FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It's a certain kind of quiet that greets those few idiots that stay awake in the wee hours of the morning. Even with the storm crashing waves of wind and rain against the doors to the tunnel, that muted silence of two in the morning swallowed it into background radiation. It was not effecting Thomas, and had faded into that lonely nothing.

Well, to say it wasn't effecting him was a half truth. He wasn't standing out in the wet and cold, having the wind scoop his thin body up by his draping coat like a kite and carry him into the clouds above to become a scream lost too in that silence; but he couldn't leave the travel tunnel without risking his sister's homework in the mad dash he would have to make to his apartment. So he was stuck here, in the middle of the night, without anyone to bitch about it to.

Currently, he sat near the East exit of the long tunnel, on the wall just by the bottom of the stairs. He was grooming his muzzle with his front paws, if only for something to calm him, and huddled himself further in his warm trenchcoat as he continued. It had been an hour down here, now, after leaving the hospital. His sister had even told him to leave earlier, given the weather, but he thought he could make it.

And now he was here, with her papers sitting by his side, and a whole lot of lonely nothing to show for it. Earlier he had counted several hundred steps up and down an empty box buried some meters beneath the earth, figuring it would help his nervous nature. Now he counted seconds as the storm locked him in until morning.

His nostrils twitched as he caught a whiff of himself. He still reeked of grass and sweat, despite how long it had been. Or... Wait, it was only six hours ago everything took a nosedive. He checked his watch, easy enough given the proximity of his paws to his face. Yeah, almost seven hours now. He returned his paws to his face, though this time just to rub his eyes in exasperation.

To his right and some ways forward something clunks and rumbles to life. His hands slide down and he stares haggardly over at a refridgerated vending machine. The compressor was on its last legs, judging by how loud it was about cycling. The display light flickered with the rumbling, showing a sad display of scattered snacks and drinks, all thrown together with only some care. Milk, soda, and water; sandwiches and veggies; lots of sugary nonsense around in there too, not all of it needing the cold air.

In it, on the fourth row from the top, Thomas spotted a row of donuts wrapped in celophane. They were the small ones, cheap as hell and likely could only classify as a pastry due to the mandatory flour and yeast mixed in with the sugar they dumped in, and then coated that sugar in powdered sugar. They came in packs of six.

He could use a messy snack.

He picked himself up, slowly as his bones were all hurting from too much exertion and stress from the events prior, and with a small goal to achieve he felt like less of a pile of failure. He glanced to the homework on the floor, checking on it as if scared it might vanish, and then back to the machine. His steps felt unfamiliar to him, like he was piloting a machine rather than his own limbs. Heavy and out of use, which he had felt when he left his Sister's room, but now somehow worsened.

Blocking view of the donuts was a haggard rat with its short gray fur matted and stained with sweat and... Blood. Or maybe it was old barbeque sauce from last night's dinner. The rat frowns at Thomas, and he decides it would be the sauce. He leans forward so the refelction's bloodshot eyes no longer regard him, and instead stares at the treat behind scuffed plexiglass. Two bucks for one. D9.

He fishes in his trenchcoat pockets, and pulls out a wallet he had made out of duct-tape. It had served him well and cost nearly nothing. Fishing out a few coins, he wets his lips and puts it to the machine's hungry slit, and it swallows them with satisfying clunks on the other side. He nervously taps the code for his treat, and the corkscrew holding it begins to turn with a muffled whirr. The donuts come forward, and then stop, just before being able to fall.

Thomas waited for the beat drop, like in movies where it would tilt forward and hit the glass to get stuck. It was a funny little bit, it would hit the glass and he'd be out of two dollars. But it didn't hit the glass, it didn't even tilt. It just stayed right there at the front, staring at him as if he hadn't even tried in the first place.

The storm seemed louder for some moments, while his mind went blank. Then his right paw was balled in a fist and slamming on the machine. It rattled with each hit and he expected it to cry an alarm from it, but it wouldn't. He began to hit hit harder, bringing his other fist to wail on the the box too, making the snacks inside jump.

"FUCK! FUUUUCK FUCK FUCK! YOU'RE GONNA TAKE IT! YOU'RE GONNA TAKE IT FROM ME? EVERYTHING FROM ME YOU FUCKS?!"

He leaned against the glass to leverage his leg up and began kicking the bottom of the display paneling.

"YOU SICK FUCKS! YOU SICK DISGUSTING SONS OF BITCHES! GIVE IT BACK YOU DAMNED WHORES! GIVE IT BACK TO ME!"

Spit flew from his lips in his vehemence, his hands and foot hurt from the amount of force he was using, and his head exploded in a headache from the sudden blood flow thrumming through his limbs. Still the machine only hummed with the compressor, the angriest noise it could muster other than the rattling he caused himself.

He stopped abruptly, falling to his knees with the front of his muzzle squashed into the metal just above the dropping point for the snacks. Tears poured out of his eyes and the pile of thin limbs and jacket cried out a horrific sob, choking on it halfway through so it ended only in a whimper. "Dragons just give it back." He whispered without breath. He took a noisy breath in and just held it.

The compressor shut off, leaving Thomas in the quiet that greets those few idiots that stay awake in the wee hours of the morning.