FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Ohayo gozaimasu!" The two raccoons behind the front desk bowed in unison.

Rick ducked his head as he stepped up to the desk and set his bag down. It was chest-height for the clerks, but as a six-foot-tall wolf, he felt like he was looming. "Uh, thank you."

The head clerk smiled at him, and Rick realized that they weren't raccoons, but raccoon dogs. Tanuki, he recalled. Leaner, larger, a little pointier, and still a lot shorter than he was.

The clerk's English was heavily accented, but clear. "Good evening, sir. How may we help you?"

Rick passed over his passport. He tried a little smile. "I have a room. Rick Staller."

The clerk glanced up at him, then at his passport and started typing on the computer. Rick felt like his smile might have been a little too big. He felt like everything about him was. "Ah, hai, yes sir. I see your room is on a company account. Do you have a card for incidentals?"

Rick nodded. "Yeah. Yes. Hai." He huffed, then clapped his muzzle shut and patted down his pants until he found his wallet. After twelve hours on a plane, getting through customs, getting a train card, and then taking multiple trains to get to his hotel, even simple tasks had become monumental efforts. Finally, he found it in his front pocket, a concession to economy airline seating. He started to slide his card across the table, but the clerk touched the tray on the counter discreetly, and he nodded, then put his card there.

The clerk smiled and gave a little bow as he picked up the tray in both paws. More typing, and then the card was returned in the same fashion, joined by a room key. The clerk looked up at him again. "Your room will be 2306. Is there anything else we can do for you, sir?"

Rick picked up his cards and shook his head. "No, thanks."

The clerk bowed again. "Arigato gozaimasu."

Rick ducked his head. "Arigato." He staggered to the elevator and managed to wedge himself into the space with his luggage; it wasn't the smallest elevator he'd been in, but it was close. Fortunately, nobody else tried to join him. Unfortunately, the space reeked of cigarette smoke, and he hoped whatever guest enjoyed that habit was checking out soon.

He made it to the room and was pleasantly surprised that, while small and space-efficient, it wasn't cramped. There was a small, open closet to one side and the bathroom door to the other. The bed took up most of the room, but he could walk comfortably around it. A small desk was attached to the wall by the window. In all, it had everything he expected out of a hotel, with none of the massive wastes of space of most American rooms he'd used.

He stashed his luggage and fished his laptop out to drop it on the desk, then went to check out the bathroom. There were no major surprises, but its raised floor felt a little weird. The tub was shorter than he was used to, and the toilet had a control panel, which he was not even going to try and make sense of that night, but in all it had pretty much what he expected to find. He stripped down and brushed himself out, taking comfort in the familiar ritual and smoothing out the travel-matted fur.

When he fell into bed, his paws dangled off the edge of the bed. At six-foot-two, he'd gotten used to being a little too tall, but this bed was clearly shorter than the ones he was used to. After some fussing around, he managed to find a way to sleep crossways and get all of himself on the mattress and let travel fatigue put him into an early, heavy sleep.

Rick found himself awake at five o'clock. He felt like he could have slept for another day, but he counted it a small favor that he didn't feel entirely terrible and was waking up in the morning.

Breakfast was a challenge. First, he forgot his breakfast ticket until he stepped out of the elevator. Then, once he had his ticket, he didn't know what exactly to do with it. Fortunately, the vixen taking tickets spoke enough English to help him through the process. From there he was on his own again, but hotel breakfast bars didn't seem to vary too wildly the world over: there was food in one area, trays and dishes in another, and a coffee and tea station in a third.

The food was one part familiar, and one part different. There was rice to go with sausages and thin scrambled eggs, and while the combination was new to him, he found it both palatable and filling. Coffee was more difficult -- none of the options were labeled in Romanji, much less English. He settled for pressing one of the buttons. The machine whirred and growled and eventually filled his cup with coffee. Cream and sugar were nearby, and, while not labeled, he managed. As friendly as the hotel was, very little in the restaurant area was labeled in a language he could read.

Rick muddled through breakfast as best he could. Coffee steadied his nerves, and the food settled the growling emptiness in his stomach. He found himself glad for the solid food -- it was a small spot of comfort amid a growing tension. Finished with his meal, he became aware of the rest of the diners, who clustered in distinct groups: one sounded like they might be German or Scandinavian, another might have been Chinese, and many groups seemed to be Japanese. Someone near him seemed to be listening to a news report in French. Nobody in the dining area was speaking English, and the din of unfamiliar languages left Rick pinning his ears back.

