FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

When you were the first of your species to set out into space, using the first of your species' spacefaring vessels, normally, the matter was organized, involved someone who was actually prepared for the mission, and came with plans in case of emergency. _ _Instead, Azazel had stolen the ship in the dead of night, bought only the essentials for establishing a safe haven off world, and was currently in an emergency - out of fuel, running low on reserve power, but, if nothing else, he bought plenty enough food.

Food wasn't too helpful without oxygen to work with though - and, in his haste to explore the universe and escape from his own planet, the Azerite was left stranded out in the vastness of infinity with no one to turn to other than himself.

He was prepared to die, so long as it was off his home planet, so, he committed himself to the waiting game - turned on the broadcaster, put his feet up upon the dashboard, and, decided to be resolute in singing away his air supply and letting the Galaxy listen to his last words, as he liked to think of it.

There had never been any signs of any other lifeforms out there in the universe - their kind had listened to the stars for centuries, and all they ever heard was silence beyond the stars. There was going to be no saviour for Azazel - the only consolation he had was that he wasn't going to die of starvation, which wasn't really much to be positive about.

It shouldn't be too hard to imagine just how badly he jumped out of his skin when a face appeared upon the communicator - not another Azerite, but some other feline that he could not recognize, speaking a tounge he could not understand, but, in tones he could halfway comprehend.

They seemed more than curious as to his situation, and, trying to make it as clear as possible, indicated that he had no fuel, and was effectively doomed - which was the kind of thing that wasn't too hard to interpret, especially between two similar species, and at that, he became aware his ship was being pulled elsewhere, the sensors built into the Azerite feat of engineering going haywire at the unidentified energy field that had formed.

The next hour was a slow process being pulled towards wherever his destination was, intermingled with attempts at communication with his fellow feline - the two of them trying to figure out how the language barrier between them could be disassembled. Beginning with simple things, like introductions, actions and objects, then, steadily becoming more complex as Azazel begun to grasp this new language, and whomever it was on the other side was making sure all of this was recorded in detail. This was an encounter with a new species, after all, and another feline one - the Azerite didn't really appreciate quite how significant that was, or at least, not until further down the line.

The other feline introduced themselves as Malcolm, of the Authorians - a predominantly female species that had been travelling the stars for millennia already, consisting largely of traders and diplomats, and serving as the founders of the Galactic Union, which had spread itself across the entirety of the known galaxy throughout their time, and now included thousands of species, rather than simply the Authorians.

Between the two of them, rudimentary conversation was established, both Azazel and Malcolm having to substitute parts of their own language for that of the other to try and word certain topics, but by the time they were done, Azazel had a rough grip over what was known as Galactic Standard English, whilst nowhere near perfect, it would be enough to survive.

Just in the nick of time too, as he had finally arrived at the space station where Malcolm was situated - staring in awe at the grand, void borne construction as it approached, although, surprised at quite how much of it appeared to be powered down, getting the impression it wasn't the most active of places, and, as it loomed closer, Azazel felt somewhat uncomfortable as the scale of it really sunk in, feeling like an ant by the time his ship had been docked within by the complex tractor beam systems.

There was a thud as Azerite silica-steel made contact with the unknown alloy that the station was constructed out of, Malcolm giving him a nod, speaking through his receiver with a proud tone. "Welcome to Galactic Outpost Yggmir-Ire-Ceta! I'll be seeing you in a few moments - our drones will unpack all of your cargo and personal belongings, don't you worry."

"What about my ship? You'll take care of it, no?" Azazel asked with a brow raised, quite concerned at being told not to worry rather than the intended effect.

"I'm afraid it's not exactly functional. We will give it proper analysis and disassembly - if we can, we will create a hybrid ship using the old parts, should you desire."

"Please. Even if I ended up stranded, she held up long enough to get me out here. I bought her out here to see the universe, and..." He didn't have the words to explain how he felt about the matter, but Malcolm seemed to understand, nodding his head once more to reassure him, before the communicator flickered and was silent once more, leaving Azazel to the silence of his ship.

