The Fluffiest Punks - Chapter One
#1 of The Fluffiest Punks
Tentative Synopsis: A gang of punk, pot-smoking, queer, anthropomorphic sheep raise hell in a small county town.
The Fluffiest Punks
Chapter One
[Author's Note: This is the product of a writing prompt that a dear friend gave me. The prompt is: "A gang of sweater wearing, straw-hat topped, bandana necked sheep out causing ruckus and trouble for all."]
_We set our scene in the headquarters of a county police department. Small and cramped, the former house had been shoddily renovated to suit the needs of the growing police force. At the current time, the desks in the main room were occupied by a pair of receptionists and the well-respected sheriff of the force. _
_On the floor, stood a pair of police officers. The first officer handed a sheaf of paper to the sheriff. The sheriff, eager to read the young officer's report, leaned forward too quickly and caught his hand on the edge of the paper, which sliced through the soft skin between his thumb and forefinger. The sheriff held back a yelp with a grimace and took the papers with his other hand. "Leroy Gunn, is it?" The sheriff asked gruffly, looking over the papers with piercing blue eyes. Officer Gunn's partner sniggered, indicating the sheriff's wounded hand. "Sir... You could say Officer Gunn-" Here he paused to snort with laughter "- gave a sharp report." As he finished he bent double and slapped his knee, his laughter eerily silent. _
_The sheriff sighed, "That's enough, Officer Punn." He lowered his eyes to the report and began to read. Soon, his face betrayed the blatant disbelief he was feeling. "Sheep... Standing on their hind legs... Wearing clothes ..." The sheriff said slowly. He slapped the report on the desk and leaned heavily back in his chair, shading his eyes with his hand. "I'm done..." He said quietly. Officer Gunn and Officer Punn looked confused. "I know that's your name, sir." Officer Gunn said, indicating the plaque on the sheriff's desk that read JAMES Q. DUNN. "I meant done as in finished." Sheriff Dunn said shortly. Officer Punn guffawed. "But... Sir... What do we do?" Officer Gunn pressed. He took his job very seriously. Sheriff Dunn blew a breath out from his cheeks. "I don't care. Just.. Make sure they don't cause a ruckus." _
But, reader, those sheep do cause a ruckus. In fact, several months after their first spotting, they all but moved right into the small county town, much to its inhabitants displeasure. From here, we will see the world from the eyes of the flock of large, man-shaped sheep.
The spring warmth had just finished melting away the snow. As if waiting for this sign, the herd's fur began to shed in large clumps, replacing the white snow with round tufts of white wool. Tart, one of the youngest of the herd, sat up in his dingy lean-to and scratched at his fuzzy torso. The fur there was much shorter, now that it was shedding season. The hair on his chest was gray and bristly to the touch, letting the chilly spring breeze in to kiss his skin.
With a shiver, the adolescent anthro-sheep scratched a clump of fur off of his tummy. He watched the fluff float away on the breeze, sad to see it go. It was far too chilly for shedding to begin, in Tart's opinion. He missed his younger days, living out in the plains to the south where it was warm enough for shedding to be a blessing. For now, he would have to make do.
The sheep stretched muscled arms and picked up a filthy blue sweater from the dirt floor, jamming it quickly over his head to cease the frigid air from tickling his rows of nipples. He then picked up his red kerchief, tying it tightly round his neck, and completely the ensemble with a floppy straw hat to keep the sun out of his eyes. Finally ready for the day, the teen sheep strode out of the open end of his shoddy lean-to and into the one next door.
His neighbor's lean-to was much stronger than Tart's, having been standing for seasons longer. Tart strode calmly into the shelter and swung a chair around, plopping heavily into it. A muscular, gray ram turned from the counter - which was only a couple logs and a piece of ply-wood lashed together by bungee cords - where he was preparing lunch which consisted of wildflowers and wheatgrass. He eyed the younger sheep. "You're up late." He said gruffly. Tart rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Pop." He replied idly, quite accustomed to this routine. If he wasn't up at the crack of dawn, he was 'up late'. "Is Stru up?" Tart went on promptly, referring to his sibling, Strudel. "O'course she is. She got up hours 'fore you did." Tart's adopted father, whose name was Cupcake, responded. "She said she was lookin' fer ya, by the way." Cupcake said casually, facing the counter again. "When I said you was still sleepin', she said she was gonna go find Fritter. I imagine she'd want you to meet up at the usual spot." He sliced deftly through a bundle of wheatgrass and mixed it into the bowl of flower heads.
