FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Dackett's was one of the premier bars in the asteroid belt for its location. Distinguishing it from the thousands of other establishments floating among or sitting on the belt's many derelict pebbles was its orbit around Ceres, the “Big Ball", the place where every major name in the transplanetary market tried to buy themselves a little piece of Ceresian real estate. Dackett's wasn't on the asteroid itself, but swung around it at a wide berth with a rotation matching its revolution so that its backside faced the asteroid at all times. Here patrons could enjoy an hour-long trip around Ceres, watching its cratered surface transition between the dull light of the distant sun and the absolute blackness bedazzled by city light. Out the front one could gaze at the arm of the Milky Way spilling its vivid beauty across the infinite for at least as long as the bar stayed within Ceres' shadow. Once in front of the sun the many colors and lights would fade, not into a placid blue, but a dull emptiness marked only by the authoritarian glow of life's harbinger. Dagett's place over that rock, one of many but still the most revered, was an enviable one, where the average traveler could escape the system's eternal day, if only for a brief time before whatever loyalties that claimed them drew them back into the void.

But people didn't go there for any sightseeing! Dackett's was the place where boys became men or died trying. Here was the dregs of space society proving their mettle, throwing away their credits behind games of poker, mugs of alcohol, and bottom-heavy women that left nothing of their exotic, sometimes scaly, bodies to the imagination. It was unwise to go alone. Fellas looking for easy pickings were on the prowl, ready to pilfer pockets or extort money. Curses were thrown, smoke was exhaled, death sticks were chewed, punches were thrown, and bullets were fired. A good day at Dackett's was when nobody came out of it on a stretcher. The owner had once put up a day counter to keep track of the longest stints without a major fight or injury. After the many times it had been set to 0, he took it down.

Rasmus was the kind of man you'd expect to see in a place like that. His shuttle floated into the air dock, pneumatic thrusters pumping soundlessly into the void. The airlock slid into the entrance bay, snapped into place, then filled with a great hiss as clouds of oxygen poured into it. The lock wheel spun into a blur. The door swung open to reveal the grizzled pirate. Tall, broad shouldered, and hunkered down in a power suit heavier than the man it covered, Rasmus was the typical miscreant that could've been expected in a joint as such. His muddy blonde hair was cut into a tight buzz. His head broadened not from cranium to jaw but in reverse, forming a hunky, thinly-bearded chin fit to crack a cinder block. Scars were whipped down his visage, nicking a piece of hairline and caving in some cheek. His expression was as frightening as his appearance, hardened by a great many traumas he could never afford to forget.

Then there was Muuku. She sauntered into the airlock right behind him, one leg strutting in front of the other, her cat tail flicking out behind her gaily. Her pink and white power suit was without so much as a scrape, much like the cheery face she kept lit with a smile. She was hidden behind the brute in front of her, there being such a deficit in breadth between them. Soft pink fur covered her face and whatever remained concealed beneath her armor. Purple hair fell around her crown, parting around a pair of pointed cat ears that liked to flick at random as she walked. Under immediate inspection, Muuku was not the kind of traveler tolerated in a place like Dackett's. With a lissom frame such as hers, she wouldn't have even been accepted on one of the dance platforms. But hinting a history of and proclivity for violence was a behemoth battle ax clung to her back, the handle of which peeked over her shoulder like a squawking parrot.

The bar's side of the airlock was pitted and colored with rust. The lock wheel spun not with a blur but in a series of stuttering squeaks. Only after several seconds of awkward waiting and hoping that their suits' REVA helmets were operational did the door finally begin to swing open. What it released was a sinful miasma of booze, sweat, and vapor, all a source or byproduct of pleasurable pursuits. With it pulsed a beat heavy as it was loud. It struck them to their bones at a steady cadence, the conductor of a hyperpolyphonic chorus of alien beeps and spine-shriveling boops. A royal purple glowed from the walls, casting the bar floor in a doomy light. Spread across it were tables wet with spilled booze, messy with dropped hors d'oeuvres, scattered with spent death sticks, and fogged over by a perpetual belch of tobacco smoke.

Hunched over them were the patrons, a sour bunch marred by bitter pasts and thankless tradition. Conversations were grumbled and spat. Alcohol was drunk by the pint. Between the tables were thinly covered floor girls, carrying a tray of refills on one hand or tentacle above their heads. They waltzed through a cloud of smoke and farts, withstanding their horrid company and keeping their glasses filled with the flashiest smile they could muster.

Some of their coworkers were dancers, earning their wages with a twirl around a pole or a jiggling ass. All colors were represented, drawing a broad clientele of horny men segregated according to dancer (with the exception of one or two fellas with a freaky side). At each dancer's feet was an illuminated platform that glowed white. Everytime a patron added funds to the stage with his credit watch it would flash a random color. The brighter and longer lasting the flash, the more gusto the dancer put into her performance. The loosest spenders had their section of the platform lit up especially so the dancer could focus on them, gyrating, jiggling, and jostling their flesh in that general direction, more often than not with a resulting spew of lewd fluids.

