FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Mephia shaded her eyes as she stared out towards the horizon. The sun was high, and brilliant light bounced off a series of sand dunes in the distance. With a squint, she could see waves of heat slowly rising, distorting everything beyond a few miles into an indiscernible mess. She let out a sigh, leaning back in her seat.

The kitsune relaxed, briefly, on her perch; a padded seat atop a junker of a caravan. Tarps and rugs in various shades of dirty blue and sun-bleached red were strewn across the bulk of the metal body, while thick, rubber tires dug into the wet sand below them, clumps clinging between the grooves and ruining traction. The caravan lurched and squealed as the rear tires suddenly span, spitting up clumps of sand and landing with low thumps behind them.

When the vehicle suddenly twisted to one side, Mephia let out an annoyed grumble and gripped the edge of her seat, and leaned in the opposite direction as she eyed the horizon once more, scanning for any signs of activity. Her fingers gripped around the middle of her rifle, getting ready to bring it up at any moment while the caravan continued to spin its tires, the driver swearing loudly enough to make her grin in amusement.

There was no movement in the distance, though the steady rocking and revving of the caravan desperately trying to get free made discerning that an awful chore. Mephia brought her rifle up to get a better look at the faraway dunes before a hoarse, awkward bark made the kitsune jump in surprise.

"'Ey! If ya ain't seein' anyone, couldja get down 'ere and help get this dang thing movin' again?" The droopy eared dog driving the caravan peeked his head out from the window to stare up at Mephia, his eyes almost completely covered by his wrinkles. It was amazing he was still allowed to drive at all, Mephia noted to herself.

After another minute of scanning the surrounding dunes, Mephia slung her rifle over her shoulder and hopped down, and slowly walked around the vehicle. It reminded her of a massive scarab with wheels, and as the tires kicked up more sand, she grumbled as it fell into uncomfortable places that she tried to shake out sooner, rather than later. She was cautious around the front of the caravan, one arm lifted so the dog could clearly see her and so he wouldn't try running her over.

When she got around to the rear, she realized just how minimal the damage was; the right rear tire had managed to plunge into an odd hole, just large enough to get the entire wheel stuck. She narrowed her eyes, and kneeled down, "Not what I signed up for," she muttered to herself as she used her hands to dig out the tire, not wanting to risk using a shovel and puncturing the ratty looking rubber.

Shoveling out the sand by the handful was tedious, especially as the wheel spun again and gave Mephia a muzzleful of debris. She shook her head out and shoveled more sand with her hands, only to feel a sudden, stinging pain in her digit. A yelp forced its way from her throat, and she yanked her hands-free from the sand, swatting at the digit that got cut. What was worse, Mephia swore she felt something burrowing in, and she clawed at her finger for what felt like minutes trying to get it out.

"Ey!" Mephia was distracted enough by the voice that she ignored the tingling that was crawling up her arm, "Y'gotta get us going again before some less than savory folk show up." The basset hung his head out of the window, his long ears hung over his face like black velvet curtains, and he chuffed before he spoke up again, "I heard there's some freaky folk around here. I dunno 'bout you, but I don't wanna get cannibalized."

The kitsune let out a low sigh before she dug more at the sand, and finally popped the tire free from its trap. She smacked the side of the vehicle, the metal ringing like an old, cracked bell and the tires spun once again. The caravan lurched forward and it slid forward several feet before coming to a stop again. "A'right, git on again," the driver called back as Mephia scurried up the side and took her perch once more. She let out a long, low sigh, and inspected her hand. Nothing had changed, though it still itched in her imagination; the kind of feeling one has when a spider falls on them and you're never really sure if you brushed it off or not.

Mephia clumsily grabbed her rifle and scanned the horizon again. Everything smelled of a trap, yet as the minutes ticked by, no one showed up. She put her rifle down, and detached the scope to get a better look at the dunes around them, "Why in the world did we have to go this way again?" she shouted to the driver, though she didn't get anything beyond a loud chuff as a reply. She sighed under her breath and slowly relaxed in her chair as she inspected her arm. Just what was that, that had burrowed into her arm? She noted that there was no visible lump, no damage, no entry point...Had she imagined it?

