FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

*CONTENT WARNING: * This story contains depictions of violence, murder and horror themes throughout. Viewer Discretion is advised.

The sizzle made his ears perk; it was close enough to drown out the gull song of the wharf.

The scent caught him under the chin, drawing him in with its siren call.

Theodore's nose twitched as he moved toward it, his head tilting into the breeze while his tail wagged at the aromas that began to flood the air. Meal mongers lining their cobblestone vantage slathered red-hot grills with heaps of butter and garlic. His stomach growled at him, reminding him of the breakfast he'd skipped... and the dinner before that. He knew he would have been able to tell what herbs if he was any closer.

It was a stubborn jab to his ribs that brought the Wolf back to his senses. "Don't drool; it looks bad!" Mabel tapped her beak at him. The dark plumed Avian retreated back to the shade offered by their rental tent. He could hear the amusement in her voice, but he wiped his mouth off just in case.

There's was the first in the final row of tents that separated the Docks from the Southern Gate of Charinthosse. The threadbare canvas, and battered supports were more patches than broad cloth; age and sea water had reduced the desk and chair to little more than collections of splinters. There was no telling if either bit furniture would hold under any weight; Theodore was comfortable letting Mabel have the chair to herself.

He turned reluctantly to look further into the depths of the canopy and force his back to the savory kebabs behind him. This rental space was something that the Madame clearly hadn't seen before. There was no doubt she'd make him carry new furniture down from the Ladle if she so much as heard of this; so he wasn't going to say a damn thing.

"Have you eaten today?" he nipped, his ears splaying at the sound of one of the heartier kebabs that were hung just out of reach, three tents away. Butter. Garlic. Onion. Chili. Salt. Beef. Onion. And he was downwind of all of it.

"I brought a muffin. You would have known to bring a meal for yourself, if you'd paid attention. Everyone out here shares cues," Mabel fought to keep her gaze off Theodore. He'd never admit to overplaying his disappointment; splayed ears and drooping shoulders got him what he wanted. "Alright," she sighed at him. "Let me finish setting up here, then you can go and get yourself something to eat, alright?"

"When I do that, I'm also going to head down to the Docks," he announced over his shoulder, meandering again to look over the Southern Docks. Rows of technicolor fabrics sprawled inland from the seas, each tent a new shop with fresh wares and faces; foreign folk crashed inland, bouncing off of the high walls of Charinthosse to their west, only to bounce back to the Meridian Sea to their east. "Heard there was a ship that got the mast dropped through the hull. There's tell of some Crow that nailed an entire vessel to the shore; I want to see if it's true."

"Sounds like a fisherbeast's tale," Mabel spoke from behind him. "You know they love to impress."

"Damn right we do," snorted Theodore, a grin splitting his muzzle. "I want to see if there's anything to it." He squinted out toward the ships. Trawlers made their way to and from port, out to superliners with crews and provisions; he'd never understand what would possess a beast to build a ship so large it couldn't dock properly.

"I can't stop you, but I do ask that you take fliers out when you leave," she cocked her head to him. "I'm making you carry any that we have to take back."

"That's bullshit," he turned toward her. "I carried them down here!"

"So pass them out, and you won't have to carry them back," she chirped. "Besides; I walked several bundles down the way. Each shop has one now,"

"When the fuck did you--!?"

"You should pay more attention, instead of reading on the job," Mabel adjusted in the chair. Her legs crossed, and the corners of her mouth turned upward. "It's ironic, really; that a Deckard Malone novel would be distracting from details."

"To what details? The part where you've told me to 'pay attention' before? That gent five tents down who keeps looking you up and over?" Theodore teased. "Maybe you shouldn't repeat yourself so much?" She didn't respond to his question.

"I shouldn't insult your intelligence; but I'm going to anyway. The writing seems a bit _young_for you, doesn't it? Do you have trouble with big words, Mr. Locke?" Mabel lifted a book by the corner of one of the pages if she was offering a filthy rag.

"It's a character choice!" he protested, stepping back beneath the shade. Mabel brushed her clawtips on her sash just as soon as Theodore retrieved his book, as if to wipe them clean. He felt the smirk on his features even as he spoke--"If it helps age it up, there's a sex scene?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You untoward beast. Reading something like that in public! Have you no shame?" She locked eyes with them.

Theodore couldn't count to three before the pair of them dissolved into a snickering fit.

"Of course I have shame, what the hell kind of question is that?! I wore trousers and everything!" he motioned down to his silks. A red sash ran down from his left shoulder, leaving the right bare. He'd done away with a leather belt today, opting for a blue sash around his midsection instead. He chose against wearing a shirt beneath them for today; it wasn't quite summer yet, but the high noon sun made it feel like it. His trousers were nearly the same shade of muted gray that his pelt was, prompting several second looks to ensure he was wearing them at all.