Rasmus' entry was not controversial. He earned only a few glances from the bargoers upon the opening of the airlock. Muuku, however, garnered an immediate reaction. Eyes were widened. Friends were nudged. Conversations grew hushed. Just about every head on the floor turned at once amidst a great purge of speech, leaving only the thrum of music in its wake. It didn't faze the catgirl. She flashed them a smile and a cute finger wave. None of them waved back. Slowly they turned back to their tables and resumed whatever subject they had been chatting on, albeit tainted now by the presence of the formidable space pirate.

They were approached by a bouncer from his stool. His was a Rulrick, tall and bipedal, covered in a scaly carapace of orange plates and black protrusions like a horned lizard. “All weapons have to be turned in. They'll be returned upon exit of the bar." He looked right at Muuku, eying the ax handle rising above her shoulder."

“Awww, are you sure?" Muuku pouted. Her voice was gratingly high-pitched. She patted the pommel. “Dirk isn't gonna hurt anyone, I swear."

The bouncer shook his head. “No exceptions. Give it up and you'll get it back when you leave. The policy extends to everyone else."

Lot of good that does, Rasmus thought. When you serve glass bottles and mugs, all you need is the edge of a table to crack it over and you've got yourself a weapon. “Give it to him," he said. The timbre of his voice was in as much contrast to hers as their physiques. “We're not here to kill anybody."

Muuku harrumphed. “Fine." She grabbed the ax handle and slung it over her shoulder. The blade was broad and cumbersome, looking heavier than the woman carrying it. Latched around the hilt of the blade were decorative teeth spewing across the steel like a storm of arrows. She presented it to the bouncer, carrying it like it weighed nothing. “Here. Don't scratch it, please. He's my baby."

“It's in good hands," promised the bouncer as he took it. It was unsurprisingly heavy. How such a delicate looking woman carried something like that was beyond him, but when it came to the Clawgirls, expect anything and everything. He looked at Rasmus. “You too."

Without a word Rasmus extended his pistol holsters out of the thighs in his armor. They rose out of a section in the plate that had blended in seamlessly. Perched between his legs and the armor were two rail pistols. He drew them and twirled them on his finger by the trigger guard. He clutched them to a stop with the grips facing the bouncer. “Here you go. Do whatever you want with 'em. I have plenty more on the ship."

The bouncer took them both, fitting them into his giant, beefy hand. “Thanks. You'll get them back when you leave."

“Yeah, yeah," said Muuku. “We heard you the first time." She strutted into the joint, leaving Rasmus in the dust with her slender cattail trailing behind her. “Come on. There are some spots at the bar. Let's go sit."

Rasmus cracked a grin and followed. “Sure thing."

Muuku led the way through the valley of degenerates. She was hit with a volley of stares along the way, a result of her flamboyant stride and swaying backside. Any other woman who dared to venture through their ranks would've suffered a flood of catcalls and ass pinches. Muuku made it through without so much as a nudge or a peep. Men leaned away from her as she passed. Those who looked quickly darted their eyes away if they were spotted. She smiled to herself, savoring their reticence and fear. They knew what she was. Fucking with her kind was not wise.

She turned around at him, face beaming. “I'm loving this music! They should add a dance floor!"

“Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do? You can hardly do a worm sign shuffle."

She stuck her tongue out at him, “Oh, boo."

Rasmus followed her all the way to the bar where the two of them sat on a pair of stools. The bartop was like the platforms the dancers were on, lit white and flashing whenever someone ordered a drink. Them sitting down triggered a ripple of blue color and an audible dooong sound. The bartender came over, a slender Itchthian with slimy brown scales, milky eyes that blinked behind horizontal lids, and gill spines that reached several inches out of the flanks of his head. His scrawny frame hardly fit the atmosphere, but second only to the pink killer that had just sat down among them, the patrons knew that fucking with the establishment was most unwise.

“What can I get you two?" he asked. His voice stuttered like he was speaking into a running fan. Behind fishy lips were translucent needle teeth.

Muuku flicked her hand up. “I'll have a pink Meetsi!"

The bartender tried not to react. The gentleman next to her was not so reserved, shooting her an odd glance. Such a fruity drink had probably never been ordered in a place like that. Luckily the bartender remained professional. “Alright." He turned to Rasmus. “And you?"

“A mug of Plutonian."

That was more like it. “Coming right up." He grabbed an iced mug from the rack behind him and went to the tap. He pulled a lever with a black ball on its end. From the spigot splurged a thickish blue substance that glowed like neon. It swelled to the rim of the mug in a white froth. The bartender let some of it spill off the side before sliding it to him. “Will you be starting a tab?"

“That's right." Rasmus grabbed the handle and took a swig. The spritely blue color belied the drink's heavy, Earthy taste. The foam clotted around his lip, adding color to his mustache. He put the mug down with a loud clock!

