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#Post#: 288--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Giant_Neckbeard
Date: June 6, 2012, 11:21 am
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Understood, I'll go back and edit, and repost to make sure it's
up to standard before it goes to Ponibooru. Still hitting myself
over the Pastebin FUBAR.
#Post#: 289--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Lord Anubis
Date: June 6, 2012, 11:38 am
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Don't worry about the pastebin thing. No harm done.
#Post#: 290--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Mayclore
Date: June 6, 2012, 11:49 am
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Gentlemen/ladies/cyborgs, my subtle hint submission.
Judgment: Angel of Mercy
>You are a worker for the Department of Fish and Wildlife's
Division of Fluffy Pony Management.
>Otherwise known as the 'Fluffy Pony Judgment Squad'.
>You get a call from the west of the state.
>It's the Watsons again.
>The State doesn't usually assign specific people, but the
Watsons always request you when they have fluffy problems.
>They run a fluffy rescue and rehab center.
>The smell of spaghetti and the noises of happy play are always
attracting feral herds, asking for help.
>They can't take anymore fluffies in, especially not wild ones
that might have ticks and diseases.
>You're always asked for because unlike your co-workers, you
don't make their fluffies nervous.
>A lot of their charges are fluffies that have been removed from
abusive homes.
>They can tell when someone has that sort of mindset toward a
fluffy pony.
>This will likely be the last call for the day; it's past six
o'clock.
>Not that you've had many calls lately, anyway. The amount of
feral herds has really gone down.
>You drive out to the place.
>The rescue center is about ten miles from the nearest town.
>This is the arid part of the state. The building is on about
an acre of land, backed up to a ravine.
>Hardly any trees around, just scrubby bushes and brush.
>The only large patch of grass here is the constantly watered
green expanse inside the fence.
>A quarter acre of fluffy heaven. Never needs to be mowed;
that's what they eat for lunch each day.
>When you arrive, you see some of their rescues playing in the
fenced area. Toys and fluffies alike are scattered about.
>You park right in front of the center. Mr. Watson comes out to
your truck straight away.
>”It's the ravine again. Big herd.”
>Damn it, you're going to have to climb down there?
>”Something's not right with them, though, they look sluggish.
Sick, almost.”
>Hmm. You get out of the truck and follow him to the ravine's
edge.
>It's not a sheer drop, just a very steep slope that falls a
hundred feet into a rounded bottom.
>Long ago, this was a river basin, but now it's just full of
fluffy ponies.
>Even up here, the stench of their waste is incredible.
>You go back to the truck to get your binoculars.
>Looking through them, you estimate about two hundred fluffies
are down there.
>They are very lethargic, constantly crying and whining with
general malaise.
>You catch laments of “Why tummy huwt?” and “Nummies make fwuffy
feew bad...” from the ailing herd.
>”What do you think's wrong with them?”
>You know exactly what's wrong with them.
“Looks like they've been eating garbage.”
>”Damn it, I told the Sheriff to stop that illegal dumping!
They must have fallen down there trying to get to the trash.”
>You look off to your left and right. The ravine traces a
winding path far into the distance.
>Plenty of time to finish the task, especially as sickened as
this herd looks.
“Nate, take your fluffies inside, will you? They don't need to
hear this.”
>He looks at you sadly. “Can't you just help them out?”
“I'm sorry, Nate. After what happened in Genericsburg, all
gassed fluffies have to be put down on sight.”
>He sighs, but nods, clapping you on the shoulder.
>”You're right. I'll get them back indoors.”
>He walks away to tend to his fluffies, while you head back to
the truck.
>After the incident that made you slightly famous, each truck is
required to carry the special equipment box at all times.
>You lift it out of the truckbed and click open the case.
>Only one thing in here you'll be needing.
>You lift the Remington out, take a box of .308 ammo with you,
and head back to the ravine.
>This is a Model 700 VLS; it has no scope. You won't need it,
not at this range.
>You look through the binoculars again, trying to find the dams.
>The herd is in 'hunker down' mode, scared and upset. All the
dams are at the core, surrounded by attendants and other
defending fluffies.
>You see six fluffies coming back to the herd from your right.