Mephia idly scratched at her finger, her jaw clenched as she felt lost in thought. Minutes melted into hours as she remained focused on trying to find what exactly had hurt her, or where it was now, in her arm. The caravan suddenly backfired and Mephia's ears perked instantly at the sound. She grabbed her rifle quickly and slotted the scope back onto it. The sound of a faulty engine was sure to grab the attention of a potential hostile, a potential target. "Or help," She muttered to herself, having to speak to herself as though she needed to force that thought back into her mind.

Her patience was rewarded when she finally saw movement, people plucking themselves up from underground hiding spots. One lifted a rocket launcher and took aim at the caravan. Mephia's heart raced as she brought her rifle up, and looked down the sight, and took aim. She held her breath as she saw the backdraft and squeezed the trigger. The recoil from her rifle pushed her back slightly, rippling through her until her tails twitched at their tips. Her reaction time paid off, and a splash of red painted the arm of the first attacker. His flailing arm caused the missile to veer on the way out of the tube; and the payload detonated several yards from the caravan, the heat from the blast causing a grin to form on Mephia's muzzle.

A quick tug and she was ready for her next shot, and with practiced precision, she managed to disable three more before the driver leaned from his window and took out his own, automatic rifle. The few that remained scrambled back to their hiding spots, diving under metallic doors to keep them safe.

The caravan, now sporting new holes, started up again, as Mephia returned to her post. She huffed to herself, staring at her rifle. She'd taken out bandits before plenty of times yet...this time felt off. It wasn't satisfying. No. She needed something more personal next time. Her claws dug into her arm as she started to scratch again, the faint sound of her own fur rustling started to make her feel sick, but the relief she felt outweighed the distant gurgling of her stomach.

--

"What?" The hoarse voice of her hound employer made Mephia wince as she stood outside the round building. Her eyes scanned the street; pipe shops, 'kwalaté medicine,' and - just above her - 'General Store.' There was another outburst from her current employer, and she heard him slam one of his crates down. She tilted her head slightly and peered inside. The hound's crate was opened, items - textiles, rugs, and dresses - spilled halfway out like overflowing water. "You think your customers do not need this? I tell you: aesthetic still counts for something these days!" The hound slammed his fist on the counter, the anteater across from him looking unperturbed.

The itch returned, and while Mephia attempted to ignore it, her fingers still wandered over to her arm and scratched slowly. She relaxed, and leaned against the wall, and watched her employer argue. 'What a waste of time,' the kitsune muttered to herself, and she wrapped one of her tails around the rifle she had propped up against the wall. She was ready to yank it into her grasp if she needed it, but by the sound of the hound's gruff voice, and the anteater's eventual mumbling, she wouldn't need to worry about defending him. Instead, she inspected her weapon and double-checked every part before she came to one simple conclusion. It wasn't enough.

She ran her fingertips along the barrel of the weapon before she rubbed back down. She picked the weapon up and stared at the magazine port before she huffed out and furrowed her brow. The longer she stared at the weapon, the less it felt like she owned it. The kitsune brought the stock up to her face, the heated discussion within the general store turned to white noise as her eyes narrowed. Nothing was out of the ordinary, she realized, and at the same time, the rifle she had used for the past five years felt alien to her. One of her hands released the rifle, letting it droop towards the ground as she scratched at her arm again, and she hissed out with annoyance.

She finally realized her solution, as her eyes wandered down the road again. Her tails twitched all at the same time, even the itch in her arm became ignorable - though her hand still covered where she had been scratching - as she spied a crude sign stating 'Shooters' with one corner of the sign seemingly blasted away by buckshot. The sign got the gears in her head turning, and without another thought, she left the arguing pair of merchants behind, and she pressed herself through the narrow doorway, disappearing from the streets to pursue her own desires.

The moment she was inside, the stale, musty scent of a rarely-dusted shop hit her nostrils, and the mix with gunpowder made her feel dizzy for three seconds. What lingered in her mind after, however, was excitement. There was a scrabbling sound from the far end of the shop, as a stout armadillo rushed to put what he was working on out of sight. Seeing the kitsune's tails, he let out an amused grunt and tilted his head to get a better look at the woman.

