FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Ralph was shocked and sore by the time his shift ended. He had no idea where Allan got his libido, or where he stored all of that seed, but he was certain that he wouldn't be able to wash off the smell of horse for a few weeks. Worse yet, the old stallion wanted him back bright and early the next morning for round two of his "re-training". He couldn't imagine lasting through a whole thirty days of this, but he also couldn't imagine anything that would cut the punishment short. As assinine as Allan was, he was also right -- Ralph had no recourse here; the company would side with the manager, and any whiff of him being a "difficult" employee would almost certainly sink his chances of being placed in some other department. The only thing he could do was ride it out as best he could.

The mere thought of his next month being full of horse-dick took the fight right out of him. He was an idiot for thinking he could do something to change his lot in life. He didn't have the intelligence, he didn't have the charisma, and he didn't have the connections. He really was going to be Rocko, just some modest code gopher happy for his one foot a year. That really wasn't any kind of life, but that's just what he had to look forward to.

He tried not to think at all through the hour-long shower he took after the last of the engineers went home. Or through the train ride back to his modest neighborhood, a cluster of boxy buildings filled with identical apartments for all of the junior employees. His tail dragged the ground as he trudged his way towards home. Just a block away from it, the personal display on his wrist buzzed. He flicked it up, palm facing away from him, and a holographic notification appeared in front of him, hovering in the air. HAPPY HOUR AT ATOM PARK, it read in bright flashing letters. TWO FOR ONE SHOTS. He glanced around, and saw a neon sign of an atom in a circle. Blazing above the circle, hugging its curves, was ATOM PARK.

He found himself walking towards the door before he could talk himself out of it. One set of doors was sized for relative giants, towering over him. A smaller set was cut into the middle of them, just 10 feet high. He opened that one and walked into what would have been a cozy neighborhood haunt if you were over 50 feet tall. For him, it was a seemingly endless expanse of rich brown wood and warm golden light, populated by animals of all sizes.

A staircase sized for him rose towards the ceiling, with a landing about thirty feet up if you wanted to interact with larger employees instead. He briefly considered which one he wanted and decided to take a spot on the bar; he would feel marginally better being alone amongst giants than he would being alone in the relative quiet of the rafters. He walked a narrow pathway that hugged the wall until he got to the bar proper, then dashed across a "drawbridge" the barkeep could lift to get to the rest of the floor.

No one paid much attention. He walked down the bar, along a shallow depression between where the larger patrons placed their drinks and the massive bartender prepared them. At the other end of the bar, there was a small space for junior employees to sit at a few tables. Two larger animals, a sixty-foot squirrel and slightly shorter wolf, loomed over it, chatting amongst themselves. Ralph saw a few animals at the tables themselves, nursing their drinks in silence. He found an empty table and sat down.

It only took a few seconds for a waiter to appear, throwing his shadow across the snow leopard's seat. "Welcome to Atom Park," he rumbled. "What're you having?"

Ralph turned to see a bear towering over his table, around 15 feet tall. His eyes lingered over the way the ursine filled his crisp, white button-up shirt and strained the loose-cut black slacks below it. He looked away with a lifting of his whiskers, silently cursing himself. When get got down like this, his mind always got stuck on what he couldn't have -- or shouldn't be trying for in the first place.

"I'll take six shots of vodka," he mumbled to his table. "And an order of the jalapeno poppers."

There was a pause. "All at once?"

"Yeah. Vodka if it's ready first." He couldn't bring himself to look at the waiter. More than anything, he wanted to be miserable alone.

Another pause. "Rough day, huh?"

Ralph snorted and glanced at the bear, his tail lashing the legs of his chair. "You could say that."

He had expected the waiter to have a bored expression, maybe one of concern. But he looked sympathetic. "Been there, buddy. I'll get your shots and poppers right over, OK? You need anything else, you flag somebody down and tell them to get Trent."

Ralph stared at the bear's face this time. It was a little hard for him to read ursine expressions -- their eyes were too small, their ears weren't very active, and they had no tails to speak of -- but he read a kind of earnestness there. He looked away before he could think about Trent's broad shoulders, or what it would feel like to have the bear on top of him. He nodded once. "Sure."

A mixture of emotions tangled in his stomach and defied any attempt to be identified. He was ashamed about what had happened with Allan. Desperately anxious about the prospect of going back to work tomorrow. Frustrated that even after all he had to endure, his libido still put the thought of being dominated in his head. He wanted to be alone, but he couldn't stand the idea of going back to his cramped apartment, watching a holovid or playing a meaningless game by himself until he passed out. The idea of talking to someone -- anyone, even Sam -- was even less appealing. He hated talking about the intramural sports teams, or what had happened to some animal he had only seen twice from some other department, or any of the crap that passed for light conversation. But he couldn't talk about what was on his mind, either. It was too embarrassing to admit he liked feeling small around other animals, or that he didn't want to grow big enough to strike fear in other employees. How could he tell someone that he wanted to be respected even if he happened to be smaller? That it was more important to be seen than be big?