Tart stood up excitedly. If Strudel and Fritter - or Fritz as Tart and the others liked to call him - were together, then they were scheming something. Tart KNEW he needed to be in on this. "Okay. Thanks, Pop." Tart stepped forward and leaned in to give Cupcake a bear hug from behind, swiping a handful of grass and flowers as he did so. Cupcake growled, but didn't pull away. He was used to such signs of affection from his lamb. With his breakfast held firmly in his fist, Tart sped out of his father's shack and jogged down the narrow road with his hooves thumping heavily on the packed earth.
In five minutes time, Tart swung around a corner in the dirt path and halted abruptly in front of a huge oak tree that held another small shelter in its center-most branches. Tart stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. A beat after his signal, a rope ladder was tossed out of an opening in the tree-house and unwound on its way to the ground. Tart grabbed the rungs and lifted himself up with energetic strides. Once at the top, he hefted himself through the hole in the floor and sat against the wall. "Finally." A high voice barked from the opposite corner. Tart looked up to see his sister, Strudel, sitting on the small cot leaning against the wall. She was dressed all out in a leather skirt and jacket, her make-up on point as usual. Tart grinned at her. "'Sup, sis-tah." He said in a silly voice. Stru pursed her lips at him, but said nothing.
The other occupants of the room were Fritz - sporting a leather jacket and long dreads, Shortbread AKA "Shorty" - looking even tinier than usual in one of his older brother's old sweaters, Cookie - with their hair done up in a row of bright purple spikes, Cannoli - wearing a baggy hoody with a silhouette of a cannabis leaf on the front , and Turnover AKA "Turno" - who was wearing a full camouflage military uniform. It was a tight fit, but the teens were used to it. They had used this tree-house as their headquarters for the ten years they had lived in this part of the country. Fritz, who was sitting next to Stru on the bed, nodded a greeting to Tart. "Hey, man."
"Hey, yourself." Tart grinned, "What's up?"
"Just thought we'd get our group together for some... activities." Tart clearly saw a mischievous glint in Fritz' eyes. The sound of small chuckles filled the room. Everyone was laughing at Fritz' implied meaning of the word 'activities'. Everyone except Shorty, who had drawn his knees up to his chest, a fearful look in his eyes.
'Activities' amongst the gang of teens, often meant pulling pranks and causing havoc among the older members of the flock. For some reason, Fritz and Stru had their own reasons to gain great pleasure from these acts of playful cruelty. Tart personally just loved being with his friends and family, raising hell and getting away with dumb shit.
Shorty cast a worried glance around the room. He was the 'baby bro' of the gang, and only ever agreed to go along with Fritz' pranks because he was dating his sibling Cookie, and Cookie would never miss out on the fun. Tart watched Cookie put a comforting arm around the small ram. Shorty visibly relaxed, and watched Fritz expectantly, waiting for him to unveil his plan.
Cannoli - the local pothead and weed grower - offered a small joint to Fritz, who took it and held it between his teeth to light it. Once it was pleasantly smoking, he turned to the assembled young sheep. "So, we've all had enough fun messing around with our 'rents and stuff. I think it's time we turned onto something a bit bigger, now that we're older 'n' all." He glanced at Stru, who gave him a stern look as if to say get on with it. Fritz cleared his throat. "So... You all know that little town nearby, right? The one we checked out a few months back? Well, me 'n' Stru were talkin'-"
"We're going to go in there and raise a little hell. If we can get the hicks living there to fuck off, then we might have a shot at a better life." Stru explained quickly, cutting off her boyfriend. Fritz looked mildly offended, but Stru shrugged it off. "You weren't explaining right."
"So what's the plan?" Tart asked. He had been waiting for this for months. There was no way he'd be able to go into the little town on his own, and Fritz and Stru - the gang's unofficial leaders - only followed through with a plan when they had thought of the idea first. The waiting was almost unbearable for him. But at long last, the wait was over. He wanted to get in on this action!
The teens shifted around in the cramped space. Shorty was staring at his white fleece covered hands Cookie still had their arm around their small partner, but they didn't seem to notice the worried look etched onto his face. Cannoli finished rolling a second joint, and passed it to Tart, who was sitting to his right. Tart nodded his thanks and lit it up with a match Cannoli handed to him next. Fritz and Stru seemed to be waiting politely until Tart took his first puff. When he expelled the smoke from his lungs, Stru took the floor again. "I think we should go in at night. Between the hours of one to five, there are no cops on duty."
"How do you know that?" Turno spoke up for the first time. He loved to get into trouble just as much as Tart did, but he needed to make sure it was safe first. Probably for the sake of Shorty, who was his brother.
