FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 3

Webster

I like my life organized. My parents' house was decidedly unorganized.

My desk sat between the kitchen where my mom and sister were busy making some kind of quiche (I don't like quiche) and the open floor-plan living room where my brothers were busy watching the news. To my left was a stack of reading assignments, to my right was a stack of the same, but newly decorated with red marks. The center, that Saturday, was occupied by my laptop and a notepad, empty but for the word 'IDEAS' scrawled across the top and the number 1 on the first line.

Tutoring Ori could not have come at a worse time. Blanco had taken to reminding us every class about our thesis proposals and, apart from deciding to do something related to Floro, I hadn't had a free minute to think about it until now. In theory at least. I found myself tapping my fingers again as I struggled to wring a single coherent sentence out of my gray matter. The TV blared.

“Tonight, the Lamara LGBT alliance staged a march and protest outside city hall. Protesters claim the city has yet to enshrine appropriate medical care protections for those in gay community. The protest arrived only a month ahead of the annual commemoration of the Alux Street Riots that claimed the lives of several Aztlanians. With us today are Counselwoman Mara Caibo and Counselman Belay Tafari…"

I found I'd accidentally written “protest" in my notepad, once it came back into focus. I quickly crossed it out. Down the hall, the front door opened. In stepped my dad, resplendent in gray and white, the colors of the Lamara Police Department. He walked past me to plant a kiss on my mom's cheek.

“Somethin' smells good," he said.

“I just put it in the oven. I was worried you were gonna miss it."

“Not this week," dad said as he unbuttoned his overshirt, allowing his neck to get some air.

“Webster," he took a step over to my desk and leaned in for a hug.

“Hey dad," I awkwardly hugged him without standing up.

“Shhh, dad!" my brother Jesse hissed sarcastically, “Don't disturb him! He's working."

“I thought it was 'she' this week," my sister Billie laughed as she leaned on the counter.

My dad patted me on the head, then walked into the living room to sit in his favorite chair. “Webster's body is just taking a little extra time to choose. It happens to a lot of nixies." That's all he said in my defense. It was all he knew after all. I turned back to my notes, but the news reporter's voice crept uninvited into my thoughts.

“And what about you, Belay?"

“Look Sarah, maybe we needed this kind of thing back my father's time but, if you'll recall, he signed the Marriage Equality Act. In Silena you're allowed to marry whoever you like. Undines, insectoids, deutyrians, whatever. Honestly, if Tafari were alive today, he'd hate how these hooligans are discrediting the progress we made together and silencing anyone who disagrees!"

I heard Mara butt in. “Silencing? Belay, this is Silena. Everyone has the right to peacefully assemble. You-"

Now Belay interrupted her, “Everyone but the Church of Emmen apparently, I didn't see you defending their right to protest, Mara. And another thing. A Pride Rally? Really? Last I checked, pride was…"

My sister slipped past my desk and made a b-line for the couch, leaving mom to rinse the cutting boards. Dad leaned over and tapped her arm with a webbed hand.

“What's…what's he talkin' about here? Pride? What's that?"

My sister leaned down, “You know. Like proud to be gay. It's modern terminology."

My dad grunted. “Oh I think I saw somethin' about that. I don't get it. That stuff should be between you and your doctor."

I turned around in my chair. “There's a lot of people in the LGBT community who've been made to feel ashamed their whole lives. Pride represents the opposite of shame. It's like reclaiming their right to be proud of who they are as gays, trans folks, and obbies."

Without breaking eye-contact with the screen, my dad waved a dismissive hand. “The gay thing maybe. Not everyone is as accepting as us nixies. But obbies? Wanting to stay a tadpole forever? There comes a point when you have to choose. That's nothin' to be proud of."

I stared at the floor. The politicians were still arguing on TV but I couldn't make out what they were saying anymore over the ringing in my ears. I stood up, walked to the cabinet to grab a box of crackers, and quietly opened the door into the garage.