The Avian laughed quietly, her deep gray feathers ruffled at a thought she didn't share. She tapped her beak to fill the silence between words, watching Theodore stow his book in one of their crates beneath the table. She adjusted in her chair after another moment; the corner of her mouth turned upward in a smile and she looked over at him with an appraising eye. "Let's give you a look, shall we?" she ribbed. He didn't notice her get up until she was strutting around him, winding a snug circle while she listed her observations. "Lovely warm gray on you; brown markings down your face to make you stand out just enough, without being garish? Tan muzzle and underbelly, with more brown accents to match! Lovely little outlining--takes the eyes all the way across your shoulders. And those eyes--!" He tilted his chin away from her and gave a harsh snort. "What? No one else around to compliment those lovely, golden eyes of yours?"

"Mabel, if you try any harder to make me blush..." Theodore warned with a playful-enough growl.

"Blue sash after all? Thinking of returning to bed work? That would mean your frame is for sale; perhaps you could go strut about?" Mabel's grin widened, tilting her head to mock the gesture Theodore used so often. "Oh, I know! How about you get some attention by reading the sex scene like one of those head-line shouters?"

"To a dock of touch-starved sailors? Are you daft?" Theodore chortled. "I wouldn't be much of a sell out here."

"Oh, if only some beasts enjoy more athletic figures," she mocked him. Her head shook in time to heaving that Theodore could almost hear from the wharf. "It is lifting with your legs that has helped you stay so nice and_shapely_?"

"I'm certain I don't know what you're talking about," he scoffed after her. That was a lie. "Besides, curvy suits _you_far better."

"I'm sure Silas would disagree," teased the lass. Theodore's scowl shattered the playful tone. "Right... Sorry." She mumbled with a wince.

"It's his request I don't discuss things. It's _my_Word to the matter," Theodore said, shaking his head and turning back toward the wharf. "And that's the end of it." The crashing of waves invaded the silence left where words failed. A southeaster blew them more violently ashore, and Theodore turned his forehead down into the breeze, breathing through the memory of the beast.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sour the mood so quickly," she nodded through her backward apology. "How are you... Well...?" she quieted, standing next to Theodore and looking up toward him.

He glanced down at her, before lifting a paw to rest on her shoulder. He gave her half of a hug, tugging the Jay in against his side before releasing her. "I'm not dead."

Mabel nodded, tilting her head groundward. "You... you wanted to go eat?"

"And deliver the rest of those brochures, yeah." He responded with a curt grunt. He took them without saying anything, making sure his book was properly shoved into the crate's depths. Mabel left him alone with thoughts and the armload, allowing him to blend into the meandering horde.

The Southern Docks were as busy as ever. The clamor of captains, directing crew and cargo down the boardwalk mingled with the gull song from above. The simple road, made of sun-rotted planks and mildew wound its way underfoot from the beach's sands to the cliff faces. The paths overflowed with beasts, eager to avoid the squelch of mud between their toes. Clear skies brought sunlight from every direction, gleaming off the rippling surface of the sapphire sea and winking into the world weary port. It brought a warm smile to Theodore's face, in spite of the lump in his throat, and the icy chill of memory.

He missed the seas.

This close to the docks again, nostalgia ruled his senses. The old wood beneath his feet groaned the same, salty way that the ship planks did. Algae, sea foam and the underlying scent of barnacles swirled and mixed, tossing foam to the rocks just beneath the wharf. Every beast he came across got passed a pamphlet--left, right and center to empty his arms just as quickly as he could. There weren't enough beasts he could run into on his way to the pier; especially since folk started to avoid him once they realized he was just passing out things with nothing else to say.

By the time his feet landed on the docks, he had barely a fistful left. He heaved a sigh of relief, pausing at the line in the sand drawn by a cedar plank. Seafoam licked his toes from beneath the boards, and he grinned at the sensation of the ocean welcoming him back. Up and down the wharf now, beasts were making ready to be underway. Bells and calls for tide and orders of exit; obvious harbormasters roaming up and down to order the castoffs. Gods, he missed this.

A horn sounded above, and Theodore turned his chin up to listen. His ear's tilted upward--four bellows, break, three bellows. He looked eastward, raising a paw to block the sun's reflection off the water. He had to squint to make out the shape of the ship. It was a smaller vessel--too many sails for its hull, by the look of it. He could tell it had to be a Clipper of some sort; even from this distance. An old one at that.

When he saw Fieloran colors, his shoulders sagged. He fought the urge to throw the brochures into the sea then and there. He waited for the calls of the harbormasters to tell him just which port the latecomer was arriving at. Theodore made a point to follow their noise from afar as the Clipper and dockside horns traded wails to guide the vessel in.

