!”
>”Wan Daddeh!”
>That got their attention. Unlimited food? It's every ferals'
dream.
>”You want it, you fluffy little fucks?”
>You toss it as far as you can towards the entrance, the neck
string making it look like a shooting star flying over a
babbling brook.
>A brook made of fluff and many colors. And definitely babbling.
>”Go get it!”
>You plan works, and the fluffies all charge directly into the
oncoming swarm.
>With hundreds of fluffies pushing against each other, it
creates a massive pile up, and a clear path.
>”But Daddy!” Marigold shouts. “Dat Daddy pass! No wan shawe wif
meanie fwuffies!”
>Even Marigold's generous nature has a limit.
>”Don't worry about it, honey. Right now we have more important
things to worry about.
>Dammit, why do you feel yourself getting upset over a goddamn
card?!
>The path you opened provides an opportunity for other patrons,
and someone dressed like a maintenance worker is directing them
to a service entrance.
>He runs up to you.
>"Follow the red path to the entrance! The door marked "Front
Gate Maintenance” will put you at the front gate. I'm going to
go back for more customers."
>”Tank yoo, nice hooman!” Marigold shouts. “Mawigowd wuv yoo!”
>The guy smiles, pets her on the head, then runs back through
the gap.
>You jump down with Marigold and run into the tunnel entrance,
making sure to shut it behind you.
>You run through the tunnels with the other patrons, keeping the
red line along the wall close.
>You never saw Marshall or Sweetheart, but you hope they both
were able to get out unscathed.
>”Daddy?”
>You look down, and Marigold looks more shaken up than she did
after the Good Fluffy Ride.
>”What is it, Marigold?”
>”Can Daddy an' Mawigowd go home?”
>You smile and give her a hug as you run towards the front gate
access tunnel.
>”Yes. We're both going home.”
>And not a moment too soon.
***********************************
Man, compared to the last story, this one was done in a flash.
#Post#: 1897--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story and Art Launchpad
By: fluff_n_stuff Date: July 24, 2012, 3:32 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
The Last Day of Spaghetti Land, Part 3
>If someone told you two months ago that you'd be using a hedge
trimmer to carve your way through fluffy ponies, you'd have told
them to lay of the internet for a while.
>But here you are, hacking and slicing your way through an
entire sea of ferals like some kind of low rent Space Marine in
hip waders.
>Why didn't you move to Flordia when you had the chance?
>You are Dwayne, Head of Maintenance for the amusement park
formerly known as "Spaghetti Land."
>A better name for it at the moment would be "Clusterfucks
Fluffy Pony Emporium."
>Hundreds of thousands of fluffies occupy every square inch of
the park grounds, standing around, babbling and shitting all
over everything in sight.
>A few fight over every last piece of land, water, food, or toy
they can find.
>The smarty friends can't even address their herds over the
cacophony of babbling baby voices .
>Hilarious to watch a fluffy getting angry as he stomps his feet
and yells at fluffies to "do wha fwuffy say ow big owchies!"
>Make sure to snuff them with the hedge trimmer as you wade on
by.
>You've been carving your way through fluffies for two hours now
in an attempt to get every patron out of Spaghetti Land
before...
>Well you're really not sure what's going to happen next. Crop
dusters with poisonous chemicals? Nation guard goons with flame
throwers? Water Balloons?
>The mind reels at the possibilities.
>More importantly, you haven't seen any other patrons in the
past ten minutes.
>You have, however, seen fluffies using the rides against each
other.
>Fluffy Cars is just a train wreck of shattered fluffy corpses
littering the track.
>The strength test has become a reverse guillotine for fluffies
that want the flashing green ball.
>The merry-go-round is being used as gathering spot for fluffy
mothers to have their babies.
>And since nothing in arcade is that dangerous, it's just become
a mountain of shit.
>If it weren't for the voice coming from it, you'd just ignore
the six foot mountain of excrement and move on.
>"Fuckin' help!"
>You reach a spigot and attach your hose to blast away some of
the filth occupying the front of the arcade.
>After a moment, a dozen fluffies burrow their way out and into
the park. Behind them, the shit covered shape of a man emerges
from the arcade.
>"I cannot believe this," says Greg. "I try to take an after
lunch nap and suddenly the door's barricaded by a mountain of
crap!"
>Another dozen fluffies waddle by, sniff Greg, and declare "he
nu smeww pwetty."
>Blast them with the hose, then turn it on Greg, much to his
dismay.
>Despite his protests, it only takes a minute to get him hosed
down. He shakes off the impromptu bath, and starts looking
around for something among the fluffy corpses.
>"The hell are you doing?" you ask.
>"I think those fluffies stole my weed," he says.
>Hit him with the hose again because, man alive is he stupid.
The Last Day of Spaghetti Land, Part 4
>Your original plan for this week was to take your boat on out
Lake Erie, fish for a couple hours, and drink all the beer in
the cooler.