Muuku giggled. “You got a mustache."

He cut his eyes at her, then swept his tongue across his lip, cleaning it. She giggled some more. He chuckled too.

The bartender left them to gather the ingredients for her Meetsi. It was a good thing he'd been drilled in tending bar so hard or else he wouldn't had known what the fuck to do. After almost a solid minute of pouring, shaking, stirring, shaking, then pouring again he came back with a dainty martini glass with the neck pinched between his two fingers. It was filled with a glowing pink drink and garnished with an umbrella. He placed it in front of Muuku delicately.

“Here you go," he said. He and those closest all eyed the drink wearily as if its mere presence would sap their masculinity.

“Why, thank you!" She plucked the glass up and took a tiny sip. A shudder made her tail flick. “Mmmm, love it."

The bartender eyed the two of them curiously. “You two came here together?" he asked.

“We sure did," said Rasmus. “We're business partners."

Muuku hooked her arm around his elbow and squeezed it. “Been fighting alongside each other for a year now!"

“OK. I see. You two in love?"

Rasmus blanched. “No. What gave you that idea?"

The bartender showed his palms. “Hey. Just thought I'd ask."

Muuku nudged Rasmus. “Hush. Stop being mean. He just asked a question."

Rasmus calmed down. “Yeah, you're right. Sorry." He scanned the edges of the bar. On the walls flanking them were the booths, each one occupied by a party of people.

“Don't worry about it," said the bartender. He leaned against the bartop's edge on his hands. “If you don't mind me asking, how'd you two meet? Sorry if you two aren't the type I'd pair together for business." He looked at Muuku. “You're a Clawgirl, right?"

Muuku maintained her smile, albeit as something much more stoic. “I am, and so is he."

Everyone listening looked at Rasmus. “You are?" asked the bartender.

Rasmus nodded. “Aye."

That portion of the bar grew hushed. “Well, I wouldn't have guessed that by looking at you, that's for sure," said the bartender. He was stepping out of his boundaries as it was, but now that there were two Clawgirls in front of him, one of whom was a towering, lumbering, hulk of a man, it suddenly felt like he was miles deep.

Neither of them seemed bothered by it. Muuku rubbed Rasmus' arm. “He's the first human and the first male in our group. He was too good to leave out, not after what he was able to survive."

The bartender hesitated to ask. It was the massive reptilian fellow on Rasmus' left that dared to. “And what'd you survive?"

Muuku leaned her head over the bar, looking past Rasmus at the fellow who asked. “Why, me and my girls, of course."

If there were any conversations left around that part of the bar, they were quickly vanquished. There was a vacuum of chatter, dying to be filled by Muuku's explanation. The bartender didn't have to worry about serving anyone, not when they were busy listening in on what was proving to be a bizarre turn of events.

“You… You let this guy live? And took him in? Wait…" The bartender shook his head. “You mean you raided someplace with this guy and let him live? Like… you and the Clawgirls?"

Muuku sent ripples through the bar with just a single nod. “Mmhmm!"

“Oh…" was all the bartender said. “What happened?"

The two business partners shared a look. “You wanna tell 'em? Or should I?" Rasmus asked.

“I'll do it," she said. “They won't believe it unless they hear it out of my mouth."

Rasmus chuckled. “No, I wouldn't either."

Muuku perked up in her seat and faced forward. Her ears flicked upright and her tail swayed. “So! Any of you fellas ever been to the Jovo-Saturnian belt?" A few of them nodded. “Well, as some of you may know, that's where me and my girls made our business, paying visits to places we thought were a little lonely, you know. Lots of refueling stations out there in the big empty, full of guys getting sick of the same faces every day. I think some of you know what that's like. I know this guy does." She patted Rasmus on the shoulder.

“Anyway, I'm leading a raid on this station we picked up half an AU out of Jupiter. Saw it on our radar. Found out what it was when we looked up a ledger we had borrowed from another station just a week before that. The guys there were very happy to let us have it. They begged us to take it. We took a few other things too, but that's not important. We swing in on this new place. KPW… something… I forgot the number."

“89," said Rasmus.

“Yeah, y'all know the one. Anyway, we draw ourselves into an approach and send a message letting them know they were being boarded. We're coming in all smooth and nice like-" She stuck her arm into a knife shape and swooped it down towards the bartop “-trying to follow space etiquette, you know?" We're pirates, not monsters. Just comin' to say 'hey', when these fellas start shooting us!" She threw her arms up and scoffed. “Can you believe it? Threw in their big plasmoids and everything. The nerve.

“Anyway, our pilot was too fast for 'em, and we latched on their loading dock. Me and the girls load up. We're a small bunch, but we like big guns. I arm my squad with the biggest of the big. You boys would appreciate that, I think. Not me though. I hate guns. I come in with this."

