//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 // Story: Extra Equestrial Mayhem // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// Rhubarb stood with Buttermilk, looking at the odd foals. Buttermilk had a sour look about her. They exchanged a glance with one another, and then looked at the foals again. Rhubarb noticed a small tag had been added to Subject One’s crib. She peered carefully, trying to read the poorly written scribble. “Bon Mot.” The tag stated. “Doctor Broadneck?” Rhubarb asked. ‘What?” Asked the doctor impatiently from the corner of the room. “Bon Mot?” Rhubarb asked. “Well, you told me to put in a good word for her after the initial test feeding the other day. The directors agreed. A good word was prudent.” The doctor said. “Oh.” Said Rhubarb, her muzzle scrunching. “But why Bon Mot?” The doctor let out an annoyed whinny but said nothing. “Subject Two needs to be fed. Buttermilk?” Rhubarb said, looking at her companion. “Ready for your first time?” Buttermilk went and laid down on a large cushion. She flopped on her side and kicked out her hind leg, exposing her teats. Rhubarb gently lifted Subject Two and carried her through the air. She then carefully lowered the malformed centaur foal down upon the cushion, carefully placing her against Buttermilk, positioning her so that she might nurse. Buttermilk sat in silence for a time, contemplation on her face. Her wing flapped a bit, she looked around the room, and finally flopped her head down upon the cushion. “This is the most disgusting and uncomfortable thing I have ever endured, and I have crawled through the Canterlot sewer system looking for new kinds of cockroaches.” Buttermilk said, her voice slow and patient. “I can feel little fingers!” She shuddered violently, nearly dislodging the foal at her belly. She looked down at Subject Two. Subject Two was chocolate coloured, dark, with a two toned cream and caramel coloured mane. She had human ears. “Suddenly, I’m in the mood for coffee.” Buttermilk said as she looked at the foal. Her eyes rolled back into her head and her ears fell flat against her skull quite suddenly. “I can feel that horrible little nose pressing against me.” Rhubarb nodded in understanding. “ACK!” Buttermilk cried. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I can feel her flat little face!” Buttermilk exclaimed in tart tones. Buttermilk squirmed. “I need a bucket!” She shouted. Rhubarb brought the bucket just in time as Buttermilk’s lunch made a hasty exit. A pair of daisy sandwiches and a tall glass of iced coffee exited violently, shooting out of her mouth and nose. The foal continued to suckle. Rhubarb helped Buttermilk clean her face. In the distance, Doctor Broadneck could be heard scratching away with a pen. “Vomit!” He exclaimed. “What a delightful response!” “It is so alien…” Buttermilk said sourly, “so weird.” Rhubarb went off to fetch a breath mint. She had needed one herself not long ago. Good thing the doctor had also been quick with the bucket. “I could really use some coffee right about now.” Buttermilk said, looking at the foal. “Cafe mocha would be pleasant.” “Cafe Mocha!” Doctor Broadneck exclaimed, his pen scratching filling the room. “Huh?” Said Rhubarb, not knowing what was going on. “Cafe Mocha.” The doctor repeated impatiently, offering no other explanation. The mares exchanged a glance. “One time…” Buttermilk began, “I had to get a semen sample from a manticore. I’d rather go back to doing that.” She finished. “It is gumming me!” Rhubarb nodded knowingly. “Thank you, by the way, for milking the manticore.” The doctor said absentmindedly. “Doctor Eyesore accidently stirred some of the manticore ‘milk’ into his tea after grabbing the wrong container.” The doctor chortled. “Such a common mistake, not labeling your sample jars.” Both mares gagged in unison. “How do you milk a manticore?” Rhubarb asked in a small voice. “Do you really want to know?” Buttermilk said in acidic tones. “Actually, no. Never mind. I’m not as scientific as I thought.” Rhubarb said while blushing. There was a beep and a blinking light. “You stinka!” The doctor said. “The directors approve of Cafe Mocha.” “What?” Rhubarb asked. “How does one so slow get into science?” The doctor muttered. “Subject Two. Cafe Mocha.” Rhubarb said nothing, and Buttermilk nodded in approval. “Subject Three needs a name still.” Rhubarb said. “I apparently named one, Buttermilk has named one, so you should name one Doctor Broadneck.” The doctor knickered in annoyance. “I don’t get paid enough to think of creative names.” He said, scowling. “In my opinion, Subject Three is just fine.” “Doctor!” Buttermilk cried caustically. “Doctor seems a bit slow himself.” Rhubarb said. “Unable to find a name for a foal. How hard could it be?” There was a clatter as a pen fell to a table. “Excuse me?” Doctor Broadneck said, turning to look at his assistant. “You heard me. I doubt you could think of anything to name Subject Three. You should see a doctor about that cranial rectal inversion.” Rhubarb said. There was an angry whinny. Buttermilk gagged as the foal squirmed against her. “Did you just say that I have my head up my plot?” The doctor asked slowly. Rhubarb remained silent, glaring at the doctor. “Fine!” The doctor shouted. “Subject Three shall henceforth be known as Betelgeuse.” “What?” Said both mares in unison. “It is a star.” The doctor replied. “Betelgeuse. Very bright. Beautiful. Shining white. Like Subject Three. A name suitable for science.” “Are you sure?” Buttermilk asked. “Of course I am sure that Betelgeuse is a star!” The doctor bellowed in annoyance, He stormed out of the room. The mares exchanged another glance. “It gets better.” Rhubarb said helpfully. Buttermilk cringed. “I am going to go clean my teats with sulfuric acid when this is over.” Buttermilk sighed. “And there is that gross little nose entirely too close to my filly bits. Ugh!” “Remember, when you are done nursing, spend lots of time cuddling and cradling the foal. Eye contact is important, as difficult as it might be. Talk to them. Recite the periodic table of magical elements or something, doesn’t matter what you say, just use a nice voice.” Rhubarb paused. “Oh, one more thing.” “What’s that?” Buttermilk replied. “All of them are heterochromic. Hard to keep eye contact.” “Freaky.” “You have no idea.”