Rick got himself another coffee to help with the jet lag and flicked at his phone, killing time and using the hotel's wireless to check email for the fifth time. His calendar suggested the meeting that morning at ten was still on. Email said he'd be meeting his father's executive assistant, whom he'd met only briefly. Fiona O'Clare was a vixen with the sort of muted Irish accent that he found incredibly charming, and paired well with her intense personality. His father had spoken highly of her since she'd been hired several years prior.

He couldn't sit still any longer, so he got up and handed his tray to the vixen who'd taken his ticket with a small bow and an "arigato." A little politeness was the least he could do.

Rick stopped in at his room to freshen up and grab his briefcase. He was going to be hellaciously early, but he couldn't bear to sit in the hotel any longer.

A short walk and several wrong turns later, Rick found himself at the train station. The hotel was not a reasonable walking distance to the clients' office, so he had to contend with the morning crowd on the subway. He already had his fare card, but he still had to consult a saved email and the subway maps for several minutes before he approached the gate he was reasonably sure lead to the line he needed. Locals made it seem easy, putting their phones or their cards against the reader and walking confidently through the gates. Rick approached it with some trepidation, but the display went green and the gates swung aside, so he hurried through, lest any more people cut around him to the other gates. No one said anything, but it was clear that he was moving entirely too slowly.

Once through, he followed one set of stairs down, forgetting to walk on the left, not the right, but managing to correct his mistake after inconveniencing no fewer than twelve people. Unfortunately, closer inspection of the trains on that platform revealed that he had chosen poorly, and he had to make his way back up the stairs against the flow of traffic. At least he'd been on the correct side. Soon enough, he stood on a platform that seemed to lead in the right direction. Overhead signs largely displayed a frustrating mix of kanji and hiragana, but they also rotated through romanji, and by the time a train arrived, he was fairly sure it was the right one.

Rick was not prepared for what a Tokyo rush hour was like. The train was already crowded when it arrived, and he shuffled on with the other passengers when the doors opened. He had not realized he was only in the middle of the queue until he found himself getting shuffled farther and farther from the door as more people piled in. Men, women, and school kids of all ages seemed to pour endlessly through the doors, and the press of bodies grew claustrophobic. He knew he stood out, a tall grey wolf, head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd and taking up too much space, no matter how much he tried. It was a silver lining that the crush of bodies meant he didn't stagger much when the train started moving.

Even in the press of other passengers, Rick wanted some solid support. He reached for a handle hanging from overhead and clocked another passenger in the temple. He'd been told there was an apology for more serious infractions, but he racked his brain for a moment and nothing came out, so he settled for blurting "sumimasen" and ducking his head in as much of a bow as he could manage without hitting someone else.

The next stop wasn't much better. People poured in and out of the train, though mostly in. One businesscat squeezed in just as the doors were closing, and the entire crowd somehow managed to sneak a space for him, though it left him pressed against the doors. Rick wondered if they'd open again. He was glad he was not near the door, given how riders had to leave and jump back on to accommodate people getting off. It was a marvel nobody got left behind.

The train was a cacophony of scents. The sheer density of people on the train overwhelmed any attempt at air handling and it thoroughly exceeded any of Rick's prior experiences -- he'd been on American and even European subways that, while crowded, didn't have so many people or so many smells with them. Adding to the mix was that so many of them were unfamiliar: different chemicals in riders' soaps, different foods in their diets, even the cleaning chemicals were different. Much was familiar, but nothing smelled quite right. It was entirely too much, so he focused on just those scents closest to him until the rest faded into a sort of background noise. It was still a lot, but it was manageable.

The train was surprisingly quiet. A few riders had conversations, in Japanese, of course, but they kept to low volumes, and the vast majority seemed focused on their books or their phones. Rick thought about reaching for his phone, but it was tucked in a pocket, and he wasn't sure he'd get it out without dropping it or elbowing someone in the face or both. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, with its unfamiliar and largely illegible ads and their advertising focus that was for a culture he was clearly not a part of. A weathered, familiar American actor was selling canned coffee, and Rick resolved to try it, just for the experience. He was pretty sure he'd seen the brand on a vending machine at some point since he'd arrived.