"EY! What's a pretty lady like you doin' here?" The armadillo leaned onto his countertop to get a better view as Mephia ran her fingers across one of the display shotguns. With her rifle leaned against a pair of her tails, she took the shotgun and looked it over. Slowly, her digits ran across the magazine, and her thumb slid into the loading port. "Ya'know, that ain't gonna have the range you're looking for, yaknow." He motioned to her rifle, "Lookin' like you got a real fine-"

"I need a change of pace," the kitsune spoke smoothly, though, at the same time, she felt a strange disconnect; it didn't feel like she was the one talking. She slid her thumb free before she turned, and motioned to her rifle, "I'm willing to trade this in, along with all my ammo, for this and my pick of shells." She turned her head slightly, she wasn't willing to waste time waiting for the armadillo to respond. "I have six boxes waiting in my caravan," she looked across the shells before a small grin crept across her face.

Dragon's-breath, she read on one of the boxes; she had seen a bandit with this type of ammo, though he must have scrounged it off someone else, the look in his eye when the flames shot out startled him enough that he thought his gun was possessed. The fear factor alone, especially when defending what is hers, was enough to warrant snagging two boxes.

The vulpine's brow arched as she came across another box of ammunition marketing itself as 'piranha shot.' She picked one of the shells out of it and inspected it with a curious eye as the armadillo waddled over. He only stood tall enough to come up to her chest, and while he was obviously distracted for a moment, he grinned up at her. "Ah those, those," he made an odd motion with his fingertips, pantomiming stuffing something into another object, "are filled with tiny, tiny tacks. It's absurdly painful and is guaranteed to bring someone to his knees; if you don't ruin his gob for good. The only issue here is that you need to be about..." he stood five paces away from her, "This close to have any meaningful impact. But HOOHBOY is that an impact."

Mephia inspected the shell for a moment longer before she placed it back into the box, adding it to her collection before she spied another shot, one she was familiar with once more; flechette rounds. While it wouldn't give the shotgun the same range as her rifle, she wouldn't be completely helpless if she were forced back by anyone with superior range. Not that she'd give them the chance, she thought to herself, she'd be able to rip them apart before they could load their weapon.

That thought lingered in her mind for a moment. Something she savored until she realized just how much detail her mind had gone into. She scratched at her arm again before she shook her head clear of those thoughts, and glanced down to the armadillo. Mephia shifted her weight, and kept her eye on the stout male, his one brow raised as he seemed to await an answer. Several more moments of silence, before the armadillo muttered, "I'm supposin' then you want to get on yer way with all that?"

With her mind drifting in and out of the moment, it took her a few more seconds to finally respond and pay for the items she just picked out, before she took out the ammo boxes to judge their weight. As she slowly made her way back to the general store, her mind felt blank again, as she considered her new ammunition, how she'd accommodate for ranges, how she'd have to pick targets based on their distance, on their threat level, on-

"Mephia!" The voice startled her out of her haze, and she blinked until she could see straight. She was staring down at the hound who had hired her, "Where in the blue blazes have ya been?" The man's lips were flapping comically, to the kitsune, and she couldn't hide a toothy grin that hard started to spread across her mouth like a highly viral disease.

"I'm not likin' the look on that face," he muttered, "Ya went and got rid of your rifle, though? Wasn't that some one-ovva-kind shooter, or were ya bullshittin' me back in Meresota?" his head tilted forward curiously, and his eyes blinked slowly as he scrutinized the kitsune, a low, curious hum warbling from his throat. His eyes laid on the shotgun, and a curl of his lip gave away his opinion on the firearm.

He had no right to be questioning her or her decisions. She was the muscle, the guardian. He should have been thanking her for letting herself get dragged out into the middle of nowhere. The indignant look on the kitsune's face made the hound growl faintly. "Don't forget who's payin' ya to be out here. I don't care what you spend your money on or what you're doing with a shotgun," he circled the tip of his finger in the air a few times, "as long as you keep my wares safe, you do you, but don't you go scurryin' off and leavin' me without someone to fall on, capisce?"

She hadn't realized it, but Mephia had been giving her employer a death glare, one that she only caught on to when she noticed her furrowed brow in the reflection of his gaze. She ground her teeth, before she let out a puff of air, as though she were able to vent all her frustration out in that half-breath of air. "Of course," she replied, though her tone barely covered up the fact that she had better things on her mind than the hound's rules. Her tails twitched in agitation behind her, and as the hound kept his eye on her, she added, "I need to make some modifications, so if you'll excuse me," she stepped around her employer and made for the caravan with her new bundle of goods.