Finally, the reserve batteries died, having held out just long enough to get him here, and the emergency lights too flickered out, leaving him in metallically scented darkness.

Azerites did not need light to see, but it helped. He would wander through into the airlock, his golden eyes glowing in the blackness, and place his hand upon it - and, powered it himself with a greenish surge of electricity, enough to force it into opening, and walked into the still, disinfected air of the galactic outpost, his paws meeting cold, unfamiliar metal, and, sighed with resignation.

Not long ago, he thought he was going to be dead, but instead, he was now inside a monolithic construction of none other than alien origin. He was here now, and, there was no way such a thing could have been anything other than his calling drawing him here. Whatever his purpose was, coming here was the milestone of his journey beginning, surely?

A sensation between absolute ecstatic glee and existential terror gripped him - there was no going back. There was only one direction to go from here, and that was wherever the wind took him, as it always had.

Whatever it was that he had set out into the galaxy to achieve, he was closer to it than ever, and, destiny awaited. For now, the glee would settle over his terror at the impossible nature of finding anything in particular within the vastness of the Galaxy.

He ran up the stairs connecting to the rest of the outpost in his eagerness to meet his new, alien friend, assuming from the numerous illuminated arrows and words on the metal walls that the "LOBBY" was where he was supposed to be going, whatever one of those was, most likely a meeting or communal place of some kind, and the sound of his functional, but relatively primitive metal space suit's boots clanging against the floor followed him as he went.

It was a room of most grandiose scale - easily many stories in height, countless windows lining the inside of it's circular walls, whilst one, impressive panel of space-grade glass upon the ceiling gave an insight out into the galaxy. Looking out there still terrified him to his core, the fact he was now off of the sands of his planet only made his fear of the galaxy even more prevalent.

He wouldn't have come here if he wasn't prepared to fight his fears however, and, tearing his eyes away from the infinite divine artistry of stars and distant worlds, would look around for Malcolm, realising just how quiet it was here.

For a galactic outpost, it was unnervingly quiet. He was expecting to see countless aliens of all shapes and sizes - instead, it was silent, absolutely bare of any life. Where there were tables, and chairs, and potentially even a small cafeteria, there wasn't even dust to suggest anyone had ever bothered to use any of it, or be in the room at all. Posters sat on a table, never put up, along with what Azazel assumed to be various tools for assembling things within the confines of the outpost.

"Hey! Don't know if you could tell, but, no one has been here for years. You're the first person to show up for something other than a pit stop!"

At the other side of the room was another feline - his fur a deep, navy blue, in stark contrast to the sandy red tones of Azazel's fur, dressed neatly in what was appeared a uniform neatly emblazoned with the insignia that was present around the entire outpost.

He was around the same height as Azazel, but lacked the same broadness of structure, and looked like he could be blown over by a mild wind as far as he could tell, and held an air that reminded him of the few book loving Azerites back home, only lacking the quietly hidden, burning love for a fight that all Azerites had, regardless of their calling. This Authorian before him looked like he would sooner run and hide than defend himself, although, he could be wrong.

Azazel outstretched a hand - Malcolm took it, and the two shook hands...or rather, Azazel shook his, and nearly pulled his hand off, not expecting him to be so weak by comparison.

"Jeez, hey, nice to meet you too! I'd like to keep that attached, thank you very much!" Malcolm would chuckle as Azazel seemed shocked by just how wimpy he seemed - he felt like he was made out of paper to him. He guessed that the Authorians weren't exactly anything alike a species that grew up on an unforgiving desert planet, and would keep it in mind to be gentler in future.

"Nice to meet in the flesh, Malcolm. Apology for nearly breaking your hand. Our home is...less than habitable. Part of our survival is our strength."

"Don't you worry - and it's "apologies" when you say it like that. Or "an apology". You'll get used to it real soon, don't worry. Follow me, and we'll get your species an entrance on our database, if you don't mind being the first example of an Azerite on record, of course." He said all this with such merry nonchalance that Azazel found himself reassured just by hearing him - although he got the impression that Malcolm hadn't seen another soul for a little bit too long, and was happy simply to talk to someone else.

