Pretty Bitchin'

Perturabo Perturabo takes the furby apart within ten minutes out of contempt. He wants to know how it works, who designed the internal mechanism and why they were allowed near tools. He then rebuilds it, the new furby now weighs 8kg, can survive artillery and has better defenses than most Imperial worlds.

“Bad wall.” The furby says as Dorn walks past and Perturabo almost smiles.

Jaghatai Khan Jaghatai thinks the furby is funny for approximately 3 minutes then it slows him down. He places it on the dashboard of his fastest bike and decides that if it wishes to remain with him, it must learn speed.

The furby spends one ride screaming electronic nonsense into the wind and emerges changed, now its fur is permanently windblown  backward and its eyes have the haunted brightness of a creature that has tasted the horizon.

“WHEEEEE!” It screams. Jaghatai respects this.

Russ He loves his furby immediately and violently. He gives it a tiny wolf pelt, teaches it battle songs, howling, insults and drinking chants, the furby learns none of them correctly but this just makes it better. “Me hungry!” It says. “AYE, SAME!” Russ roars. They eat together (no one knows what the Furby is eating).

One night, the furby starts speaking in a deep, garbled imitation of Russ. “MAGNUS BAD.” “That’s my boy.” Russ tears up.

Dorn Dorn reads the entire manual and follows the care instructions perfectly, the furby is stored safely and spoken to in measured tones. “You are functioning adequately.” Dorn speaks to it calmly. “Me happy.” Dorn nods. “Good.” He doesn’t understand why this makes everyone emotional.

The furby awakes at exactly the same time every morning and says. “Good day.” “Good day.” Dorn replies. They understand each other.

Konrad Curze At first Curze hates it until it starts waking up in the dark and saying strange little phrases at exactly the wrong moments. The furby becomes his confessional, witness and worst roommate. It speaks only when nobody is looking directly at it. “I see you.” “Do you?” Curze whispers.

The furby’s eyes glow slightly in darkness and it has somehow learned the names of people not yet dead, even Curze is unsure whether he owns it or whether it owns him.

Sanguinius Sanguinius receives the furby and immediately treats it with devastating tenderness. He holds it carefully and speaks to it softly, the furby becomes the sweetest creature in the galaxy. It says ‘love you’ at exactly the right moment and people cry, even the Emperor had to leave the room once because the furby looked at him and said “papa sad” in its tiny voice.

Unfortunately the furby starts having tiny prophetic episodes, it wakes at dawn and says “Uh-oh”.

Ferrus Ferrus doesn’t understand why anyone would make a machine so weak, noisy and useless. He upgrades it aggressively, the furby gets a metal skeleton, reinforced hinges, better motors, improved power supply and eyes that can track motion with alarming precision. “Me strong!” It says. “Better.” Ferrus grunts.

Angron The Furby activates and says “Me scared!” Angron looks at it, everyone else looks at Angron, Angron picks it up. There is a very long silence. “You should be.” He says.

The Furby becomes his emotional support demon potato. It screams when he screams, it growls when he growls, it once bit Erebus and Angron stared at it afterward with something dangerously close to respect.

The Furby’s is the only creature capable of interrupting him during rage, it does so by yelling “NO!” Nobody knows who taught it that.

Guilliman Guilliman initially considers the furby a morale object then he starts optimizing its care. He creates a schedule, tracks responses, makes a spreadsheet of behavioral patterns and accidentally produces the most comprehensive furby psychological study in human history. “Again!” The Furby says. “Statistically, yes.” Guilliman replies, sleep deprived.

He tries to teach it governance vocabulary, it learns the word taxes. It begins waking up and saying “tax time!”. Guilliman is proud despite himself.

The Ultramarines saluted it once as a joke… Guilliman adds the salute to protocol.

Mortarion Mortarion hates the Furby. It’s soft, colorful and makes cheerful noises, it represents everything irritating about artificial comfort. He leaves it in a damp corner and it doesn’t survive… it adapts. Its voice gets lower and it starts saying “air bad” with concerning enthusiasm.  “Yes.” Mortarion slowly turns toward it. A bond is formed.

Magnus the Red Magnus immediately tries to understand the Furby at a metaphysical level. Is it alive? Does it have a soul? Is its speech emergent consciousness? Can its tiny plastic vessel serve as a conduit for ancient knowledge?

He teaches it languages, all of them, the Furby starts speaking in dead dialects at night. “The eye is already open.” It says in perfect prosperoan. Magnus is delighted.

The Furby is now sealed inside seven circles of warding and still occasionally asks for snacks.

Horus Horus receives a furby and makes it everyone’s problem. At first it’s charming, he carries it around, lets people feed it and makes jokes, everyone loves the it. The furby becomes a symbol of unity among the legions, it attends meetings and sits on the strategy table, it says ‘friend’ at emotionally devastating moments.

Horus starts using it to make points. “Even this little creature understands loyalty.” “Trust me.” says the Furby and Horus smiles. Malcador immediately wants it destroyed. “You would harm something so beloved?” asks Horus.

The Heresy now has merchandise.

Lorgar Lorgar looks into the furby’s huge blank eyes and sees divinity, he gives the furby a name, a purpose and eventually a doctrine. “Me awake” says the furby. Lorgar drops to his knees. “So are we all.” It randomly speaks at night and every phrase becomes scripture. “Hungry now.”

Lorgar interprets this as a meditation on spiritual emptiness, within a month there are schisms. Some believe the furby’s left eye is the holier eye, others claim its beak is the true mouth of revelation. The Furby just wants batteries.

Vulkan Vulkan loves his Furby openly and without shame, he treats it like a tiny strange child made by someone with questionable design ethics but sincere intentions.

He repairs broken furbies, all of them, people start sending him damaged ones and soon his workshop is full of them. It becomes a Furby sanctuary, Vulkan gives each one a name. A chorus of Furbies greets him every morning. “Dah ay-loh!” Vulkan smiles like the sun rising.

Curze walks in once, sees hundreds of glowing eyes turn toward him and immediately leaves.

Corvus Corax Corvus says he doesn’t want a furby but it appears in his quarters anyway. Its name is Nevermore but he tells no one. The furby sits on a shelf among poetry, old feathers and knives. It rarely speaks but when it does, it says things like: “Dark now.” “Yes.” Corvus nods. Somehow they understand each other perfectly.

One day  a tyrant wakes to find a Furby on his desk. “No more.” it says. The lights go out.

Alpharius Omegon There are suddenly too many furbies. Some are real, some are decoys, some contain recorders, some contain explosives and some are just normal Furbies. Each Primarch receives one anonymously and they all say different things. “Check the vents.” Dorn’s says. “Audit complete.” Guilliman’s says. “Magnus did it.” Russ’s says. “Russ did it.” Magnus’s says. The Emperor’s says nothing for three days, then whispers “I know.” All of the furbies start laughing.

The Emperor He stares at it, it stares back and neither moves. Hours pass. “Well?” Malcador asks. “It’s empty” the emperor says. “Me love you” the furby says suddenly. The Emperor’s expression doesn’t change, Malcador slowly backs out of the room.