“Oh, honey, the quiche is gonna be done soon," my mom said to my back.

“I don't like quiche," I said, then let the door shut behind me.

The drumset sat in the corner next to the rusty old car my dad was refurbishing. It was old and dented and cobweb covered; the drumset, I mean. But it was mine. The stool in front of my drumset had a crack running down the middle, revealing its yellow, spongy innards. I drifted toward it. I took a seat.

With a click, my CD player started up right where I'd left it last time. I picked up the sticks I'd left on the snare and tapped the ride cymbal four times. Then I began to lay down one of Khalil's beats. I knew all the fills by heart. I imagined that Kit Marshbank was singing on the concrete stage in front of me.

Cross my heart

And hope to die now

Don't you start

Just dry your eyes now

I hit the kick a little early but it didn't matter. The drums didn't care.

I'm not part

Of this enterprise

No prying eyes of passersby

Can't make live a lie

Cross my heart

I smashed the cymbal and went wild on the toms. I graded the solo an A-. Not quite Ebo Khalil level, but good enough for my audience of rakes and pool noodles. Soon the song was over and the next one was starting. Then the next. And the next. The cute lizard guy at the dojo could wait another week to see my kata. Today was over now. It was over as soon as my dad had walked through that door.

I had barely managed to get all the grading and homework done by Sunday's end when Monday rolled around and gave me brand new work to do. Ori was still very quiet in Monday's class, but she did raise her hand once to comment on how she'd felt the theme of transience which we were discussing in Mylus Peronus was also prominent in one of the sonnets. My heart warmed a little. The ephemerality of life is central to an understanding of Floro's work. Maybe I wasn't such a bad tutor after all. But we still had a long way to go.

“Life is indeed transient," Dr. Blackburn had said. “We all need to find out how to spend our time wisely, right?"

“Right!" echoed the class.

I resolved to budget my time better going forward.

On Tuesday, I arrived at the library just in time for our 12:30 lesson. Ori had told me she had trouble remembering to check her email so this time I'd sent her a text. She waited for me in Room 203 with a half-finished cup of ramen. I placed my backpack on the floor and sat down across from her, noticing she'd gotten an undercut and painted her talons gold to match her eyes. Also, she'd brought a blue electric guitar and a wrinkled piece of lined paper. It looked like she'd been writing something down.

“Is…food allowed on this floor?" I eyed her ramen.

“Yes," she said with a swiftness that made me think she was either lying or didn't know the answer.

My stomach grumbled noisily.

“Well just don't let one of the librarians see it," I said, hoping it wasn't as audible as I feared.

Ori rolled her eyes. “Whatever, mom." With the tip of her claw she pushed her own backpack (which she'd remembered today thankfully) forward a few inches so it was between the ramen and the window.

My stomach grumbled again and I cleared my throat. “Um, why don't we start with Scene 4?"

“Sorry," Ori leaned forward skeptically. “But, are you hungry or somethin'?"

Crap.

As a matter of fact, I had skipped lunch because Professor Zakari needed help fixing his computer, which had taken much longer than I'd expected, which had pushed back my usual 11:30 grading time. I was very hungry but I couldn't let it interfere.

“No, I'm fine," I said, getting out my computer.

“Um, okay," Ori scoffed. “You're even worse at lying than me."

I opened my sticker-covered laptop and pretended to focus on the screen.

“Here, I wasn't going to finish it anyway." Leaning forward, Ori slid the cup of ramen across the table. It lightly tapped the side of my laptop and came to rest by my wrist. I gazed down at it.

My stomach grumbled a third time.

“Okay fine." I reached into my bag and pulled out the portable cutlery set I always have with me, unzipped the bag and got to eating. Ori eyed me for a moment. I thought they were judging me at first.

“Dang I wish I'd thought of that," she said. “Taking a spoon and fork everywhere you go."

“Fank you," I managed through the mouthful of lukewarm noodles.