>”No fin' way up, no fin' sgettis, fwuffy sowwy no fin'
sgettis..” a green one cries.
>They rejoin the fluffy pile, apologizing all the way.
>So that's why they stayed here; they smell the spaghetti Mrs.
Watson makes for the rescue fluffies' dinner every day.
>You peer through the binoculars again.
>The bases of both slopes have gentle scuffing.
>Tufts of fluff cling to sharp rocks and outcroppings.
>They tried to climb out and couldn't.
>You look through the binoculars at individual fluffies, gauging
their average swell.
>If the dams weren't all crying about their unborn kids, it'd be
hard to tell who was a mom and who wasn't.
>Males, especially, bemoan this fact.
>”Why fwuffy am big, am no giwl fwuffy, no be big! No be
mumma!” a great deal of them shout, in pain.
>You sigh a little.
>Some days you are an angel of death; other days, an angel of
mercy.
>This herd requires that you be both. You load a round, raise
the rifle and take aim.
>They haven't seen you; their fluff and outsized heads prevent
them from looking too far up.
>You draw a bead on a swollen pink pegasus dam with white mane
and focus.
>”Mumma sowwy babehs, mumma twy fin' nummies an' make miwkies
fo' babehs bu' no can...” you hear her say.
>They are her last words. You pull the trigger.
>Her head explodes like a stick of dynamite, showering the dams
clustered around her with bits of brain, fluff, and a torrent of
blood.
>The other expectant mothers succumb to overwhelming panic.
>Screams of “WOUD NOISE BOO-BOO JUICE NO HUWT BABEHS HEWP MUMMA
HEWP MUMMA!” fill the ravine.
>The herd tries to close ranks around them, but they're too
terrified and sluggish to do much good.
>You load another round, but wait, looking through the
binoculars at the most swollen dams.
>They wobble and scream until their voices go hoarse, waving
their useless limbs frantically.
>Pop. An overstressed dam explodes, sending her bones and foals
sparking and bouncing off the rocks in the ravine.
>The noise causes two more dams to pop.
>Fully and underdeveloped foals alike fly through the air,
splattering into crimson splotches on the dusty slopes.
>The herd drops their defense of the dams; screaming and
shrieking for help, they try to scale the sides.
>They could just go further down the ravine, but fear overwhelms
their ability to remember that.
>No more dams pop, so you raise the rifle again.
>You see a powder blue unicorn dam that has to be mere hours
away from labor, given her size.
>You take aim on the dark blue unicorn attendant trying to roll
her, waiting until she's in view of the dam before pulling the
trigger and causing her head to explode.
>”WHY SISSY MAKE BOO-BOO JUICE?! SISSY! SISSY! WAKIES! MUMMA
NEE' HEWP, MUMMA SCAWED, MUMMA SCA--”
>Pop. Her foals fly in a gentle arc over the herd, slamming
against the incline.
>Her shattered bones spark off a rock outcropping above the
bloody puddle that is where she used to be.
>Even with the binoculars, you can barely detect the birth of
the wispy blue flame.
>It dances lightly where the dam's escaping methane dissipated,
embracing the navy-colored fluff of her dead sister before
roaring to life as a bright yellow monster.
>”Fiwe! Fiwe!” the herd shrieks as one.
>The flame leaps from fluffy to fluffy, consuming the fibrous
fuel of their coats like a hungry beast.
>Dams begin exploding out of stress.
>Their foals fly in every direction, some of them becoming
squeaking embers before they meet their ends on cold, hard
stone.
>The fire spreads like mad, assisted by the herd's inability to
realize they cannot get out of the inferno by climbing.
>Fluffies on fire scrabble desperately at the incline. As they
burn, some of them see you.
>”Hooman! Hewp! Fiwe! Fiwe! Fwuffy buwnin'! Fwuffy ge' wawm
owwies!”
>Dams continue to explode at the herd's core; the sound is like
popcorn being cooked.
>Pop. Pop. Pop. Foals sail through the evening sky.
>Some land gently enough to burn to death as they slide back
into the firestorm.
>Puffs of blue flame erupt everywhere as the fire mines corpses
and finds a methane mother lode.
