Three ponies and three not quite pony nor human centaurs stood atop a secret rooftop garden that was magically shielded from outside view. They had been celebrating a birthday party. Now, the sticky foals frolicked in the grass.
“Ugh, Cafe Mocha is crawling on all sixes!” Doctor Broadneck said, cringing. “Looks like a bug. Oh that gives me the heebie jeebies. Ugh! Bugs are not worthy of science.”
Cafe Mocha crawled around on all sixes, walking on four hooves and two hands, continuing to give the doctor the heebie jeebies. And giggling. She was giggling. Her tail swished from side to side, and she wiggled her behind if a way that might be adorable if she wasn’t some hideous otherworldly creature with freakish alien DNA. It was nausea inducing.
Betelgeuse stood on wobbly legs, four legs. Her arms and wings flapped together in perfect time with one another, making gurgly goo goo sounds and slobbering everywhere, covered in cake crumbs and frosting. Had she not been a malformed mutant of questionable origin, she might be diabetes inducing, which was dangerous because ponies were solid animals and needed a lot of insulin.
Bon Mot squealed and made a beeline for the doctor, lurching forward unsteadily on four legs, waving her arms at her sides for balance. She made rude raspberry noises as she lunged forward, her one blue eye and one green eye crossed, her face looking unsatisfactorily silly. She collided with the doctor, who was lying on the grass, on his belly, legs folded underneath him, his head high, embracing him in a very wet, very slobbery, very biological, very sticky hug, throwing her drool covered arms around his neck, squeezing, and clutching his mane with her fingers. She licked the doctor with her gag inducing alien tongue, which was short, broad, and covered in odd bumps. It was completely alien in texture.
Doctor Broadneck turned green. A fantastic shade of green, reminiscent of pistachio ice cream mixed with guacamole and pestilent puss. “Fetch the bucket of science at once!” He shouted, his eyes crossing, cheeks bulging.
Rhubarb got the bucket to him just in time, pulling the foal away with her magic as well.
“Very difficult to show unconditional positive regard while projectile vomiting, Doctor Broadneck.” Rhubarb said as the doctor hurled, his vomit ricocheting from the bottom of the bucket and splashing back into his face, causing him to vomit harder, leading to a horrifying chain reaction that promised to not end until physics had its say.
Buttermilk giggled, feeling a delightful sense of schadenfreude. She privately reveled in the glorious sensation. She still had bad reactions to the foals touching her as well, but felt honest affection for them. She secretly felt shame for feeling uncomfortable at all. She shuddered when she thought of little fingers touching her, pulling her mane. Just thinking about it made her feel slightly queasy, which also made her feel slightly guilty. Another chain reaction.
Rhubarb knelt down in the grass and gave Bon Mot a hug, not bothered in the slightest by the very damp affection. The other two foals ran and crawled over to her and clung to her as well, gurgling and spitting, little tongues out, making flatulent noises as they pushed air out of pursed and puckered lips.
The doctor continued his private war with physics, a new theory forming in his mind about cause and effect, and how biased this reaction had seemed to become. Vomit dribbled down inside of his ears.
“Flurp!” Bon Mot said, causing her sisters to squeal. Well, sisters in a very general sense, as they were probably not related. Nopony was quite sure.
“Flurp?” Rhubarb replied, her eyes wide, smiling broadly.
Bon Mot grabbed Rhubarb’s ear and tugged, pulling Rhubarb’s whole face in for a hug. Rhubarb suddenly found her face smashed against the naked torso of the centaur foal, which was covered in cake and drool. And grass. It didn’t bother her in the slightest.
Finally, thermodynamic principles stepped in and rescued Doctor Broadneck, entropy always getting the final word when physics had become a little testy. The wretched chain reaction ceased, entropy scolded physics, and physics was laid down for a much needed nap.
The doctor rose and went off to clean himself up.
“It took some time, but they are finally kind of cute.” Buttermilk said. “I’m not sure what scale to use to measure cute though. So we’ll have to accept a broad range of values. Not sure if they have reached the adorable scale just yet.”
Rhubarb scowled. “I love them a great deal.” She sniffed, slightly annoyed.
“Well, I like them as well. Just having some lingering xenophobic reactions that I am trying to recondition myself from experiencing. I mean, fingers! Little flat faces.” Buttermilk squirmed.
“Go give Buttermilk a hug.” Rhubarb said, grinning most menacingly.
“Hey! There is no need to sic your hideous little army upon me!” Buttermilk shrieked as the foals charged. They tackled her, causing her to fall over on her side, and then began to crawl all over her, little fingers clutching and grabbing, probing, feeling her smooth shiny coat, delighting in sensation.
Buttermilk squealed and squirmed, wiggling, trying to escape the slobbering stampeding herd. Betelgeuse had ahold of her mane and was tugging, crawling up her neck, lips puckered.
“No!” Buttermilk cried, as two little lips opened and her ear disappeared into a slobbering alien maw. Buttermilk quailed as a frisson of near-loathing crawled under her flesh. “No no no no!”
Rhubarb cackled maniacally, having actually worked on her maniacal mad scientist cackle. It was important to do morning affirmations of self in the mirror and to have goals.
“Mama?” Cafe Mocha asked Buttermilk, flopping her self down upon the pegasus’ wing.
“Buttermilk!” Buttermilk corrected.
Bon Mot’s pony ears quivered, pivoting around, hearing a sound.
“You stinka!” Doctor Broadneck replied, returning to his recurring role of revelation. “I think I have a new theory about the physical properties of vomit. I shall need help testing this as soon as possible.”
“I’m just here for the foals.” Buttermilk exclaimed.
“Time and a half for helping me with side projects.” The doctor said.
“I’m your mare doctor, how can I help?” Buttermilk asked, still buried under foals and trembling with revulsion.
“I shall go and fetch the Ipecac at once.” The doctor said. “The bucket of science may need a thorough scrubbing first though.”