Turning swiftly on the spot, and neatly meeting his hands behind his back, Malcolm would lead onwards with a fair pace, directing Azazel towards a room marked "PROCESSING", which he grasped implied the processing of information, rather than metals or meat.

Various scanners, biological analysers and other, never seen before pieces of technology were spread around, all of which looked incredibly advanced and also somewhat delicate, complete with a small office space in the corner with what was evidently a screen for a computer of some form, various papers and an empty cup marked "Mal'" with a marker pen, as well as what seemed to be a printing device and... something else he didn't recognize that was likely some kind of designated communication device.

"This won't take long - we used to run full biological testing through a suite of equipment, but nowadays, scanning tech is quite so advanced that we decided that a little inaccuracy was a fair price to pay for taking a fraction of the time. Just let me fiddle with a few things and..."

An elongated strip of metal upon the wall begun to shimmer brilliantly, a circle upon the floor lighting up as various screens flickered into life. As of currently, they weren't displaying much, beyond the words: "Qualities", "Culture", "Compatibility", and "Miscellaneous", the last two words being ones that Azazel was more than uncertain of.

"Aaaand... Bazoing! Stand on the circle, and, close your eyes. Might get a little bright." Malcolm would say, making a polite gesture for him to go forward, which was followed up on immediately.

Azazel shut his eyes tightly, and felt the array of various frequencies of both light and sound wash over him. Azerites were electrically sensitive creatures, and it felt rather strange to be bathing in what was technically an alien energy - beneath his skin, he could feel his nerves tingling in response, and was finding it hard not to tense and relax involuntarily as he felt himself be invaded in a most peculiar manner.

There was a resounding ding once the process was complete, the array shutting down, and giving Azazel the opportunity to see once more. Immediately, Malcolm seemed more than intrigued at the results, running over each thing as he read aloud in astonishment.

"Qualities: incredible heat tolerance, incredible electrical tolerance, plasma integration with body function, incredible strength to size ratio, impressive physical tolerances...high libido, underlying comprehension of advanced technologies, high adrenaline presence, and average overall intellect. Culture: prideful, belligerent, technologically adept, warlike... Civilised? Hang on, how does that work?" Malcolm turned to Azazel with a brow raised, wondering if something was wrong with his scanner, but was just as surprised when the response was-

"You mean your people aren't civilised about their wars? People can get killed if you aren't careful. Understanding the difference between murder and maiming can't be that hard, right?" Azazel would respond, seemingly just as confused by the question as Malcolm was at his response.

"I... We do, although if I had to guess, the line between "murder and maiming" must be a pretty thick one for your kind. I don't think we are anywhere near as hardy, to begin with." Malcolm was going to continue down the list, but Azazel was too curious to give him time, and pointed to the word outlined in red upon the screen.

"Hey, what does "com-pat-ible" mean? I'm guessing it's important?" Azazel questioned, clueless and uncertain, finding his curiosity piqued once more at the, brief, but unmissable panic in Malcolm's expression.

"It, uh, means that you work or fit with a certain kind of thing. Like a key can be "compatible" with one kind of lock." Malcolm answered, trying his best to disguise the fact that Azazel was pushing the wrong buttons here.

"Oh. So what am I compatible with?" He would ask again, plainly and innocently, his tone switching as he realised Malcolm may not be totally inclined to be truthful all of a sudden.

"That's above my pay grade." Malcolm quickly resorted to, which Azazel understood was an outright lie, but wasn't certain whether or not he should bother to press the issue. Whatever it was, it was enough to have him skip through reading the rest, and to accelerate the processing - tapping a number of words on the board of keys in front of one of the other designated screens, and shooting Azazel a smile.

"Well, I don't mean to rush you at all, but, supposedly, an Authorian Hauler is available to pick you up for work." At that, Azazel instantly seemed dubious, but he quickly turned to start selling the idea, grinning now with some strange enthusiasm. "What? You want to see the Galaxy, right? A job on a hauler...uh, helping with loading and unloading, as well as maintenance, gives you both a relatively laid back job and the excuse to go literally anywhere! You'll see more of the Galaxy in a day then you've seen in your entire life so far - mark my words, lil buddy. And if that sounds good to you, well, I can get you something to sign."