She reached over her shoulder and grabbed at what should've been her ax handle, but was instead empty air. Then she remembered. “Ah shit, that's right. Well, you gotta believe me. This thing's a demon. High-frequency shutter ax. I call him Dirk. Thing's got a fucking mind of its own. Feeds on the blood of its enemies, I swear. When it's covered in blood you can hear the edge vibrating through the liquid, sizzling it. Sounds like it's growling. Thing's fucking cool. I'd show it if the people runnin' this place weren't a bunch of prudes.

“Anyway, I gather my squad and we're glued up to their dock. We're in our helmets, armed to the teeth, powersuits on, ready to make some new friends, when we slap a charge on their door and blow it through. Boom! Smoke and sparks. It's like a fog. Can't see shit. We're not even in the doorway and we can hear those guys shooting and shouting at us. Y'all know the drill. Lazer's whizzing and spewing. Of course, it doesn't hit shit, and we're not even shooting yet. We let them blow their load until their magazines go dry, then we hit 'em up. I swear men are no good behind a trigger. You can't keep yourselves from shootin' off early to save your lives.

“Anyway, we go blastin' in. I don't mean to brag, but my girls are some hotshots. Knock a pebble out of a ring from a mile away. These guys don't stand a chance. They're behind corners and boxes. We've got stuff that punches right through that shit. One hit on a wall and the guy behind it goes down screaming, smoke coming out of a hole in his chest. Half of 'em throw their guns down and run. Most of those guys made it to the escape pods. Whether they're alive right now, I don't know. Don't really care.

“I'm there with Dirk. Him and I are fucking hungry. We're trying to fuck shit up, know what I mean? I've got the thing hummin' full tilt. I'm walking down the halls on my own, hacking doors open and checkin' who's inside. I meet a few guys. They're not so keen on being friends, so I introduce them to Dirk. Ever hear what 100000 hertz sounds like going through a guy's thorax? It's kinda like a high-pitched whine and a whole lot of spilling. You kinda get distracted by all the droplets hitting your face, but after a few times you get used to it.

“Anyway, I meet a guy and I show him Dirk. We think that's it. Just about all of the escape pods are gone and these stations never have more than like, 100 guys or so, and we just knocked off 90 or something. Whoever's left we can lock up for when the slavers come by. Got a bit of an agreement with those fellas. We barge into places and they feed on our scraps.

“So we're mopping the place up. I mean, we're picking up valuables and rounding up survivors. Not actually mopping. Waaaaaay too much blood for that. Anyway, me and three of my girls are snooping through one of the storage units, stomping open boxes and seeing what we'd find. I'm looking over in one place, my three girls in others when all of the sudden ka-pow!" Muuku clapped her paws together, making several folks flinch. Several people at their tables turned to look. They noticed something was up and began to listen too.

“Feels like the sun just fucking exploded in my back. I go down with a laser in me. Smokes coming out and I got a bunch of shards lodged in my spine like sprinkles on an ice cream cone. Turns out this little rascal-" She clapped Rasmus' shoulder. “-was hiding behind a box, waiting for us to find him. I guess he had it in his head that he'd take one of us down with him. Unfortunately for him, not even a magnum revolver can punch through my suit, at least not all the way.

“So I'm down on the floor writhing and growling, saying every word in the goddamn book. My girls point their guns at him, but guess what, all of their mags are empty! And that was the last bullet Rasmus had. But nobody knows that, so they're just standing there aiming their guns at each other with their dicks out, waiting for the other guy to shoot while I'm still on the ground cussing up a storm.

“Poor guy. I come to a stop finally and look at him. He's pale as a ghost, sweating bullets. His teeth were tight enough to chew steel, I swear. My girls are screaming at him to drop the gun. Being the big burly man that he is, he doesn't. He just stands there with his gun, waiting for them to blow him away. Don't get it twisted. My girls would've loved to if they could. I recover a little and watch the whole thing go down. I'm thinking, 'man, why aren't they shooting? Better yet, why doesn't he shoot one of us or himself?' I'm fucking mesmerized. I couldn't tell if it was bravery or stupidity or both. Of course I didn't know the ammo situation until later.

“Finally I give the order to stand down. My girls think I'm crazy. I think I'm crazy. I'm talking before I'm thinking. I ask the girls to help me to my feet. They stand me up. I'm draped over my girl's shoulder like an animal pelt. Can't stand up without hurting myself, I got all this shrapnel in my back. I point Dirk at him. I say 'You… human boy. You're coming with us.'

“Everyone looks at me like I'm crazy. I think it was all the endorphins running through my brain. Any other time I would've found out what his insides looked like. Part of me's thinking what I want to do to him. He's got balls though. It'd be a crime just to waste him as is. 'Grab his ass. I want him on my ship.'