Ori picked her guitar back up by the neck and absentmindedly strummed something. As an electric guitar with no amp, it sounded very quiet, but it covered up the sound of my chewing so I didn't mind. The undine sang softly to herself while strumming, pausing every now and then to cross something off her paper or write down something new. The melody was catchy in an old-school way, like something the Euphonias might've sung. It felt somehow familiar but I knew I'd never heard it before.

I listened for while. The noodles were gone quickly. They didn't fill my stomach but they did take the edge off. Yet, even though the cup was empty, I didn't begin the lesson. Not yet. I tapped my foot, feeling out the time signature.

Ori stopped and cursed under her breath.

“Shit. No that's not right."

“What's wrong?" I asked.

She looked up, startled, almost as if she'd forgotten I was there. “Oh. Yeah sorry. We can start the lesson. I was just working on this before you arrived. It's a new song, but I can't figure out what to do for the middle eight."

The middle eight? I guess Ori had a thing for classic rock as well as punk. And here I'd thought she was just into recent stuff.

“Hmm what are the chords?"

“Uhhh…" Ori looked down at her finger positions. “It's E minor position but I've capoed it up to G flat."

“Play the main theme again."

Ori did so. The melody rose and fell loosely along the pentatonic scale. I nodded.

“Here, lemme try something." I put the lid back on the noodle cup and turned it upside down. Then I got a pair of chopsticks out of my cutlery bag.

“Now play it again."

Ori looked back and forth between me and my makeshift drum, then played the melody once more. I closed my eyes for a second. I tapped out a simple groove. The melody itself was syncopated so it needed a basic drumbeat to contrast. Something to keep it in time and add a little pop.

“Okay that sounds good. For the bridge, you need something that contrasts and compliments the chorus right?"

“Uh huh," said Ori, continuing to strum the chord progression.

“Well, what if instead of downbeat, off beat, I do sort of an EVERY beat type groove like…this." I demonstrated.

“Oh I like that," said Ori.

“And your main melody goes up and down a lot, so maybe for a bridge, it mostly hovers around the same note. The tonic? Or the fifth? Something like that?"

Ori skipped the next few chords of the phrase, throwing my beat off. She focused her eyes on the ceiling and gently sang a note an octave above the root. Then she played around with some other chords, settling on a basic minor 4, resolving back to the tonic.

“Nice nice!" I said.

“Oh and maybe the second time through that phrase I can do an A Major!" Ori played an A major chord but didn't change the bridge's melody. It added that missing component of brightness. She ended the bridge on B Major 7, leading right back into E minor for the chorus. Simple but effective.

Ori played through the new chord progression again faster, adding a few more vocal flares this time and changing the melody up. Then she quickly set her guitar down to lean against her thigh and hurriedly began scribbling down more notes on her paper. Her eyes looked electric.

“Holy crap!" she said. “That sounds so good! I was really overthinking that wasn't I?"

“Easy to do." I put my drumsticks back in the cutlery bag, along with the fork, then zipped it shut and put it away. “Now, are you ready to begin Scene 4?"

Ori's fins drooped and she pouted. I was beginning to see that this girl was not one for hiding her feelings. “Okay I guess."

I turned my laptop so she could see it. “Do you remember where we left off?"

Ori rested her head in the crook of her elbow and faced the screen. “Um. Mylus was just about to be crowned king?"

“That's still a scene away. The king just announced that Mylus would be his successor rather than his older brother who was off to war in…?"

Ori looked at the screen, brow furrowed. “Dalmyr?"

I exhaled. “Dristhollow."

“Started with a D tho," Ori muttered under her breath.

“Well, let's get reading," I said, trying to put some joy and excitement into my words. My excitement was met with a long drawn out sigh.

“Hail his Highness, Pyrus of Solia…Unethe thou art Prince, being hitherto unfavored. And yet, this day thou art ascended, perhaps for thy ready…redeness…Redeness?"

“The Jester is being playful. To rede means to 'advise'."