The usage of "lil buddy" was confusing considering the difference of stature was hardly appropriate, but asides from that, Azazel felt himself mostly convinced by the offer. It did sound much too good to pass up after all - and a hauler being ready to take him from here really did sound like fate lining up for him.

"Well? What's the catch!? I'll sign! Just don't expect anything tidy." Azazel grinned, the prospect of seeing the universe temporarily overtaking his wariness towards Malcolm's intent, expecting some honesty at the question of what the catch was.

Perhaps he passed it off as sarcasm, as he didn't go on to state any catch, although, with a tone that was doing it's best to try and stay convincing, he would pass Azazel a tablet with a stylus attached. It felt a little odd in his hand - Azazel was used to holographic displays, and not handheld ones - and a lot of the words on it, he didn't quite understand.

Words like "obligation" and "agreement" weren't much of an issue, although, the details to which they were referring were. He had little concept of what a "matriarch" had to do with a hauling job, and the phrase "miscellaneous favours and services" had him most dubious, until rationalizing it as anything that didn't explicitly qualify as hauler work.

He scanned through it reasonably quickly, feeling he understood enough of it to know, or at least feel, that he was in safe hands, and, signed his name in full - although, it more resembled an attempt at drawing barbed wire than a signature, practically illegible other than the fact it started with the letter "a".

He passed the tablet back over to Malcolm, who seemed oddly eager to take it, and, presumably ran some form of approval through the system so that whoever was on the other side could see that the offer had been taken. Within hardly five seconds, a response appeared, causing him to chortle and raise a brow to Azazel.

"Well, looks like someone is in demand! I'm guessing it must be the fact you're naturally built for hauling work!" Malcolm grinned with a faint, maniacal glee, seemingly more than ecstatic at the swiftness of the response. "They're on their way already! I'll get the drones to organise your belongings and, I'll send you over to the dock!"

"Wait, already? Whoa, whoa, I thought I'd at least get some time to get my bearings here first." Azazel seemed a little overwhelmed by all this - he'd hardly gotten used to being here, and suddenly he was going to be off on a hauler? He wasn't complaining, sure, but it was all happening a little swiftly for comfort.

"I know, right buddy? I was actually kinda looking forward to showing you around this abandoned dump!" He seemed to rather quickly check himself, his enthusiasm seeming to trip over itself as he set about correcting his statement: "Rather, a quiet station in the middle of nowhere, actually. It does certainly feel abandoned at times though. Anyway, anyway, I'm sure you'll have plenty enough time to get used to the hauler! If you'll just follow the signs reading "DOCK", then, you'll be right on time to meet your new... uh, boss." There was an uncanny uncertainty as he finished his statement that hinted at the interchanging of words for something more easily understood, or, easier on the ears. He pointed over to the general region of where Azazel was supposed to be going - and put on a broad, faux smile.

"What about you? You gave them the details - shouldn't you introduce us?" Azazel asked quizzically, raising a brow as his dubiousness begun to achieve new heights.

"Nope! That's all on you, buddy! I'm staying riiiight here, introducing people ain't my job!" He would make a clicking noise as he shifted the hand pointed at the door to shoot Azazel a finger gun - who now seemed even less trusting as he went on to press:

"What is your job, anyway? You don't look like you could maintain an engine, let alone a station. You're a little too unhinged for pen work. And there's something about you that's-"

Azazel wasn't given opportunity to finish as Malcolm swiftly put a hand on his back, patting him with impact as to hint that he should really be getting a move on - turning to him with a far more genuine, sly, shark-esque grin. "Strange? I hear things like that a lot, lil buddy. My job here is way bigger than you could understand! Now get a move on - you don't wanna keep a lady waiting! Destiny awaits!" Malcolm pushed him forward with a vigour that Azazel was not expecting from his previous, apparent weakness, and he found himself, suddenly, inclined to start walking.