“My girls aren't that into it, but they're not about to disobey me. They swarm him." Muuku giggled. “You should've seen him kicking and screaming. It's funny when big guys like him make noises like that. He tosses his pistol at one girl but gets locked up with another. He finds out that they're way stronger than they look when they pin his wrists to his back. That doesn't stop him from squealing! Finally I get annoyed and pull up to him with Dirk." She made a swinging motion with her fist. “Bonk! Knock him over the head with the blunt side. He goes down like a sack of potatoes. Nighty night!"

Muuku laughed about it. Nobody else did.

“So we take everything we need and lock up the survivors in one of the bays. We send out a beacon for slavers to feed on our scraps. Meanwhile I'm in the medbay fighting for my fucking life. Well… it wasn't that bad, but it damn sure felt like it. It sucks being locked up in the medbay. Kinda forget about the system and everything goin' on in it. Doc said I was gonna be down for maybe another month or two before I would be able to command again. Shit sucked. Wasn't a week until I saw him again." She jutted her head towards Rasmus.

The bar shifted their attention to him. “And what happened to you?" the bartender asked.

“Me?" He shrugged. “Weren't you listening? They knocked me out and that was it." He took a long, deep swig from his Plutonian.

“No, I mean. What happened to you right after that?"

Rasmus kept drinking from his mug, bobbing his Adam's apple with each gulp. He brought it down with a sigh. “Well, I was out of it for a while, or so it seemed. They knocked me out then put me on some anesthesia. Woke up in a cell in nothing but a hospital gown. This wasn't any medbay, but a brig. Cell tinier than your average bathroom. I'm in there, shaking, terrified, head throbbing like goddamn crazy, wondering if I should've put the gun in my mouth and if I'd still have the courage to do so.

“Didn't see my first Clawgirl until maybe a few hours after that, or maybe just a few minutes. Time does crazy shit when you're alone like that. I tell you, they were piiiiiiiiiissed. They threw food at me through the slot. Started calling me 'skinner boy'. Told me that if Muuku died they'd make a banner out of my skin. I didn't eat anything they gave me. I was hoping I'd starve to death before Muuku died. Luckily she didn't, and she called me to the medbay.

“The girls bust in and throw me into some cuffs. I'm marched to the medbay, not knowing what the fuck to expect. I come into her room and find her on a bed, on her belly, her back bandaged up. She looks at me and I think she's gonna stare daggers, but instead she fucking smiles like I'm a lost friend.

“'Heeeeeeeeey!'" said Rasmus in his best Muuku voice. “'There's my favorite stowaway.' She asks me how I've been and how I've been treated. 'Like shit,' I tell her. I think I'm gonna die anyway. Might as well tell the truth.

“Well, she doesn't like that. I stand there and watch her cuss out her soldiers for being mean to me. I'm struck dumb 'cause here's the girl I shot in the back getting pissy over her girls treating me wrong. She looks back at me with a smile. 'Don't worry. I'll make sure you're treated better. I'll get you a bed and everything.' She asks me my name. I tell her.

“'Well, nice to meet you, Rasmus!' This is the same person that had sawed our Captain down the middle like a fucking bamboo stick talking to me like I'm the new student to class. She tells me that she'll let me live so long as I do some tasks around the ship. That includes taking care of her and doing everything the med machines tell me to do. I'm no doctor, but I'll do fucking anything to keep my skin on. I tell her 'Yeah, OK. I'll do that.

“'Great! I think you'll like it here, Rasmus.'"

Then they escort me back to the cell, a lot more delicately this time. They don't call me skinner or anything. In fact, they don't say a damn thing. Once I'm locked in there and I know I'm gonna live I go fucking apeshit on all the food. I gobble it all down and almost puke it back up I'm so fucking hungry. The next meal that came through the tray came in as gently as a feather. Didn't spill it or nothing.

“Next cycle they're making me do things. Cleaning, cooking, checking maintenance, laundry, usual shit. I'm a slave in everything but name cause none of the girls call me anything. I'm just 'hey you,' or 'hey, human'. Worst treatment I get is one of them sliding a can off the table and telling me to pick it up. Outside of that they pretend I don't exist.

“Muuku, on the other hand, treats me like I'm her nurse. I might as well have been. She made me do fucking everything to keep her healthy and in shape. That meant bringing her food, feeding it to her, administering meds, and changing bandages. It was easy, really. Just had to do what the medbots told me to do. Part of me wanted to fucking strangle her while I had the chance, but I guess I valued my life a little too much." He said this in the immediate presence of Muuku who smiled and nodded along while occasionally sipping from her Meetsi.

“Whole time she's chatting my ear off and asking me questions. Where am I from? What did you do on Earth? What brought you into space? I'm not for answering criminals, but I didn't really have a choice. I told her everything without telling her everything, if you know what I mean. But of course she does, rattling off about shit I didn't give a fuck about or asked for while I'm taking care of her. Didn't listen to a word of it. I was just trying to keep her happy and not wanting to carve me alive with that ax of hers."

“I was considering it," Muuku added casually.

