FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

1. Quiet

The apartment was dark and quiet when Jet returned. The light of the corridor behind him spilled past his form, stretching his shadow long and thin, into the room. He stood there for a long moment, hand still clutching the doorknob, vision blurring and refocusing, before stepping inside and shutting the door.

The main room was divided three ways. In front of him on the left side of the room was the den, with a decently sized television against the wall, and before it sat a large couch with navy cushions. Beside the couch was a tall floor fan, always set to high these days, lazily oscillating back and forth. Tucked against the back side of the couch was a catch-all table that was overflowing with unread mail; spam letters, shopping catalogs and advertisements, and sheets of expired coupons for fast food joints - all of which sat crooked, this way and that way, having been pushed aside and shoved around to make room for more of the same.

Save the trees, huh, Jet thought.

In the back right corner of the room was the kitchen nook, where the cream carpet stopped and the linoleum flooring - printed to mimic brown colored stone - began. The fridge was white and worked well enough even if the bulb inside had long since fizzled out and hadn't been replaced. On the front of the fridge, attached by magnets shaped like alphabet letters in every color, were bills to be paid, an in-process grocery list, and a calendar that was two months behind. Someone (although it wasn't hard to figure out who between the two of them) as a joke had taken a random assortment of the magnets and created the shape of a heart and placed the letters J and R inside it. The fridge stood in the corner, flanked by a row of counters with speckled, faux gray marble tops. The sink, a stainless steel basin, resonated a hollow metallic twang…twang…twang… as the faucet above it dripped slowly and incessantly. A small square table with two white wooden chairs on either side sat in front of the fridge, right below the window Jet enjoyed daydreaming out of as he sipped his morning coffee.

The dining room, if one could really call it that, was nothing more than a large rectangular table with rounded corners, old and scratched and stained with different splotches of paint. The pair had found it sitting on the sidewalk below, probably left there by some other tenant to be picked up and taken away to the dump; they had assumed, anyway, and so they decided if any dump should have it, it should be their dump. They had placed it in that awkward corner to the right of the entrance, more so to fill out the otherwise empty space and be yet another catch-all table for stacks of magazines and the various books Rakkarth liked to read, as well as any cardboard or trash paper that hadn't made its way down to the recycling bins yet. Four chairs sat, all mismatched and of differing colors and materials, sourced the same way as the dining table itself, one on each side.

The hallway to the rest of the apartment was simple and straight - the opening of which sat in the center of the far wall - a rectangular tube with two doors on the left - one to the pantry and storage room and the other to the bathroom. The door on the right lead into Rakkarth's room and was usually closed but never locked. At the far end was Jet's room.

The light of the street lamps and neon signs filtering in through the kitchen window, and the night light glowing above the sink filled the room with enough light for Jet's liking right then in that moment, and so he simply shut the front door behind him and dropped his duffel bag to the floor. It fell with a muffled thud next to his feet.

He walked slowly down the hallway, undressing as he went, leaving his discarded clothes where they fell. He slipped into the bathroom and showered, finally washing all of the long dried semen from tonight's earlier escapades off his body. He stood there, his arms stretched forward, hands flat against the shower wall; his shoulders drooping and his tail hanging lazily behind him; head tipped forward, ears flat, eyes closed. The steaming hot water flowed over him, engulfing and soothing and relaxing him almost enough.

* * *

The shark, having dressed himself in a tee shirt and pair of shorts, lay on his side on the couch in front of the television, legs crossed, his head propped up on one hand. He held the remote in the other, flipping absently through the channels. The soft, red glow of the digital clock sitting below the TV read 3:49 AM. His chest rose and fell in a long, drawn out cadence, his breathing slow. His mind didn't wander. It didn't do… much of anything. Like floating in a vast, empty space, he sat there, eyes half-open, drifting along from one channel to the next not so much watching TV, but staring at it instead, or perhaps the wall behind it, the disjointed sounds of commercials snapping suddenly to some drama, them to romance; a shopping channel offering who cares; the news; some cartoon; porn; each channel being nothing more than white noise, voices in the static, spinning around inside his skull but unable to penetrate his attention.