Ori made a sour face. “Why can't he just say that?"

“Well, they could've translated it like that. But then it wouldn't be a homophone and the joke would be lost."

“Hmph…" Ori just grumbled and slumped forward in her seat. Her eyes darted over to her paper.

I was at a loss. We weren't going to make any progress like this. At least last week, I got her a little invested in the story. It was like she'd totally forgotten her motivation. I placed a hand to my forehead and massaged my brow between webbed fingers. I felt my foot tapping again and stopped it consciously.

Then an idea struck me.

“Hey Ori."

The undine looked up at me lazily through those golden eyes.

“It seems like your focus is on your new song right now."

She sat up. “Uh no. I'm ready to learn, teach."

“It's okay. I get it. But we do need to get this done."

Ori nodded glumly and looked at her nails.

“So, how about this? Every time you finish a page, and I mean fully finish with comprehension, every time you do that, we stop reading and we do let's say…five minutes of work on the song?"

Ori's eyes widened and a smile played at the edge of her mouth. “Really?"

“Yeah. We won't make as much progress as we did last time, but that's okay."

Ori smiled, fully showing off her sharp fangs. Then she seemed to force herself to sit down and appear nonchalant. “Uh, yeah sure. That'd be fine."

I guess there was one emotion she was willing to suppress. Happiness over nerd stuff. Good to know.

“Alright, then my pupil. Let's read."

“Ew don't say 'pupil'," Ori wrinkled her nose, though her smile indicated it was a joke. Then she leaned forward again and began to read.

The first page was a little arduous. But she got faster and faster as we reached the final bit of dialogue. She groaned when I asked her to give a quick recap of the scene so far, but she ultimately didn't protest beyond that. Then I set my phone timer to 5 minutes and we started talking chords. She felt like the chorus was a little too basic and wanted to throw in something spicy. I agreed and we tried a bunch until we'd found one that was just right. Before we knew it, it was time to read another page. And so it went.

In what felt like 20 minutes the digital clock on my laptop read 2:50 and it was time to wrap things up.

“Alright, I have to get to my 3:15." I closed my laptop and slid it back into my backpack.

“Oh shit. And I gotta get home and get ready for work."

“Isn't that at 5?"

“I have to look hot, okay? Takes a lot of makeup to make this face look gorgeous." She pointed a clawed finger at her snout, rattling her bracelets as she did so.

“Ah, I see," I said, though I did not. I'd always thought Ori didn't try too hard in school because she knew she was too pretty to fail. But, as a literary scholar, I also knew a thing or two about books and their covers.

Ori threw the scribble-covered sheet of paper back loose in her book bag, an act which made me scream internally. Then, she slid both her backpack and her guitar over her shoulder and brushed the hair out of her eyes.

I gestured at the door with an open hand. “We can walk down to the doors together."

Ori nodded.

As we left the study room and neared the staircase, I noticed someone seated at a table by section I-J. She was a brown and yellow-feathered harpy in an orange tank top and sleeveless denim vest. On her beak was perched a pair of large round glasses. My mind went through the possibilities, reasoning it was a lookalike. But next to her sat an entire stack of books and she was actively reading one now. It had to be her.

I approached her table.

“Amaya?" I asked tentatively.

The harpy looked up from her book, mildly confused as if I'd just pulled her out of a trance. Her amber eyes flitted around my face and recognition formed.

“Webster!?"

She checked the page number, then closed Gate of Midnight: Dawn. Then she got out of her seat and practically flew over to where I was standing.

“Is it okay if I…?" she spread her wings as if asking to give me a hug.

“Yeah bring it in!" I spread my arms as well and we held each other for a long moment.

“It's been forever Ammie! I thought you moved to Rudica!"

“I did for a bit! For college. But it wasn't a good fit. And I thought you'd have graduated by now with your brains!"

I blushed. “I did, but I went back for more school cus I hate myself apparently. I'm a TA here now."