Stru grinned. "I've been sneaking out every night for the last few weeks, keeping an eye on the shift changes."
Tart's eyes widened. "You've been sneaking out? Holy shit, Pop would kill you!" He said in awe.
Stru just smirked and shrugged. "D'you think you losers could meet me in front of this tree at midnight?" She continued.
"Tonight?" Turno frowned. He shot a glance at Shorty who didn't look up from his hands. "No time like the present!" Tart practically giggled. Stru beamed at him, then turned to Shorty. "You in?" She asked pointedly. Shorty gulped and glanced at Cookie. Cookie gave him a quick peck on the cheek and rubbed his back. "It'll be fine. You don't hafta if you don't wanna, though." Tart heard them whisper in his ear. "I do want to..." Shorty whispered. He cleared his throat and spoke again, his voice resonating a little bit stronger. "Someone has to make sure you fuck-heads don't get into too much shit."
The gang laughed heartily in unison.
That evening, the entire flock got together in a clearing near the clubhouse for a communal dinner. There were thirteen adult and adolescent sheep, and three babies - making sixteen overall in the flock. It was a small, familial community. There was a security in the flock that larger communities didn't have; everyone had each other's back.
Tart sat on the ground in front of the low table composed of bits ply-wood with cinder blocks for legs. There were no chairs so everyone had to sit on the dirt. When everyone was settled Pudding, the Shawn - leader - of the flock, stood and clapped his hands twice to get the attention of his friends and family. He was an old ram with impressive horns that curled around the sides of his head. The fleece covering his head, hands and lower legs was graying with age. He wore a tattered old corduroy blazer buttoned up over his fleece-less chest. The rest of the flock quieted down and gave their full attention to their Shawn. Tart fidgeted, his mind on tonight's plan.
Pudding spoke. "Thank you, everyone, for making it to tonight's dinner. Before we eat I would like to say a few words of thanks." Tart and the others bowed their heads and closed their eyes. "Thank you, Dolly, for living so that we may live. The clones you birthed were the beginning of a chain reaction that led to our existence. We may not have the most luxurious life here, but we have a life. And we have each other." Here, he paused, allowing the words to sink in, before he continued. "Thank you, also, to those who gave their lives in that... establishment... where many of us were born. I say many, and not all, now that my beautiful son and daughters are here in the world - the first of our flock to be born without the confines of our birthing place. We are ever so grateful that we were given the opportunity to have our own young, free of that wretched place.
"We also recognize the torment those that came before us endured in the establishment. We honor your memories, and respect the sacrifice you unwittingly gave that allowed us to breathe, laugh, think and enjoy life to the fullest. I am sure that each and every one of you are happily grazing on the fields above, and that we will meet again." There was a moment of silence after Pudding finished his speech. Tart, distracted now from his thoughts of the adventure that was planned for tonight, thought about the place that Pudding always mentioned in his before-dinner speeches.
Several miles south of the flock's current home, there was a hidden facility. It was hidden even to the government that unknowingly funded it. In that place, human scientists played god and tampered with the lives of animals that they saw as below them. They worked ceaselessly to create what they thought would be the 'Perfect Human'. They spliced sheep and Human DNA, hoping to create humans unable to think for themselves. The scientists were determined to make a race of 'followers'. Their plan backfired mightily. Instead of creating followers, they grew two generations worth of a mutated cross of sheep and humans. Curious now about the beings they created, and putting their ultimate goal on hold, they studied this new race for nineteen years. The first generation included Pudding, his wife - the Shawness - Cherry-Pie, Cupcake and a few others. They alone remember the facility the most. Tart, his siblings and the gang were too young to remember the cruel tests they were put through. When Pudding and the other first-gens were nineteen years old, they broke out of the facility, taking the young ones - all three years old at the time - with them. For three years, they lived in freedom in the warm plains nearby the facility. They had done some serious damage to their birth place during their escape, but when it was up and running again, the scientists in charge hunted for the flock with a vengeance. It was then that they fled north, to where they now lived.
It was important to the flock to remember the sheep that came before them. The splicing procedure was fatal to them, and they lived most of their lives in metal cages. Tart liked to think that the sheep that gave his DNA to him lived through him in a spiritual sense. It made him feel less guilty for being alive when that sheep was dead. After a few more moments, Pudding cleared his throat. "Alright, everyone. Tuck in." He said with a fatherly smile and sat down between his wife and his son, Kringle.