What he really wanted was something the world was not prepared to give him, and the only way he could get close would be to allow himself to be debased for some arrogant manager or executive who thought dominating smaller beasts was their birthright. If word about his...perversion got out, his career would be over. No chance for advancement, even less of a chance for respect. Others would think all he wanted in life was to be a plaything, used and discarded when his partner got bored. Was it better to be a hard worker who was equally ignored, with no recognition for all he had contributed to the corporation? Those were his choices: to be useful and disrespected, or to be useful and ignored. Neither option felt like much of a life.

A platter of eight shot glasses slipped into his vision, the plate of poppers in the middle. It was a combination he had picked up from his father, and grandfather before that; to the Blanche family, the straight burn of vodka had to be chased with a coating of fatty, creamy salt. He reached for the nearest shot when Trent's hand stopped him. A flash of anger sparked through his tail and made it dance; he looked up at the huge bear, who sat down across from him with a toothy grin.

"Two extra shots, on the house, on one condition. You have a quick nip with me." He slid a smaller tray with two larger shot glasses onto the table.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, feeling his anger dissipate. "All right. I didn't know you could drink on the job, though."

"It's not so much a drink as it is lunch." Trent winked, and Ralph found himself smiling despite himself. "To the end of bad days."

"Cheers." Ralph slammed the vodka back, feeling the burn warm his throat and stomach a heartbeat later. It was surprisingly smooth -- sharply alcoholic, without forcing you to cough. He thumped the shot glass on the table and raised a second in one smooth motion. "To the good nights we need to forget bad days." Another family heirloom, handed down through the generations.

Trent raised a brow and toasted. "I'll drink to that, little cat."

Ralph tried not to put the bristle in his voice. "Name's Ralph."

The bear nodded and smiled. "Ralph, then. Pleasure to meet you. Sorry you're having the kind of day that needs two-for-one shots."

"You and me both." Ralph felt the warmth blossom through his body, making his head feel a little light. It almost made up for the pit in his stomach. "Nothing to be done about it, though."

"Not even having a really good, really late night?" Trent leaned forward, forearms the size of Ralph's thighs crowding his platter on the table. Was he being flirted with?

"Well, it depends on what happened to make it really late." Ralph smiled, his tail beginning to sway rhythmically behind him. He took another shot, then flicked a popper into his mouth. It had been too long since he'd done this. He liked the rhythm of volleying lines back and forth, but often felt terrible at it.

Trent opened his mouth to say something, but looked up as a shadow fell over him and the rest of the table. A deep voice purred behind him. "Some leftover work he's got to do with a coworker tonight is what's keeping him late. Now run off, little bear. Go serve the tiny animals their swill."

Ralph's chest tightened as he turned around and saw Sergei looming over him. The tiger's grin was predatory, his massive hands gripping the edge of the bar.

The snow leopard quickly turned back towards Trent, just in time to see the bear tuck the trays under his arm and lumber off. His tail lashed as he hissed under his breath. Couldn't even have one nice thing.

He downed shots four and five in quick succession, flattening his ears at the tiger's chuckle. "What do you want, Sergei?"

"Not much," he said. "Just you. I'm going to take you back to my apartment and we're going to look over some numbers."

Ralph shook his head, and drank shot number six. He knew he would be too drunk to be smart about...whatever happened next, but he didn't care. "And why would I do that?"

The tiger's paw darted forward and wrapped around Ralph's shoulders, pulling him and his chair back towards the edge. "Because I'm asking nicely, and because Allan will be pissed if you don't."

He couldn't help flinching at the mention of the horse's name. He felt the fear curdle the spirits in his stomach, and he felt the anger building in his chest. His fists curled, and he grabbed another shot glass to keep himself from raking his claws across Sergei's fingers. "That doesn't sound like you're asking nice."

Sergei's purr deepened. "If you want to see me ask mean, I'd be happy to."

The whole building shuddered suddenly, almost like a train had thumped into it. The din of conversation hushed. Ralph, along with everyone else in the restaurant, looked up at the swaying lights. He thought he could hear the distant, worried voices of other junior employees closer to the ceiling.

Then there was a crash that upended the table and sent Ralph spilling to the floor. The animals in the bar roared fearfully as the lights flickered and the narrow street outside the windows disappeared entirely. A voice spoke, so loud and deep it felt like it would bring the building down on top of them.

"My data tells me that Ralph Blanche is currently inside the Atom Park Bar. If that is correct, you are to present yourself to me now. Amare Johnson has summoned you."