>The gas continues to fuel the carnage.
>Fluffies burn. Out of fear and pain, they shit. Their liquid,
methane-laden feces emerging into the fire is like jet fuel
being dumped into an afterburner.
>You keep a close eye on the herd as it burns, making sure to
shoot fluffies that figure out safety is to the sides, not up
above.
>Most of the stragglers waddle away with flames caressing their
bodies, so these are mercy kills more than anything.
>The popping of terrified dams dies down at last.
>One more pop reports from the ravine.
>Something slightly larger than infant foal size flies in your
direction.
>You watch as an older purple pegasus foal lands on the slope
ten feet away from you.
>Must have gotten caught in one of the bigger dams'
fluffsplosions.
>”Wuv! Mumma! Wuv! Mumma! Hewp! Wuv!” he chirps in agony,
repeating the only words he knows at this young age.
>His purple fluff and wings smolder as he scratches helplessly
at the rock.
>Puffs of grey smoke come off him in waves.
>”Wuv! Hewp! Wuv! Wuv! Wuv! Mumma!”
>He is out of your reach.
>You watch as he slides back into the conflagration.
>His chants of 'wuv!' and 'hewp!' blend up into the loudest
scream his little lungs can muster while the flames consume his
flesh.
>You continue to shoot escapees as the fire dies down, leaving
behind a billowing column of acrid, greyish smoke.
>After checking that no fluffy got away, you pick up the ammo
and binoculars and head back to your truck to call in to the
county office.
>Mr. Watson stops you on your way.
>Behind him, you hear the rescue fluffies' muffled conversation
inside the building.
>”Fwuffy scawed, smeww bad smeww!”, “Fwuffy heaw woud noisies,
no wike!” they say.
>”You look rough, son. Come have dinner with us before you go.”
>You appreciate the gesture, but fluffy ponies are the last
things you want to see right now.
“Thanks, but I have to get back before it gets too late.”
>You wave as he goes back inside. You get back into the truck
and call in.
>The supervisor accepts your report.
>You barely listen to him remark about how many fluffies the
eastern states are having to kill these days, while your
department has it so easy.
>You don't immediately drive off after you finish reporting in,
electing instead to take a moment to collect yourself.
>So the fluffies are heading east. Good.
>It might mean less work hours, but it also means less burning
foals to haunt your dreams.
#Post#: 291--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Giant_Neckbeard
Date: June 6, 2012, 12:05 pm
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Oh yes, very, very nice. Fluffies all struggling to make it to
'Cweave-wand' and eating whatever is in their path.
Poor, poor foals. I'm glad the fire idea is catching on!
#Post#: 292--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: PhilSrobeighn
Date: June 6, 2012, 12:21 pm
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Neckbeard: I would say that 10,000 is too low for a theme park
capacity - Disneyland is 75,000, and it's a scaled-down version
of the Magic Kingdom in the Walt Disney World Resort
(technically MK is scaled-up). "Big Mac and Burger King stores"
sounds weird, because it isn't parallel. I'd say either use
"Big Mac and Whopper stores" or "McDonald's and Burger King
stores," unless the off sounds is what you're going for. And
yeah, Mr. Anubis is right, that is a good one for later. But
other than these minor hiccups, it sets the stage perfectly for
Spaghetti Land - it shows perfectly the type of crowd the park
is supposedly catering to. It's exactly the kind of story we
need to show that yes, people are hugboxxy enough to spend a
shitton of money on tickets.
Mayclore: The fluffsplosions and the gas explosions throw me off
there. Is it possible to limit to just the gas explosions, or
to make it more clear that the fluffsplosions are gas-induced,
or something? But this is a great way to remind us of the
explosive nature of overfull fluffies and sets up the moving of
the herds.
#Post#: 294--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Mayclore
Date: June 6, 2012, 12:24 pm
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--- Quote from: Phil Srobeighn link ---
>
> Mayclore: The fluffsplosions and the gas explosions throw me
off there. Is it possible to limit to just the gas explosions,
or to make it more clear that the fluffsplosions are
gas-induced, or something? But this is a great way to remind us
of the explosive nature of overfull fluffies and sets up the
moving of the herds.