"Hey. See you around, lil buddy. The galaxy ain't as big as you think!" That was the last thing he heard from Malcolm as he set off towards the docking bays, and, it would certainly stick with him. Despite hardly even getting to know them, something seemed oddly significant about them, and he had the feeling that their paths would cross in the future.

There was that feeling again. Every step he took towards the docking bay was directly reminiscent of the same feeling he had been assaulted by when he first took the decision to leave his home world - the deep, primal burn within his core that surreptitiously whispered "destiny" from within. The feeling of approaching a point of no return, perhaps.

Except this time, there was no decision to not take off, there was only the option to walk forward and face whatever was to happen. Dread intermingled with the sensation for a moment, but it passed just as quickly as it came. Standing before the only illuminated door within the hall - the other bays all silent - he stepped forward so that the sensors would allow it to open, and, prepared to meet what he assumed would be his new captain, in a manner of speaking.

Given Malcolm's size, Azazel had been expecting this "lady" to have been around his height, or potentially even smaller.

He was not expecting, however, for them to have been easily twice his height, easily thrice as broad, and, above all else, laden with such a bountiful body that the already absurd difference in size between them was added to in several tons worth of curves.

Within Azerite culture, softness of the body was considered divine - soft thighs and breasts were incredibly rare, and thanks to their metabolism, putting on weight as anything other than muscle was a practical impossibility.

So, being faced with someone with thighs broader than he was, hips that were wider than he was tall, a gut alike a grand, gluttonous ocean of adipose that was almost half sat upon the thickness of her grand thighs, and packing breasts that were simply inquantifiable by any standards he had ever known - each one easily as big as himself - Azazel temporarily froze up as his mind attempted to coordinate itself before his blood ran downstairs and made a fool out of him.

All this, trapped and pressed beneath a skin tight space suit, as if it were their absolute intention to show off their bounties for the galaxy to see, was more than enough to scramble the poor Azerite's brain as he attempted to wrap his head around proportions the like of which he never even dared to dream were possible - but, trying his best to make a good first impression, he managed to snap himself out of the stupor that was threatening to take hold, presented his hand to them with a smile, looking up at his new captain with the hopes that his reddish fur would conceal the flush growing upon his features.

"Hello. My name is Azazel." He spoke somewhat plainly as he tried to disguise quite how shaken his brain had been, presenting his hand with his best attempt at a pleasant smile. "Pleased to meet you. And...you...are..?" He looked up at her face with growing nervousness, which seemed an awfully long way up from here - his eyes meeting a pair of grand, lavender jewels that didn't seem very impressed.

He felt her take his hand, and shook it, gently, uncertain as to whether she would be alike Malcolm in terms of strength, despite her scale, and was then promptly grabbed by the wrist and lifted off of the ground as if he were merely made out of paper.

Azazel squeaked involuntarily as he was bought up to level with the goliath of a woman - eyes going wide with a marriage of shock, awe and rapidly growing infatuation as he was now face to face with the, rather attractive, Authorian female.

He was about to come out with some witty comment or compliment, but, suddenly, the words would not come to him, his usual boldness with the ladies currently frozen over beneath her most unimpressed glare, unable to do much more than smile nervously as he hung in the air like a toy.

"That wasn't much of a handshake, short stuff! There's muscle under all this, you know!" He felt her grip tighten around his wrist as she went on to emphasize, her tone as aggressive as it were audacious and cheeky. "You can call me Kayce. Captain will do if you really, really want to. Also..." She poked at the chest of his own, mostly metal space suit, smirking somewhat. "Nice tin can, by the way. Thought it might be a little heavier, from the look of it."