Tart and all the others began to serve each other food and chow down on the many varieties of flower-heads and grasses that were the staples of the flock's diet. While Tart was munching on a juicy flower petal he couldn't help but feel his excitement for tonight's adventure build once again. Unable to keep it in, he hissed out of the corner of his mouth to his sister "So what's the plan?"
Stru narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head minutely. Tart pushed ahead, "Come on, tell me! You and Fritz have more planned than you let on, I know it!"
"Ssshh!" Stru hissed. " Not here, you moron!" At that, Tart frowned and finished his meal in silence.
Later that night, Tart lay awake in bed with his ears straining for the sound of Cupcake's snores. As the "least responsible" sibling, he had been given the curfew of nine o'clock on the dot. He didn't care for it much at all. Especially since Stru didn't have a curfew. Cupcake was convinced she went to sleep early every night, and rose early every morning. He would have an aneurism if he found out she had been sneaking out every night for the past few months. For a brief moment, Tart considered telling him, then remembered that he valued his life. Strudel would surely kill him. Then string his carcass up somewhere as a warning to the others.
A sharp snore jolted Tart from his morbid thoughts. At last, Cupcake had drifted off to sleep. Quickly and silently, Tart pushed the ratty covers away from him and climbed to his feet. He hadn't bothered to get undressed before he crawled into bed. He picked up his straw hat, jammed it on his head, and slinked out of his small hut. He paused just out of view from the neighboring lean-to, listening intently for any abnormality in Cupcakes great growling snores. Hearing none, Tart held his breath and scurried quickly past his father's home and shuffled silently to the gang's meeting place. As the sound of Cupcake's snores faded away behind him, Tart allowed his hooves to thump softly on the dirt path as he picked up speed, excitement mounting in his gut.
Tart found the clearing in front of the gang's tree house dark and deserted. He quickly mounted the faintly rolling hill to the base of the tree and sat down to wait. Not long after he found he could not sit still. He rose and began to pace. Several minutes later, Cookie and Shorty arrived. Tart beamed at the couple as they climbed the hill to meet him. Shorty was clutching tightly to Cookie's arm, looking disheveled and nervous. "It'll be okay, hun." Cookie was saying softly. "Hey, Tart." They turned and greeted the younger sheep. "Hey." Tart nodded in greeting, a huge grin plastered on his face. "Anyone else h-here yet?" Shorty stuttered in a small voice. Tart looked down at him and shook his head. "Not yet."
"No doubt Stru and Fritz'll be comin' last." Cookie snorted. Tart nodded and rolled his eyes. "Naturally."
At that moment Cannoli, and Turno stepped through the darkness to meet the others. "Hey, guys." Cannoli drawled. He was already stinking of pot and rolling a joint. Turno reached down and snatched the joint as soon as it was finished and stuck it between his teeth. Cannoli just shrugged and pulled a glassine baggy and a tin of rollies out of his hoody pouch and began the task anew. "Fritz' 'n' Shtru here yet?" Turno asked the group in general, speaking through the joint as he lit it up. Tart, who was closest to the newly arrived, shook his head no. Cannoli gave another shrug and settled down onto the grass. Turno, in stark contrast to his comrade, looked agitated. "I hope they hurry the fuck up." His voice sounded low and guttural as he spoke and expelled smoke simultaneously.
As if on cue, the leaders of the gang stepped out of the darkness. Stru strode into the midst of the group with Fritz close on her heels. The hard-femme punk sheep was chewing on her lower lip, which Tart recognized - only as a sibling would - as a sign of her great anticipation. A hush stole over the gang - even Cannoli swayed into a somewhat attentive position - as Stru and Fritz took their places in the center of the group. "Okay, everyone." Stru hissed urgently. Tart had to strain to catch her every word. "I'm only going to say this once, so listen the fuck up."
"We're going to make our way to the edge of the town in five minutes. Once there, Turno and Fritz," - Turno stiffened, his eyes shining - "your job will be to sneak in and make sure the coast is clear. You'll be looking for any cars parked where they shouldn't be at this hour. Make a quick sweep of the main road then come straight back. When - and only when - we're sure the coast is clear, will the fun be able to start." Stru smiled menacingly, her eyes and lipstick shining in the moonlight. "After that, the plan is to play it by ear. Be sure to stay near the group, always make sure someone knows where you are at all times. Oh, and don't be stupid." She shot a sharp look at Tart, who stuck out his tongue at her. Fritz cleared his throat. "Is everyone ready?" The gang nodded their consent. "Then - oh hey, Can, gimme one o' those." He snagged a joint from Cannoli and gestured in a sweeping motion. "Let's go, y'all."
End Chapter One