“I bet you were. Anyway, the bandages come off and she's starting to get mobile. I put a nasty scar on her the size of a grapefruit. I gotta make sure it stays clean and that it doesn't reopen or some shit. That's difficult thanks to how energetic she is. Bounces off the fucking walls like its nothing." He left out the part where she was often naked, showing off every part of her as bashfully as she would with a lover. The thought of it gave him pause. He poked his tongue into his lip.

Muuku read his mind. The same moment was passing through their minds. Rasmus was giving her daily massage, something recommended but not mandated by the medbot. Lying on her belly in the nude, she showed him her puckered scar crater, a bullseye in the center of lissom, pink trunk. He'd been trying to grow numb towards the sight of her body, but catgirls loved to tease. While his fingers rubbed up the height of her body her tail would sway and flick. She swore it was out of her control, but he didn't believe her.

What was truly out of her control was the way her ass lifted into the air every time his hands rolled into the base of her spine. At last the blushing Rasmus had to pull back and ask her to stop doing that.

She glowered at him. “Stop what?"

“Doing that!" he blurted, pointing his knifehand at her ass, now back on the bed as if nothing had happened.

“I'm not doing anything!"

“The hell you aren't! Everytime I touch you there your ass starts hovering."

“Oh, shut up. You know I can't help that. It's like getting tapped on the knee."

He rubbed his hands around his hips. His penis was hardening in his pants. “Well, I don't like it."

For the first time since they'd met, she expressed true anger. “I don't care how much you like it. You're gonna keep doing it."

His arousal demanded the same. With no other option he resumed the massage, inevitably coming back to the root of her tail and making her rump perform liftoff. He tried not to look. Knowing how much it bothered him, she started purring to make it worse. She ordered him to keep rubbing that spot. He reluctantly obeyed. More purring, genuine this time, as her body began to shiver. Poor Rasmus was bricked up in his pants. She looked over her shoulder at him, ass hung in the air beneath his scratching fingers.

One thing led to another.

Rasmus extended the pause in his tale to take a deep swig from his mug. It was a good thing he was wearing a powersuit at the moment for more than one reason. Muuku just sat there next to him, a cheeky smile on her face, swinging her tail behind her in front of the stool.

Rasmus lowered his mug with a sigh. “She healed finally. I think this is gonna be the end of me. My usefulness is at an end. Time to become a flag. Well, apparently I'm the luckiest guy in the system. Muuku puts me in the firing range, not to shoot me, but to put a damn gun in my hand. Wants me to show her and the girls how good of a shot I am. They thought she was crazy. Fuck, I thought she was crazy." Nobody in the bar knew the context of Muuku's decision, but that was a detail best left alone. “It crossed my mind to put another lazer in her, in the head this time, and then in my own. I didn't. I guess I'm stupid. I go to work on the targets. Never had any real training. I did… OK, I guess."

“He was some shit," Muuku said. For the first time since the story started, the people listening laughed.

Rasmus laughed too. “Yeah, I was. Again, I thought that would be the end of me. I'm pretty sure the girls thought it was too. I know some of them wanted it to be. Nope. This crazy bitch starts giving me lessons on how to shoot. She even made the best shooter on the ship give me personal lessons. Karina was her name. Real quiet, didn't emote much, or at least not around me. She's dead now. Anyway, I start getting good. They start drilling me. I start getting in shape. I'm sparring with this one girl who had way too much fun kicking my ass every day until we start getting on equal footing.

“Just like that I'm getting a mix of respect and attitude from all the girls. Some of them start talking to me. Some of them refused to. Hell, some of them still refuse to. It ain't no skin off my back. I watched half of them commit crimes I won't repeat, not that I need to. Muuku is the only one I'm talking to regularly. Starts hinting at making me a Clawgirl. Crazy right?

“Not to her, or to some of the other girls, believe it or not. I expected some kind of hazing ritual or a crucible. Maybe they'd peel off my man parts and make me a woman. Stick a plug up my ass and make me a tail."

That got some more laughter.

“Nope. All they did was build me some armor and gave me a gun. I already did my in. First human, male Clawgirl in the system. That's me."

Several patrons scoffed and shook their heads, not out of disbelief, but sheer absurdity. The tale was believable, at least with Muuku's prelude and confirmation. Had Rasmus said it on his own he would've been laughed out of there, if not beaten up. Instead he left the bar in silence. Only the continuous pulse of the music above them continued rattling on.

The gentleman on Muuku's right asked what everyone else wanted to. “You go on any raids?"

Rasmus smiled at him. “Plenty." He drew his finger down his face across his scars. “I didn't have these prior to being picked up by the gals. Been on a dozen, I think. Kinda lost count. At least ten."

“Fourteen," Muuku said.

Rasmus pointed his thumb at her. “What she said."

“Damn," uttered the bartender. “You uh…"

“Kill anybody?" Rasmus asked for him.