Eventually, the name of the station he needed popped up on the sign over the doors. He shuffled towards them, mumbling "sumimasen" as though it were a talisman of safe passage. For the most part, it seemed to work, and by the time the train arrived at his stop, he was expelled with the rest of the riders getting off there and swept up with the flow of people. He managed to break away, tucking himself against a sign and took the chance to get his bearings, finally deciding that the stairs in front of him would probably lead to his destination.

Luck was with him and he emerged at the top of the stairs into the station proper. He took full advantage of his height to scan the signs hanging from the ceiling and managed to break from the traffic flow to go out through the right set of gates. He was grateful he'd spent so much time memorizing the transit directions -- this far into the city, there didn't seem to be a lot of spaces to stand and look at a map.

Out on the streets, it was crowded, but less overwhelming. The open air of the city added its own set of fresh smells, but the crowds had a little more room to spread out, and Rick felt less compressed as he set out towards the client's office.

The Ikeda Heavy Industries office was a very convenient block from the station. The marten at the reception desk was rather perturbed he was so early, but the conference room was ready and empty, so she let him wait there. Being in a quiet, empty space that was larger than he needed for himself was a pleasant change from the rest of the morning.

He had been reviewing his presentation, more out of a need to do something than a need to prepare further, when someone walked in. That someone, in this case, was his father's executive assistant.

"Rick, you're early." She took the seat next to him and put her briefcase on the chair.

"Ms. O'Clare. Better an hour early than a minute late. Dad was always fond of that one." He shrugged. "Besides, I didn't know how long it would take, and I really didn't have anything else to do."

"Fiona, please." She set a laptop of her own on the table, followed by a pen and a leather-bound notebook. "I suppose sleeping in wasn't an option."

He shook his head. "God no. I was up at five."

She contemplated that for a moment, then shrugged. "That's really quite a reasonable time. Up just before the sun, plenty of time for a morning run, breakfast, and getting here. You could do worse."

Rick snorted. "I was in no shape to run, and I didn't pack anything for it. Hell, I barely managed to accomplish breakfast."

"Hmmm. Present ticket, eat food, too complicated for you?" She shook her head. "I told your father this was too much too soon." He couldn't tell if the disappointed look she gave him as she sat down was serious or not.

He let it go unanswered for a minute, but uncertainty won out. "Great vote of confidence there."

She jabbed him in the arm with the tip of a claw and gave him a grin, instead. "It's a joke. You must have left your sense of humor at Customs."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't remind me. Customs, exchange, train card. So much to do, all at once. I'm lucky I made it to the hotel."

"You know, you could have used your phone, I hear it has these navigation functions."

"Yeah, and no data plan."

She cocked her head at him. "Really?" She opened her laptop and tapped away at it furiously for a few moments. Rick was impressed at just how quickly she found exactly what she was looking for. "We ordered it. Did you try to activate it?"

"Ah, no. Nobody told me. Isn't it hideously expensive?"

Fiona shrugged and waggled her paws in a vague gesture. "Eh. It's that or get you a phone for every region you visit, and that's more trouble than it's worth. It's an approved expense." She fixed him with a sharp look. "You do know how to turn it on, right?"

He pulled his phone out and poked at it. "I haven't tried; I just turned off cell services before I left the US."

She sighed and grabbed the phone. "Fine, I'll do it." More furious tapping and swiping for a minute, then she thrust it back at him. "Here. Don't watch too many cat videos. We didn't get you the unlimited plan. Still, it should get you through Translate and Maps."

Rick eyed her for a moment, then poked the mail icon. New mail appeared. "Looks good."

"Indeed." Her ears perked up, and she sat up straight, then looked over his shoulder at the door. "Ok, silence it and put it away. Client's here. And stand up." She followed her own advice and gave her jacket a tug, not that it needed straightening.

Rick scrambled to his feet and stuffed his phone in his pocket. The time for worrying passed as the door opened and the receptionist from earlier stepped through, followed by their client. He matched the photo and overview his father had given him on the man perfectly. Ikeda Souta was a fifty-something silver-furred fox who carried himself with reserve, as though he disapproved of everything around him. Perhaps he simply expected to be disappointed. Perhaps he already had been.

Rick was distracted from this line of thought when the other person they were waiting for followed Souta through the door. Aba Ren also matched the bio Rick had been given. In his case, this meant he was a tanuki, of somewhat stockier build than his boss and a little shorter. He moved with less poise and had an uncomfortable energy that set him apart from his boss far more than his appearance did.