The kitsune's mind was hardly focused on her task as she worked her holster to better accommodate her new shotgun. Instead, her mind drifted far away from where she was. It went to her duty, how she had been on the same assignment for the better part of the year. The boredom felt like it caught up with her all at once. There were moments of action, but other than the occasional idiot who wanted their money, she wasn't protecting anything of real value. Textiles had limited worth, especially on a fringe world like hers.

She took a knife and started to shorten portions of her old rifle sling, and her mind wandered further. Guarding textiles was child's play. No real action, no excitement. The kitsune could do better, she reasoned. Better than useless fabrics. A dull ache brought her out of her fantasizing, and she stretched her jaws into a wide yawn, and when a muffled pop sounded from her jaw-hinge, she reached up and stroked along her cheek to find the source.

Her claws raked through her fur, and she scratched herself with the intensity she remembered when the strange bug, or whatever it had been, had been in her arm. The idea that it was traveling up her body was less worrying than the intense itch that followed behind it. Her tails flicked behind her with irritation as she continued to scratch, and scratch. Those fluffy appendages grabbed her shotgun and dragged it over to her, and she glanced along the barrel before her eyelids started to feel heavy.

Mephia had just barely managed to place her knife to the side before she slumped forward. Her tail loosened around the shotgun and let it clatter to the caravan floor as she fell asleep in her seated position. She slightly snored, hunched over as she became oblivious to the outside world when mysterious dreams came to her.

In her mind, the kitsune's dreaming felt more vivid than her last few hours awake, as strange images filled her imagination. Visions of an egg, of a nation of fast moving people. Her mind brought her to the top of a tower, looming, watching the people as they writhed through winding streets. Her tails gripped the tower, yet she felt them starting to slip. Losing balance, she shot her hands out reaching for the tower, for something she could hang on to, as the fell towards the writhing population.

The last thing she saw as she plummeted was a vision of an angular face, jaws wide open to snatch Mephia out of the air. Shadows completely obscured its features, yet she knew in her gut it was a reptile. A loud thud brought Mephia back to her senses, though she was disoriented when she discovered she was staring at the roof of the caravan, the metallic contours guiding her eyes down to the floor where she was lying, legs still crossed like they were when she was working on her holster.

A groggy moan bubbled from her throat as she forced herself to sit up again, and she yawned to force her jaws to pop again; a strange loose feeling made her reach up and grab at her chin and guide her jawbone back and forth until she deemed it was in place and in working order. She grabbed her new shotgun and gave it another once over; she'd need to test it out soon, and her mind lingered on what sort of targets she could use until the driver side door to the caravan popped open and slammed shut.

"Ya still in here, deadeye?" The hound wasn't aware of his guard's episode but knew she had to be in the back. The disoriented groan of a response from Mephia made her employer laugh, as he shifted the caravan into gear. "At least yer alive," he drawled out, as the tires on the old vehicle spun and crawled through the dirt as they went on their way again.

--

"Doesn't this thing ever stay in one piece?" Mephia grumbled under her breath as she inspected the outside of the caravan. She shot the hound a look of annoyance as he shrugged cluelessly at her. A low 'doonk' sounded as she rasped her knuckles against the hood of the vehicle. Her eyes narrowed. The hound slowly walked around the caravan before he muttered to himself.

"Why dontcha get one of the cans out from the back?" He suggested, and the annoyance she had felt before turned into outright resentment. She threw open the back compartment and hoisted out a red gas can, and hissed to herself as she pried open the gas cap and dumped the gasoline inside.

"I swear I will throttle you if this-" Mephia groaned as the caravan sputtered back to life, and she rubbed at her temples, the scent of gasoline making her head throb with pain as she attempted to reason why he would have left town without refueling. She shot the front end of the caravan a dirty look as she tried to comprehend just what her employer was planning.

Mephia slowly moved along the side of the caravan before she hoisted herself onto the side. The moment the hound noticed that his guard's paws left the ground. The caravan's engine revved while the kitsune crawled up towards her crow's nest - as much as a chair welded to the top of a speeding vehicle could be considered a crow's nest - and she draped herself into the seat with an exhausted sigh.

The desert sands whipped at Mephia's face as they climbed up a dune, and she covered her face. As she squinted her eyes, she swore she could see shapes in the flying sand. Like pictures that told her where she was going. She shook her head clear, and when she opened her eyes, she was temporarily blinded by the sands again, hissing in pain and looking away from the direction of the dune.