We broke away from each other at last. “Well it's so good to see you." she said, her laser eyes seemingly taking in every pin and sticker on my person.

“It's great to see you too! So, what are you doing here? Like in the school library?"

“Oh, um," she fidgeted with her zipper and looked up at the ceiling. “I wanted to read the Gate of Midnight Series again but my library had all the copies of book three checked out so I came here. My dad donated to the school so I kinda know the Library Director."

Ori spoke up. “If you like GOM that much why not buy it so you can read it at home?"

Amaya blinked, seemingly just noticing the undine at my side. “Well, I could but then I wouldn't get to come to the library."

I could almost hear Ori thinking 'Oh great! Another massive dork,' in her brain.

“Is that the same vest you wore all the time in high school? I'm surprised it still fits you?" I laughed.

Amaya rocked back and forth, smiling and allowing her skirt to twirl. “Yeah. I love it!"

“I can't judge. I mean I still use the same backpack." I turned so she could see the rest of my pins.

Amaya laughed. “Oh yeah! The brand is called Obelisk! You thought that was SO funny."

“If it ain't broke!" I smiled.

Amaya focused on Ori more fully now. “Is that a rock guitar?" she asked excitedly.

Ori looked as if she was unsure how to handle Amaya's cheery enthusiasm. Most people didn't. “Uh, yeah. Belonged to my dad but he gave it to me."

“I LOVE the color!" said Amaya. 'Robin's Egg' is one of my favorites! After canary."

“Uhhh thanks." said Ori. “I repainted it myself because it was all chipped."

“My dad loves custom paint jobs! Oh yeah Web," she turned back to me. “He's gotten SUPER into music since you last saw him. He tells everyone he meets that Antenna used his home studio once."

“The Antenna??" Ori looked dumbfounded. Ah yes. Ori, the classic rock fan.

“That's exactly the reaction he likes to see!" said Amaya. “I mean it's true. He recorded the song Chispa de Vida there."

“Oh that one. Not my favorite," Ori shook her head.

“I was taking my finals when it happened so I didn't get to meet him." Amaya shrugged and played with her zipper some more. She turned to me suddenly.

“Do you still have the same number?" she asked.

“No we got a new phone plan and the old company was a buncha butts. Here." I got my phone out and opened up contacts, handing it to Amaya. She took the phone and tentatively put her number in.

“Awesome!" she said, looking back and forth between us.

“Awesome," I agreed. “Well, I gotta get to my next class. I'll text you!"

“Okay!" said Amaya, turning and walking back to her table. She opened up the book to the exact page and then remembered her manners, waving to us with one long wing. “Goodbye! Let's hang out soon and catch up."

“See you Amaya!' I waved back, though she was already reading again. We reached the stairs and walked down to the first floor.

“Wow," said Ori. “Your friend seems…happy?"

“She loves libraries," I shrugged.

Next to Blackburn, Jacinta Blanco was my favorite teacher. At the age of 25, she published a history of South Lamara's architecture. Before becoming a professor, she worked for years as a critic. She'd traveled everywhere! The Sedna Crater, the deep town of Xantho, the peaks of Paititi, the Floating Gardens in Iromura.She'd marched in Alux and Palileya. She was one of the first prominent public figures to come out as a lesbian, in a time when that wasn't exactly safe.

That day, as I sat at my desk waiting for her to arrive, I imagined what my life would be like if she adopted me and took me on her next voyage to raise money for the HOPE Foundation.

Fashionably late as always, Blanco strode elegantly into the classroom, immediately silencing all conversation. A pink paisley tie and a matching rose decorated her baby blue suit jacket. Her four arms swung back and forth about her side, each the color of snow. Her whole carapass in fact was white in color and her eyes were pink. Her antennae as well were tipped in pink.

Praying Mantis insectoids were usually tall and slender, but very few shared her unique orchid coloration. She reached the podium and stood for a moment, appearing like a candle in a candlestick. She cleared her throat.