The bartender showed his palms again. “You said it, not me."

Rasmus nodded. “Aye. A few. Only those that put my life and Muuku's in danger. I'm not a psychopath like they are."

“Oh, hush," said Muuku with a limp wave of her paw. “He's a stone-cold killer. All men are."

Rasmus shook her head. “Don't listen to her. She's mad I've saved her life more times than she can count."

She batted his arm. “Shut up! After I saved you?"

“I'd hardly count deciding not to kill someone as saving somebody, especially not after you killed everyone else and sold the survivors to slavery."

“You'll count it how I tell you to count it, soldier. I still haven't ruled out flying your skin above our masts."

“Oh yeah?"

“Yeah."

“Well if you do, make sure you make me extra pretty."

“Oh, I will."

The bartender looked between them. He chuckled to himself. Oh yeah. They're fucking. “So, what brings you two here now? Not gonna skin us, are you?"

“Oh, no no no," insisted. “None of that. Haven't done any of that in a while."

“We're looking for somebody!" chirped Muuku.

“Oh yeah?" said the bartender. “That doesn't sound good. not for whoever you're looking for."

“Yeah, we meant to ask." Rasmus leaned forward on the bar. He crossed his arms in front of him. “Is there a human that comes here often? Has a group of Thulians guarding him?"

The bartender said nothing. He subtly nodded his head over towards the wall.

Rasmus didn't look immediately, nor did Muuku. After a few seconds the two of them turned in their seats and looked over at the far end of the wall. In a booth far separated from the bar was a party of men drinking and laughing. The men they could see were all Thulians, cephalopod creatures with slimy dome heads the color of green. Beneath sickly yellow eyes were long tentacles that slithered and flicked when they spoke. Every so often uproarious laughter would ring out from the booth, no doubt because of a joke their unseen leader had cracked.

Rasmus and Muuku both knew who it was.

Rasmus threw his head back and chugged the rest of his drink while Muuku tossed the umbrella garnish away and swigged the rest of hers. They put their glasses down with a simultaneous clank and a “Ahhh."

“Thanks a lot for that," said Rasmus. He tapped his wrist watch on the edge of the bar, paying his tab. When he and Muuku stood up, he slapped his palm down on the bar.

The bartender betrayed no emotion, but he was sorry to see them go. “You two come back, now."

“No," Rasmus said. “I don't think we will." This time he was the one to turn around and lead the way.

Muuku spared the bartender and everyone else a cute wave. “Bye everyone! It was nice talking to you all." With that she did a quick twirl and skipped away to catch up with Rasmus.

The bartender waved back. When he picked up the mug and martini glass he noticed a small leather sack bundled on the bartop. He put the glasses back down and picked it up. It was heavy. Whatever was inside clinked together when he shook it. He cracked a smile and tucked it into his pocket.

Darius was in the very back of the booth, flanked by his six Thulian guards, three on each side. His hair was slicked back across his scalp, greased into a shiny black, knotted into a ponytail above his neck. His forehead looked enormous with the retreat of his hairline. Deep wrinkles sat in stacks above a heavy brow. He continued to crack jokes to his associates, some of them funny, most of them not. Regardless, he had all six of them flicking their mouth tentacles with laughter and pounding the table with their fists. They were all dressed in sharp suits. Wrapped around Darius' fingers were several exorbitant diamond rings. A chunk of rhodium glinted in his mouth when he smiled.

Rasmus and Muuku stomped up in front of the booth. Rasmus stood in front of one end of the seats, Muuku the other. Rasmus' feet were shoulder width apart. He hovered his hands over where the holsters in his thighs were. They didn't have any pistols, but Darius didn't know that. Muuku stood with her hands on her hips, a wild look on her face. The booth's conversation was brought to a screeching halt. The seven of them lost their smiles at the sight of the two pirates. Once more an entire portion of the bar went silent.

“Darius Pendleton," Rasmus said. “We wanna talk."

Darius said nothing. He stared across the table at the armored thug and his queer counterpart. His guards shared glances between them and their boss, aware of the threat, but unsure of what to do.

Darius was more than sure of what he needed to do. He rocketed out of his seat. “Get them!"

The Thulians went into action. The men at the ends of the booth propelled themselves on their feet, darting for the two threats. Rasmus' foot shot up from the floor and jammed the knee into his gut, facing the steel-plated sole at the guards face. Two rocket thrusters pointing out the roof of his boot ignited. It launched forward like a bullet. The Thulian's face vanished underneath.

KRACK!

The sound was like dropping a watermelon on concrete. The guard's head caved in like a rotten egg. His entire visage remained puckered into his cranium, blood leaking out of his ear holes. He fell back into his comrade, knocking him into the man behind him and Darius at the very back.