Suddenly, the room blazed alight, jarring Jet enough that he lunged forward, almost flopping off of the couch. He lifted his head, just enough so that his eyes rose above the back of the couch and saw Rakkarth standing there, finger still on the light switch, carrying a brown bag, the top twisted and crushed in his fist.

The wolf regarded him for a moment before speaking. “Hey, you hungry?" He held up the brown paper bag, “Leftover bar food." He slid his glasses off and hooking them to his collar, blinking his dull, tired eyes at the shark.

“Oh, uh…" Jet's hand slid across his stomach. He smiled. “Yeah."

Rakkarth plopped down beside him, landing heavily on the couch. Jet turned to face him, sitting cross legged. The wolf fished around inside the bag and pulled out a burger, clumsily wrapped in greasy foil, and handed it to Jet. Then he pulled out another.

“Wait," Rakkarth said, taking the burger from Jet's hands. “Do you like mustard?"

Jet shrugged, “Sure it doesn't bother me."

“Good, you can have it, then," the wolf growled, swapping his burger for Jet's and handing it to the shark.

The pair sat in silence, Rakkarth having snatched up the remote and swapping it over to the news. True to his species, Rakkarth devoured his dinner quickly and reclined a bit, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Jet ate slowly, chewing each bite for a long while before finally swallowing it; the burger was greasy and room temperature, probably a bit too old to serve and that's why it had been free, but at that moment it was perfect.

“How was work?" Rakkarth asked, still rubbing his eyes.

“Oh, it was-" a burst of laser lights, the smell of smoke and sex, orange and then yellow flashes. Jet shook his head. “…Fine?"

The wolf lay his head back, opening his eyes and blinking once and then, his vision still blurry and tired, he shut them again. “Glad to hear it." He lay his arm across the back of the couch.

Jet leaned forward towards Rakkarth, ginning. “Thanks for asking, da-"

Thwack, as Rakkarth popped the side of the shark's head with his palm the second that first syllable left Jet's mouth.

“Okay fine, you grump," Jet said, pouting and going back to finishing his late dinner.

“I've spent the last eight hours dealing with a bunch of loud, drunk assholes and their even louder, drunk bitches. Forgive me if I don't want to hear it, Jet."

“Yeah, well you were no fun before then, either," Jet said, still pouting, but smiling regardless.

The oscillating floor fan turned towards Rakkarth and Jet couldn't help but watch, eyes opening just a bit wider, the breeze gently ruffling the wolf's black fur as it wrapped around him and then carried with it the familiar smell of nicotine and sweat to Jet's nose. He closed his eyes and let out a long, low sigh that seemed to finally unlock all of the muscles in his body; his shoulders finally loosening up; the hours long tension releasing; legs relaxing; even his tail was a bit livelier, swishing back and forth. Suddenly feeling hungrier, he finished eating quickly and balled the tin foil up, tossing it into the bag on the table.

Rakkarth clapped his hands on his knees and stood up, leaning forward to pick up the bag of trash as he did. He stepped over into the kitchen and tossed the bag sideways over onto the dining table. He turned his head to Jet, who sat on the couch still facing away from him.

“You want a beer?" he asked, opening the fridge and leaning forward, rummaging around inside before pulling out a can, then a second, and then a third.

“Sure, thanks."

“All right," Rakkarth responded bringing out a fourth can, cracking one open and swallowing nearly half of the thing in one long gulp. He handed one to Jet and carried his three over to the couch, setting them down on the table as he plopped down again. He lit up a smoke and took a drag, shutting his eyes as he exhaled.

Jet held his on his lap, both of his hands wrapped around it, claws drumming against the side, emitting little tink-tink-tink-tink's. He sipped it slowly, not really caring for the taste but always happy to get a little buzzed.