Mr. Ikeda was the VP of Information Technology for Ikeda Heavy Industries; the CEO was a cousin. Mr. Aba was to be the project manager for integrating the network management software Rick was selling. IHI wasn't the same sort of giant as Fuji or Samsung, but they maintained more than enough production locations throughout Japan to make for an interesting network that consumed entirely too many man hours keeping it running smoothly. Rick's product would help IHI reduce the man hours and get more out of them. He hoped the network would run smoothly.

They stood on the other side of the table and appeared to consider him quietly.

"Mr. Ikeda, thank you for having us." Rick fished a couple of folders out of his briefcase and slid them across the table. He pointed at one, then the other. "That is an annotated copy of the presentation, if you'd like to follow along. It contains more details about the software that I'll be referencing as we go."

Fiona helpfully cut the lights, and Rick started. "So, from what I understand, Ikeda Heavy Industries wants to increase awareness of their network topology without relying on static documentation, which, of course, is out of date the moment it's printed. Staller Solutions has developed a dynamic network documentation and management suite built around a simple guiding principle: The Network Is The Documentation."

"So, that could have gone better." Rick stabbed at the bowl of rice and fish and something else that sat in front of him. Fiona had ordered and told him it was a "sticky bowl." It looked and smelled strange, and his stomach was giving him fits after the meeting, so he wasn't feeling the hunger he might have.

Fiona shrugged and tucked into her bowl with an enthusiasm Rick couldn't understand. "Eh. It went well enough."

"What makes you think that? They were nearly silent the whole time, and the old man --"

"Mr. Ikeda, please." Fiona gave him a look that said this was not up for debate. Whatever the org chart said, he knew better than to argue with her.

"Ok, Mr. Ikeda looked like he'd smelled something foul through the whole presentation." He took a bite of his food. It was indeed quite sticky and also quite tasty. His stomach seemed to decide that this was acceptable, and the tension retreated to make room for hunger. "Mm!"

Fiona grinned at him. "That's why I told you to mix it up. Most Americans wouldn't eat natto with their first lunch, but there you go." She leveled her spoon at him. "And that brings me back to my point. You're doing better than you think."

"Eh?" He cocked his head at her. Surely not. Hadn't he just said as much?

She shook her head. "So Mr. Ikeda looked like that because he always looks like that. It's just something about him. Every photo I've ever seen, he looks disappointed. That has nothing to do with whether or not he wants our services." She shrugged and flicked her ears. "Although, it probably doesn't help that we're a western company."

Rick turned his head to the other side. "What now? Does he have a thing against westerners?"

Fiona laughed. "Nice! Yes, a lot of older folks here, especially from more well-to-do families, have leftover prejudices, especially against westerners." She grinned. "I'm sure you've met folks back in the US who are the same way."

Rick waved his spoon in a waffling sort of admission. He'd seen something similar in a few associates he'd had over the years. They'd never seemed like bad people, but they probably weren't angels, either. "Sure, I guess."

"Uh-huh. So, imagine that, the Japanese are people, too, and they have similar issues floating around in their culture. It's how life goes. Plus, frankly," she waved a paw, "War, internment camps, nuclear bombs, occupation. There are a few bumpy parts in our history. You did learn about that, right?"

Rick flicked his ears. "Yeah. Yeah I guess so."

"Good." Fiona shrugged again, then paused her lesson to attack her food with the same almost-terrifying intensity she did everything else. "So. That's Mr. Ikeda. Don't worry about it. He's talking to us, and that's good enough. We sell a great piece of software, and you're going to make sure it works for him."

Rick groaned. "Yeah, sure."

She snorted. "Such confidence. Look, you want to score some points with them, right?"

He nodded. "Naturally."

"Fine. Try changing a couple of things. Show them you're trying to respect their culture."

"And if I make a mistake?"

She laughed again. "Oh, you'll make mistakes, but so what? You're gaijin. You can't possibly get it completely right. But that you are trying? Sincerely trying? That'll get you a long way, and it should prevent the most egregious mistakes."

Rick shoveled another spoonful of 'sticky bowl' into his muzzle and eyed the vixen curiously. "Did I make any today?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I think you know the answer to that. Mr. Ikeda's reaction wasn't just resting grump face."

He started at his bowl. "Oh."

"Yes, well. I guess we didn't give you a culture briefing before this, did we?"

He shook his head. "No. You pretty much hired me out of my job in RTP and sent me here."