Muuku did not move immediately. Her nearest guard was on his feet, lunging at her with a knife he had produced from his sleeve. She ignored it, locking her vicious eyes with his as she threw her paw on her own power and grabbed a fistful of his tentacles. Her mouth shot open, revealing a shockingly white row of razor teeth that she sank into the meat of his thumb as it swung towards her throat. He shouted and tried to pull away, but her grips on him were ungiving. Her free hand careened over his knife arm and crashed into his “jaw". Another explosion of sound as his pseudo-skull collapsed on itself, leaving his head in a bent shape as he keeled over to the floor unconscious.

Now it was their turn to go on the attack. Rasmus vaulted his foot onto the seat of the booth, towering over the two guards still piled over one another. Darius was shoving into them, urging them to fight back. It ruined their balance. They couldn't react appropriately to Rasmus' next attack. He palmed the head of the nearest guard like a grapefruit, squishing it in his gloves. With one arm he hoisted the man into the air and catapulted him towards the floor behind him where he landed on a table, smashing several glasses and ruining one group of friend's night.

Muuku was already attacking her next victim. He did not have the time to even react to his friend's vanquishing before there was a catgirl on top of him, pummeling his face and head with a barrage of open-clawed scratches that opened his face like a zipper. Her teeth were bared in a manic smile. The whites of her eyes stood in the greatest contrast to the background of her face wrinkled by joyous fury. The man between her victim and Darius did not help. He was scurrying back into Darius, shoving his boss into the other guard who was Rasmus' next target.

That guard had no quarrel. He threw his tentacles up in surrender, cowering beneath them. Rasmus pointed back at the floor. “Go," he said sharply. The guard obeyed with a nod and whimpered his way through the booth and ran out. That left Darius. He sat crumpled in his seat, arms over his head, flecked in the blood of his employees and soaked in the detritus of their brief but furious battle. He looked up and saw Rasmus glowering down at him. “Hey there," he said. “Remember me?"

“Hey man," stammered Darius. “Listen. We can-"

His voice cut off with the thrust of his arm. Jutting from his sleeve was a shiny derringer, its two snub barrels pointed at Rasmus' head.

Rasmus wasn't having it. He grabbed Darius by the wrist. Krack! Darius screamed. He tried pulling away, scraping at the gauntlet wrapped around his crushed joint. Rasmus calmly plucked the derringer from his dead hand and broke it in two with just his fingers. Two brass bullets spilled from the chambers and bounced off the table. “Really? You know it's rude bringing weapons to a place like this, right?"

Darius let loose an agonized scream in response.

Rasmus grabbed the lapel of jacket and yanked him into his suit. He spun the grifter around and put him in a headlock. Darius's face went chubby and his eyes bulged. He clawed at Rasmus' forearm with his one good hand, going from white, to red, then to blue before the light faded in his eyes behind his dimming lids. His body slumped finally, arms drooping at his sides. He was out like a light.

Rasmus dropped the chokehold and hoisted the limp criminal over his shoulder. He noticed a terrible crunching sound that was on repeat next to him. He turned to see Muuku standing over her third victim. He was laid out across the booth, motionless, his head flattened into mush as Muuku pounded it with her fist. THUK! THUK! THUK! Hunks of Thulian matter were splattered across her features, stretched to the absolute by hysteric enjoyment.

“Muuku."

THUK! THUK! THUK!

“Muuku!"

THUK! THUK!

“MUUKU!"

She came to a halt mid-punch. She blinked once and her face softened immediately as she looked up at Rasmus. “Yeah?"

“I think he's done."

She looked down at the Thulian. Nothing that could've been identifiable as a facial feature remained of his head. A fist-sized crater was sunken into the flank of his cranium. His face tentacles were splayed out amidst a splat of yellow vomitus.

“Oh yeah. Sorry!" She stood up, perky as ever, soaked in blood. “Oh! You got Darius. Good!"

“Yup. Now let's get the fuck out of here."

“OK!" The two of them walked out of the booth. Muuku took time to smile and wave at the crowd in front of her. “It was nice seeing you all! Hope you enjoyed the show! Don't tell the police what you saw here or I'll kill your loved ones!"

“Muuku!"

“Coming!" She skipped over to Rasmus.

They came to the front entrance where the same Bouncer that had taken their weapons was waiting on his stool. He looked more annoyed than anything. “Hey. We're leaving. Can we have our things back?" asked Rasmus, the unconscious Darius still draped over his shoulder.

The bouncer said nothing. He took a deep breath and left them for the lockers. He came back with their weapons cradled in his arms.

Muuku tweeted. “Thank you!" She plucked her ax up and kissed the blade. “Awww, did you miss mommy? Shhh, it's OK."

Rasmus grabbed his pistols and holstered them. “Thanks. Sorry about the mess."

The bouncer maintained his angry stare. “Get out."

Rasmus shot him a salute. “No problem."

Then the two partners headed to the door lock. The last the bar saw of them was Darius carrying his friend and Muuku showering her ax with kisses. The airlock door shut behind them, leaving Dackett's to clean up their latest adventure.

THE END