Rakkarth unhooked his glasses from the collar of his shirt and tossed them onto the coffee table and unbuttoned the front of his shirt just a few inches as the uncomfortable heat of booze began to spread inside him. He shut his eyes and sighed, holding the remote out to Jet.

“Here," Rakkarth began, “You find us something to watch."

“Oh! I know just the-"

“Not porn."

“Gosh. Why not?"

“Be serious for a moment will you?"

“Seriously porn."

“Jesus."

“What?"

“Is that all you think about?"

“Of course not, sometimes I think about dicks, too."

“That's definitely what's always in your fuckin' head, that's for sure."

“No, sometimes they're also inside my-"

“I swear to god, sometimes you're so fuckin' insufferable, Jet."

“And yet you still keep me around!"

“I don't want to end up with a roommate I hate."

“But you could end up with one you actually liked."

“Heh."

“What?"

“Nothing. Find us something to watch, god damn it."

Jet flipped through the channels, finally settling on some crime drama. He sat there watching it, nursing his beer while Rakkarth downed his three and slumped backwards into the couch, dozing off. The clock read 4:54 AM.

Jet stood up, shutting off the television and carrying the empty cans to the kitchen where he rinsed them out with water and tossed them in the bin. He disappeared down the hall and into his bedroom for a few minutes before reappearing, having fished his jacket out of his dresser and slipping it on. He moved to the front door, and opened it slowly, quietly. With one final look over his shoulder, he flipped the lights off and left.

* * *

In the early morning hours, the city felt empty, lonely; nearly abandoned save for a car rumbling past every so often; a person hurrying by; or stumbling home drunk or high or whatever; clouds of steam rising from the storm drains and sewer hatches; and rare, tiny yellow square holes of light on the sides of apartment complexes or skyscrapers - windows with light and life inside; or below, here on the street where it was dark; even the bars and clubs had closed by now; storefronts bright and white and sterile and empty; under fluorescent bulbs that never ceased their duty; buzzing and throbbing overhead; separating that weird school-time memory from the rest of the city with large rectangular glass windows covered in posters and flyers; Happy Hour at Vib 5-11 PM; This Saturday see Rose Lyrean at Webb Theater; Have you seen this fuckin' cat; the sky brightening now; rich and depthless; growing from black to gray; in a few more hours to pink and orange; then finally blue; but for now it was still comfortingly dark and cold and lonely.

Jet walked along, hands in his jacket pockets. His breath drifted past him, foggy in the cold air, two twin tendrils of mist escaping his nose. He wandered, slowly, aimlessly, no where in particular; his eyes taking in the sights of a city asleep; his ears the sounds of it snoring: a car engine off in the distance; a siren flaring up and wailing somewhere far away; birds and red-eye flight airplanes overhead. He was very slightly buzzed off of his one beer and the chill in the air gave him a comforting embrace against the heat of the alcohol; snuggling up against his chest; under his jacket to his arms; up his shorts to between his thighs; under his tail and around his crotch; and finally to his shoulder and ribs that… well, nevermind.

Nevermind is right, he thought.

A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, glowing adamantly against the night. He took a drag; inhale; exhale. The Fairy Tail had always been closed on Wednesdays for some reason spanning back the decades, probably another of the weird customs of the previous owners, so he had no reason to hurry back home to go to bed.

And so, he walked. He simply walked. Up and down the boulevards; along the sidewalks; across the streets; wherever his feet and legs took him; step step step step step; until, wiggling his feet into the beach sand and bringing a hand up to shade his eyes, Jet saw the sunrise break across the horizon; over the vast ocean; blues and grays and pinks and purples and golds and yellows swirling around; slowly sliding and oozing here and there; embers of light painting the boardwalk pier over there; and the windswept piles of sand and dunes and ruined sandcastles and one lone, single shark here; and daybreak came.