>It looks like you plan will have to include "Scraping every
fluffy in America off your house" instead.
>You are Dwayne, Head of Maintenance for the amusement park
known as "Spaghetti Land," which is now more of a fluffy filled
hellscape.
>The park got over run sometime this morning, and you, along
with the idiot arcade manager, Greg, have been getting the few
remaining patrons to safety.
>Most people were clever enough to not come today, but some
patrons and the staff decided it'd be great fun to show up for
work despite the fact that millions upon millions of ferals were
waddling toward spaghetti land like a fluffy tsunami.
>Sadly, these aren't the easily drowned type, or you could just
tell them that and be done with this nightmare.
>Still, fluffies seem to ignore you wade through their ranks
with a hedge trimmer in each hand.
>Greg, still annoyed from his impromptu shower, mans the radio.
>"We've got more employees stuck on the midway," he says.
"Sounds like a gang of them are completely trapped."
>Toss Greg a hedge trimmer, and the two of you begin to cleave
your way though the underbrush of fluffies like some twisted
version of Indiana Jones.
>The cries of "Owies!" "Nu wike dis game!" "Why no weggies?"
"Why take wingies?" and of course "'Nuuu!" dissolve beneath the
babble of a million fluffies.
>It's funny, you actually used to like these fluff-balls. Now
that they're here ruining your shit, you've decided you like the
a lot less.
>"HEY DWAYNE!" yells a voice from the sewer grate. "Wat you
doin?"
>It's a red fluffy unicorn wearing an Indians ball cap, a sewer
fluffy known as Drain.
>"How did you even get in there?" you ask.
>"Got wost 'gain," he says. "Wots fwuffies here!"
>"Yeah, you might want to get out of town," you tell him.
"There's going to be a reckoning soon, and fluffies just aren't
going to make it."
>"Otay!" he says. "I teww Cuvewt!" With that, the fluffy unicorn
disappears back down the drain, leaving you with a confused
arcade manager.
>"The hell was that?" he asks.
>"Long story short, there are fluffies that have lived in the
sewers for years, and I'm their friend. Sort of."
>Greg only shrugs as you make your way toward the midway.
>You arrive to find Ryan, the Non Human Relations Specialist
blasting away fluffies with a pressure washer.
>With him are Coleen and Annette, with their fluffy companions
in tote bags.
>"Is everyone else out of the park?" asks Annette. "Because if
they are, I'd like to get the hell out of here."
>"You say bad wowd!" says her fluffy, Filly. "Baws gon be mad!"
>Greg just looks at the fluffies and shakes his head. "You're
really going to take those vermin with us?"
>"Hey, these fluffies are our friends," says Colleen. "They're a
damn sight nicer than you."
>"Nuuu!" cries Filly. " Nu wan bad wowds! Boss man mad gif big
owies fow cussin!"
>"Wah cusses?" asks Autumn.
>"Words like shit, or fuck, or asshole," says Greg.
>Smack Greg upside the head.
>"Let's get the hell out of here," you say. "How much water you
got in that washer, Ryan?"
>"About five minutes worth," says Ryan. "Hopefully someone left
a Gator for us so we can get the hell out of here."
>"Let's go then."
>For the next ten minutes you climb over thousands upon
thousands of fluffy bodies, making your way toward the front
gate.
>Every square inch of the park has been covered by living
fluffies, fluffy waste, or deceased fluffies.
>You've seen shit that you've never seen before.
>Fluffies with eight legs, a fluffy with an entire garden
growing on his back, and even a fluffy wearing sunglasses.
>It seems Spaghetti Land has become a vortex of weirdness in its
last hours.
>Hop on the radio and find out that even more fluffies are
invading the Cleveland area.
>Holy shit, how can there even be more fluffies in the United
States? There were so many on the horizon that there shouldn't
anymore in the rest of the country.
>Maybe fluffies were better at hiding their numbers than you
thought.
>Maybe you're in more trouble then you thought you were.
>Actually, you're sure of that, because the entire parking lot
is completely covered in a sea of multicolored fluff.
>The barriers are buried beneath mountains of fluffy corpses,
feces, and god knows what else the fluffies brought with them.
>Even the few pieces of construction equipment left over from
this morning's feral round up are clogged with fluffies.
>How you could even choke a bulldozer beneath fluffies is beyond
you, but there it is.
>A bulldozer completely overtaken by fluffies babbling and
shitting as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
>If that thing couldn't get out of here, your Taurus doesn't
even have a prayer.
>And more fluffies still keep coming over the horizon, more than
you saw this morning even, just pouring in over the hills, and
marching toward the promised land.
>"Get into the maintenance tunnels!" you yell at your
co-workers.
>"Are you out of your mind?" asks Colleen. "What are we going to
do down there? Wait for rescue?"
>You stare back out at the onrushing --well, on-waddling-- mass
of fluffies still headed your way.
>"I don't think there's going to be a rescue, hun," you say as
you force the door open. "I think the entire city is screwed."
*****************************************************
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