>
--- End Quote ---
What do you mean, 'throw you off'?
#Post#: 295--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Giant_Neckbeard
Date: June 6, 2012, 12:43 pm
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On one hand, the Fluffies eating garbage and suffering terrible
buildup of methane in their systems gives us fertile ground for
the aforementioned tragedy, but on the other, just garbage might
not be enough to cause enough internal buildup for fire.
On another subject, and I know next to nothing about guns, but
wouldn't the bullet need something to bounce off to create a
spark to cause the flame in the first place? Otherwise the
Fluffy Mummas would just explode into gore and methane, and not
combust. Or maybe I'm missing something because it's 2 in the
freaking morning and I should stop posting stuff!
#Post#: 297--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Mayclore
Date: June 6, 2012, 1:01 pm
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--- Quote from: Giant_Neckbeard link ---
>
> On one hand, the Fluffies eating garbage and suffering
terrible buildup of methane in their systems gives us fertile
ground for the aforementioned tragedy, but on the other, just
garbage might not be enough to cause enough internal buildup for
fire.
>
> On another subject, and I know next to nothing about guns, but
wouldn't the bullet need something to bounce off to create a
spark to cause the flame in the first place? Otherwise the
Fluffy Mummas would just explode into gore and methane, and not
combust. Or maybe I'm missing something because it's 2 in the
freaking morning and I should stop posting stuff!
>
--- End Quote ---
Re-read. He had a hard time telling swollen dams from regular
fluffies, that's how much trash they ate.
He wasn't shooting dams to make them explode, he was shooting
them to make other dams stress pop so their brittle bones would
strike surrounding rock like flint. The other dams weren't
exploding due to methane, they were fluffsploding out of pure
stress.
Sorry if I came off as a jerk. I'm in a seriously bad mood at
the moment.
#Post#: 298--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: fluff_n_stuff
Date: June 6, 2012, 1:56 pm
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Phase One story going on Ponibooru in a mintue here. Nothing
special just planting the "Cleavland Rocks" meme.
>You are the proud owner of British Fluffy pony Bingo, and Puffy
griffon Kaiser.
>To keep the two from killing each other, you let them watch as
much TV as they want.
>Bingo is busy singing along to the theme song of an American
show that he actually likes.
>"Wivin in sin wif a safteh pin goin' Cweavwand wocks! Cweavwand
wocks!"
>"Vhat is dis garbage?" demands Kaiser. "Poot on ze tanks
channel! Vant vatch tanks!"
>"I gif yoo wat fow!" says Bingo. "I watchin' dis!"
>"You've been watching sitcoms for an hour, Bingo. Let Kaiser
watch what he wants."
>Go over and change the channel to the History Channel.
>Kaiser sticks his tongue out at Bingo.
>Bingo pouts at the TV until a tape of one of Hitler's speeches
comes on. He's immediately entranced by the German speech and
wild gesculations.
>"I not like dis guy," says Kaiser. "Someting aboot him make me
nervous."
>It switches over to something about Winston Churchill.
>"Wots aww dis?" says Bingo at the picture of the Prime
Minister. "Dis guy wooks wike a Pikey."
>"I qvite like dis man," says Kaiser with an upturned beak.
"Bettar zan dat Hiltar guy."
>"Yoo mus be daft!" says Bingo. "Hitwar da best hooman!"
>Kaiser spreads his wings, and puffs out his cheeks, "Vinston es
best human, you floofy dope!"
>Bingo Puffs out his cheeks and throws out a fluffy hoof. "SIEG
HEIL!"
>"GOD SAVE ZE QVEEN!" yells Kaiser before tackling Bingo.
>The two pound on each other ineffectively for a moment before
you get up.
>Separate the puffy griffon and fluffy pony and stick them both
in their bad fluffy boxes.
>Every Day, it's like World War II in here.
>Except your idiot pets are rooting for the wrong sides.
#Post#: 299--------------------------------------------------
Re: Story Bits
DIR By: Lord Anubis
Date: June 6, 2012, 2:03 pm
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I absolutely adore Bingo and Kaiser. But this isn't going to
take place in the Spaghettiverse, right?
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