“Good afternoon class," she said with an air of nonchalance. “First order of business. If you've checked Gradeshare, you will see I've read and graded your persuasive essays and it seems like some of you seem to have confused Creative Nonfiction with Non-creative Fiction. I expect going forward that, when I ask you to hand me a paper that is both convincing and informative, you will refrain from sob stories and personal anecdotes. Clear? Good."

I breathed a sigh of relief. I was glad I'd removed the Kit Marshbank gushing from my essay on the preservation of traditional media.

“Now," she pressed the button on her clicker and the screen came on, displaying the first slide of today's presentation. “Sooner or later we were going to have to talk about publishing in scientific journals. Today's the day. Scientific papers must follow a very rigid set of rules before they can be considered academic. I suggest you write this down."

My binder was already open to the section I'd labeled “Academic Works". I began my usual routine of jotting down everything on the screen AND every major point the doctor made. She spoke at a speed that was perfect for note-taking. Never condescendingly slow, but never too fast to get it all on down. By the time she'd wrapped up her lecture, I'd filled three pieces of loose-leaf paper front and back. I smiled, gazing down at my bullet-points and the bonus content that always ended up in the margins. Reasonably organized for off-the-cuff.

There was the usual tension in the air. It was almost 4:30 and the students knew class would end soon. But Dr. Blanco had trained them not to so much as shuffle their feet until she gave them the go-ahead.

“It appears we're almost out of time," said Dr. Blanco, gazing up at the clock. “But, before you go, I am reminding you for the final time that your Thesis Proposals should be on my desk by Friday and no later."

Crap. The joy of listening to Blanco speak had temporarily made me forget that I still didn't have any ideas.

“If you don't have something ready by now," she continued, scanning the room, “it's time to face the music."

Now I know this sounds silly, but as her pink, bespectacled, compound eyes briefly met mine, it felt like they lingered there a moment, punctuating the end of her sentence. It was almost as if she wanted to tell me something.

But what?

Face the music?

Blanco knew I played the drums. She certainly knew I was a music fan from my essays.

Suddenly, my mind was racing with ideas!

“Alright, class dismissed," she said, prompting her students to hastily drop their binders and notebooks back into their bookbags and hurried toward the door.

As they did, I approached the front of the classroom.

“Dr. Blanco!" I said excitedly.

She lowered her glasses as she turned to face me. “Yes Loveland?"

“How would you feel about a…multimedia history communication piece? For my thesis."

“Multimedia can mean literally anything. What media? Be specif-"

“Music," I blurted.

The doctor tilted her head curiously. “Music?"

“What if I were able to discuss Floro in a presentation style your average Joe could relate to and easily remember. History that becomes new and exciting! Catchy melodies that get stuck in your head so you can't forget the details! A series of songs…like an album that explains what we know about Floro and why he's still relevant today. Especially during our fight for gay rights."

Dr. Blanco straightened her suit jacket and looked up at the clock for a long moment.

“Well," she said at last, “it's an unusual idea. But I must admit I'm intrigued by its boldness. If you can pull it off."

I smiled and nodded. “I think I can. No. I definitely can."

She clicked her mandibles together. “Alright. Draw up the proposal and bring it to me. I want a step-by-step plan on how this unorthodox method of educational outreach is going to work." She nodded toward me as if to say farewell, then walked around the other side of the podium and headed for the door. Once there, she hesitated and turned back toward me.

“And remember. This is a fight for basic rights. Keep it tasteful." Then she ducked to fit her antennae under the door frame and walked down the hall.

I could barely contain my excitement. But if I was going to pull this off, I'd need help. I got out my phone and opened my message app.

'Hey Ori. I want to make an album for my thesis. It's about Floro.'

I sent the first message before realizing I hadn't asked a clear question. I began to type, 'Is that something you'd be interested in?'

Before I could send my followup, however, I got a reply.

'Can I help?'

I felt a smile spread across my face.