"Well, this is made from our own, brilliantly tough silica-steel, ma'am! It's both lightweight and-" He suddenly fell quiet as she bought him closer, her glare hardening as the gargantuan woman would growl: "Do not call me ma'am." And she would leave it at that, leaving him to process this rather thoroughly whilst he was given no option but to meet with a most annoyed pair of eyes far bigger than his own. He could feel the warm gusts of her breath washing over his body from here, which really wasn't helping with the quickly deepening infatuation towards her size. She dropped him without notice, letting him land back on his two feet with a clang, and, turning towards the colossal ship behind her, beckoned for him to follow, whilst Azazel was still a little shocked beyond being able to muster words for the moment.

"See this beauty right here? This is my ship - not like you couldn't have guessed. I could bore you with all the details, but, all you've gotta know is that she can cross the Galaxy, and that she's designed to make it a damn cozy ride. Oh yeah, shed loads of cargo space too, as you would expect in a hauler. Your belongings should be moved in there, and anything that seems personal should be moved to your room." Stretching as she walked along, she would look back at Azazel, who seemed to have his eyes currently locked at the height of her hips, sniggered at the fact, then continue on with a most informative, yet nonchalant tone, as if she were showing him around a museum. "Most of the actual heavy lifting is automated and done by drones or robots, so, we're only really needed for emergencies and maintenance. An extra pair of hands half as strong as me could mean the world in a bad scenario - impressive as I am, I can only reach so far, y'know?"

Azazel would nod and quietly say "mm-hm" to show his approval, trying to at least act like he was paying attention to every detail she presented him, finding himself unable to tear his eyes away from the grand expanse of her backside as she kept pace in front of him - as each step made impact on the floor, he could watch it ripple up and through her bounties, right up to the peak of each of her mounds - each of her collosal ass cheeks competing for dominance over the canyon between them. The sheer momentum of her strides and the slight swinging of her hips seemed to be more than enough to have the masses wobble and sway with the heft of her movements, achieving a sort of weighty grace reserved only for women of such stature and figure.

"So, remember, if one of the automated personnel asks who you are, what do you say?" Kayce would ask as she continued forward, assuming that he was still listening - whilst Azazel rapidly snapped back to reality, coming out with an answer as quickly as he could as to at least pretend he was paying attention. "Maintenance personnel?"

"No... Well, actually, I guess that counts, they will treat you as normal, but - you were supposed to say "here to haul", like I literally just told you. I sure hope your short term memory is better than that." She jabbed slyly, having a pretty good impression as to why he wasn't listening. She was quite used to smaller species being overwhelmed in her presence by now, in fact, she actually quite enjoyed it, a faintly lewd smile touching upon her lips for a moment, before gesturing to the flight of steps leading up to the hauler's airlock, hinting with a mild cheekiness in her tone. "Go on - youth before beauty, after all!"

"Actually, we like to say beauty before all, to translate it roughly. So - ladies first?" Azazel half asked, half politely insisted as he made a graceful hand gesture for her to proceed, even going so far as to add a mock bow and a courteous smile as he did so, managing to hold it with perfect audacity as Kayce raised her brow quizzically.

A silence held in the air for a moment, possibly two, before Kayce's expression cracked, any seriousness she had defusing as a smile broke through, the goliath feline shrugging in a manner that hefted her bounties as she turned to head up the steps, again jabbing at Azazel with a faint giggle in her tone. "Well, if you say so - suppose I'll respect your traditions, being the guest and all..." Then, as she set off up, the metal staircase expressing it's strain under her mass, she then turned back to him, and added with a most sly, even faintly malicious tone: "Just remember that once you're on my ship...you're going by Authorian rules and traditions. You're not in any position to argue with me, hon." This was topped off with a cheeky, maybe even slightly sultry wink, before she went back to making her way up to the ship.

Azazel was distracted from the bouncing, jiggling display of bounty making it's way up the stairs as he mulled that over in his head. Something about the way she had said that made him hesitant from head to toe and back again, yet there was nothing clear he could piece together as to figure out her intent. For a species that was pretty used to inferring things, it was somewhat discomforting to be unaware of what such a tone implied.

Nontheless, there wasn't any turning back now. Making sure he wasn't caught falling behind, not particularly wanting to answer to Kayce as to why, he made sure to close the distance between them before she noticed his hesitancy.

______________________________________________