She tapped a claw on the table. "Hmm. Did we? I mean... Yeah, we should probably send movers for your stuff. Got anything embarrassing out? We could have you moved before you get home."

"Uhhhhh."

Fiona grinned at him. "I'm kidding. But you're right, this was pretty time-sensitive, so we really didn't give you time to brief. At least you know the software we're selling."

"Mostly because Dad loved to talk about it any time we got together."

She shrugged. "The advantage of hiring family. Besides, you had a career before we brought you into the fold."

Rick grumbled and avoided answering by digging into the remains of his bowl.

"Like I said, you have some street cred." She shrugged again. "Back on topic. Yes, you made some mistakes. Step one, don't point with one finger. Sure, you'll see locals do it here, but it's more polite to use your whole paw, like this." She gestured at his bowl with all four fingers together and her thumb held close to the side of her palm. "Just as precise, but doesn't run afoul of the finger thing."

"What's that about?" He pointed back at her with a similarly-open paw, just to try it out.

She grinned. "Much better. And I have no idea. It's what I was told; I think it's less demeaning or something like that. In any case, give it a shot. You probably won't notice a difference in their reactions, but it's polite."

Rick nodded. "Ok. Anything else I really screwed up?"

"Next time you give the client a packet, try not to just toss it on the table. That kinda works in the US, but even then, it's pretty casual. Hand it over, with two paws, give a little bow. Acknowledge the transfer."

He nodded again. "Fair enough."

They'd both finished by then. Fiona pushed back a little from the table and waved at a server. "Sumimasen!"

The weasel woman came over immediately. "Hai?"

"Chekku, onegaishimasu."

The server gave a little bow, said, "Hai, ok," and disappeared.

Fiona turned her attention back to Rick. "So, also, if you want your check, that's how it goes. Don't sit around waiting for them to notice you."

Rick nodded and reached for his wallet.

She shook her head and held out a paw. "No, I'll handle it. This one's on the company, anyway. As are the rest of your meals, if you don't go crazy." She paused and glanced at the clock on her phone. "I have some work to do, but you should go see a museum or something. Tokyo National Museum is gorgeous and only a couple thousand yen. Go, learn a little about the culture, maybe buy a book."

Rick chuckled. "Yes, ma'am. I guess this will be my cultural briefing."

She wagged a finger at him. "Don't ever call me ma'am again if you want to live. But yes, think of it that way. Now, go do some learning and try not to screw up tomorrow."

"Hai, ok."

Fiona nodded. "Good lad."

Morning found Rick in better spirits. Six o'clock was real progress on waking up at a reasonable time, since he'd always been a seven-o-clock sort of wolf. The bed was no longer wholly unfamiliar, and he'd managed to find a more comfortable sleeping position. The bathroom was just a little easier to use. Practice, even a day's worth, went a long way.

He remembered his breakfast ticket, and breakfast itself was even more exciting, as they'd traded out the familiar sausages for some kind of grilled fish. Emboldened, he piled rice in a bowl and topped it with the fish and the slightly-runny eggs. He was sure it wasn't terribly traditional, but it was a lot different from what he was used to and that was a start. Plus, it smelled good and reminded him of the previous day's lunch. Even coffee was more familiar, and, in the spirit of adventure, he pressed the other button on the machine. He couldn't tell the difference in the result, but it was coffee, and that was good enough.

The subway station hadn't moved, so he found it readily enough, and the interior was a little more familiar and a little less stressful. The ride to the Ikeda office was still cramped, but he didn't hit anyone, and he managed to more or less move with the crowd as he was expelled onto the platform at his stop. Perhaps he could learn, after all.

He nodded to the marten behind the reception desk as he entered Ikeda's lobby. "Ohayo."

She raised an eyebrow at him, but offered a slight smile as she stood and led him to the conference room. "This way, Mr. Staller. Ms. O'Clare is already waiting for you."

Rick nodded. "Arigato."

She gave a short bow and left him with Fiona.

"You beat me here this time," he remarked.

The vixen grinned. "You were making me look bad. Besides, you're later than yesterday."

He shrugged and pulled out his laptop and presentation from his bag. "I'm starting to get a feel for the commute."

She nodded. "Good to hear it. Ready to really sell it today?"

Rick paused his preparations and looked at her, cocking his head in thought. "You know, I think I am. At the least, I'll give it my best and we'll see how it goes."

Fiona patted his shoulder. "That's all any of us can do. Now, let's get set up; we have a lot of work ahead of us."