Even as she averted her gaze, those shapes danced in front of her eyes. Easily ignorable, she figured, until they looked familiar and a wave of deja vu washed over the kitsune and caused her to tense. Her body felt drawn to the strange figures, and she could hear a voice coming from their direction. She stood up and lost her balance near immediately, the dazed kitsune wobbled and hit the chair immediately and she scrabbled around with her hands in a desperate attempt to regain her footing.

Her claws caught metal, but she was already sliding down the side of the caravan, and her attempt to shout out as her eyes cleared was thwarted as more sand flew into her face and over her tongue. She hacked as sand jumped down her throat and the itch that she had been able to ignore doubled in priority to her addled brain. With the urge growing to be too much for Mephia's mind, she clawed at her arm, and slid down the side of the caravan to the sand below, as more sand flew into her face and choked her.

She tried to shout in anger as the hound gunned the engine, and pushed his vehicle further up the dune. Mephia's vision continued to cloud until her ears perked at a scuttling sound. It wasn't the sound that got her attention, she realized, as she tilted her head towards the source. There was a deep rumbling from within the dune itself, and as she put her hand on her shotgun, a group of insectoid burrowers breached the sand and scattered. They screeched loud enough for Mephia's ears to ring as their eyes adjusted to daylight. They then lunged at the loudest thing within their vicinity; the caravan itself.

Mephia, despite her blinded eyes, reacted quickly. She grabbed her shotgun and unloaded into the closest insect. A satisfying pull on the pump-action and she fired into the next insect. Each shot echoed from the dunes, and the wet splatter of bug-juice sounded as the rest of the insects turned to hiss at their aggressor. Mephia's ears twitched at the sound, and she wrenched her eyes shut to push the debris out through a few small tears. Blind-firing, she heard the familiar squelch of insect innards as they were hit square-on by the piranha-shot. She pumped the shotgun before she cleared her eyes of sand, in time to watch the rest of the small group turn and hiss at her; the caravan could wait, she was their real target now.

Mephia tilted her shotgun back and quickly dumped the three shells inside into the sand below her. The insects were already in the air as they leaped towards the kitsune, the itch that wracked her body feeling more intense as she got a good look at the bugs. She managed to pump a dragon's breath shell into her shotgun and fire it at the leaping insects; bright orange sparks roared toward the insects, dousing them in flames as they let out an ear-piercing screech. The fire was enough to distract the small handful that were left, and allowed Mephia to push two more shells into the shotgun.

Another fwoosh filled the air as Mephia unloaded the shotgun into the remainder of the insects, watching as they caught fire and screeched in pain. She panted heavily, and the itch all over her body felt like ants scurrying around under her skin. She dropped her shotgun and fell to her knees, clawing at her skin as she hissed towards one of the insects that had managed to survive. Her fur stood on end and she let out a howl in a voice that was unfamiliar to her. She jumped up, only to awkwardly fall back into the sand, then she clawed towards the insect on all fours.

What happened next was a blur, to Mephia. All she could remember was the itch and a strange, unnatural fury that bubbled through her body. When she finally came to, she noticed the hound was standing above her, staring down in what looked like horror. When she looked down at herself, she seemed just as terrified as he was; the insect was in pieces, torn open with her bare claws, bitter goop dribbled from her lower lip as she counted not bite marks, but missing chunks of the creature below her. Deep breaths filled her lungs as she tried to regain composure, but there was a feeling in the back of her mind that this was just the beginning of something awful.

The itch temporarily faded, but she could feel a new voice in her mind. New instincts. She needed to flee. She needed to get away from this scene she had created. She stared towards the hound, momentarily silent, before she finally hissed out, "Pack up. We're changing course, and if you say no; I'll take the caravan for myself." She grabbed her shotgun and stared down at herself.

In the commotion she must have caused, she had ruined her clothes; the tatters barely kept her decent and she was even more uncomfortable than she had been in the last two weeks, yet at the same time she felt liberated. The voice in her mind tugged at her again, and she grabbed the hound by the scruff before she pointed in a direction. "There. I have important business that way. Take me there, and I'll let you off without paying for a new set of clothes."

She took a deep breath as he nodded, and started up the engine again; this was going to be a long trip, for the both of them.