Built for speed and as many passengers as could fit on two decks, Clippers were arguably the most uncomfortable of any ship that Theodore had ever heard of. Only real benefit of them was taking a fourteen day voyage down to eight: it delivered beasts from one point to another with no sympathy.

One end of the scale saw it the perfect opportunity for him to offer the respites of the Silver Ladle; on the other, Fielora. It was a gamble to know whether or not these would be the pompous, rigid stains that their fleet was known for, or if they intended to be brutes with the Ladle's staff. Nobody who smells like catnip is getting one of these, he resolved to himself. He hated his choices; do his job and risk the safety of his workmates, or don't do his job, and risk the ire of Madame Sybil herself; she would have him tanned if he didn't do his job. As much as he loved working for her, she did have a business to run.

He hated his options.

Harbormasters despised hovering, but they were too busy to stop him today; Captain Nathaniel's barking about 'those damned Clippers delaying his disembarking!' resurfaced for the first time in nearly a decade. Theodore was content to stand back and watch. Mabel would be furious with him, but he was going to wait the thirty minutes it would take for the ship to properly port, and for the gangplanks to lower.

Time slid by him as he watched the Clipper's advance. Whatever beast was at the helm knew exactly what they were doing, which was strangely refreshing to watch. The vessel was made of wood than metal, but the engineering allowed it to straddle the generations of ship building. _Must be Nasauan,_Theodore thought to himself.

The drag fins were barely visible beneath surface of the water. They pushed outward from the sides of the hull, forcing the ship to the gentlest crawl that Theodore ever witnessed in a dock. The paint of the ship's name had chipped and worn away._"_Disembark, starboard!" the howl from the main deck called.

He was on his feet in a flash, awaiting next to the gangplank's landing as closely as the harbormasters would allow. His stomach made more noise than the damned waves. The next twenty--nevermind, the next _eighteen_beasts off this boat would get a flier, then he was going to go try and get something to eat to settle the background snarl of his gut. Damn the sales pitch. Damn his obligations for now. They were getting these shoved at them and he was gone.

Enduring the squeal of the metal gangplank was the hardest thing he'd done all day. The keening shriek of salted crusted metal set Theodore's teeth against one another--and several loud swears from the harborbeasts nearby echoed his thoughts. Just like he figured; a gaggle of beasts was already eager to be done with their watery confines. They were in just as hurry to be away from the ship as he was.

"One and all! The Silver Ladle is your stop for the Summer's holiest of nights!" was all Theodore could manage. "Plentiful wine, spirits and saucy company, for those intrigued, g_ents_available as well as lasses."

The crowd's mood split in two--no, three Theodore corrected himself. Those who were disgusted enough to leave immediately, those who pretended they weren't repulsed, and a slight amalgam of folks who seemed excited for the prospect. Four groups, if he started rated them with just how enamored some seemed at the idea. Six leaflets left.

Four.

Three.

Home free!

"Did you say the Silver Ladle?" His ears perked and he barely had time to turn his head to face a gentbeast that invited himself into Theodore's immediate space.

The Otter seemed to have jumped right out of his shadow. Theodore raised an eyebrow and regarded the beast with a cold snort. Gray fur speckled the beast's chestnut chin, and lighter tufts could be seen just over the top of his shirt collar. Green vest, tan shirt, gray trousers, and glasses that could stop a bullet. Scent of some sort of wood based cologne that did little but layer the assault--

Theodore shook his head slightly, tutting his tongue at himself. The worst part about those Deckard Malone novels was always made him overthink things. Taking his new charge by the arm, Theodore guided him further inland; trading the reek of wet slime for the mouth watering--

Don't drool. Mabel's voice shot through his ear.

"It's polite to announce when you're walking up behind somebeast," he deflected from his own thoughts. "Especially if you're asking about the Ladle."

As Theodore guessed, the beast was utterly exhausted. "Red... red and blue?" The gray muzzle's body shook; Theodore had to look more closely, studying him not just for fatigue, but... fear? His muzzle scrunched at the strange expression, and he blinked in spite of his manners.

"Food and bed, yeah," he responded carefully. "So... like I said--announce when you're walking up behind somebeast," he tutted before trying to inject levity against the draining presence of this beast. "I'll make you pay extra for that!"

One of the gent's paws reached up, slapping Theodore on the shoulder for support. He braced himself to catch the Otter, grateful he didn't have to resort to it. "Take me to the Abbey."

Theodore's eyebrows raised. "So you know we're an Abbey, not just a whorehouse... I admit, I'm a bit surprised."

He gripped Theodore's bare shoulder painfully, making him wince as the Otter looked up at him in earnest. "My name is Kendall Whitaker. Someone is trying to kill me."