FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

CHAPTER 1

TIRED GREETINGS

Frank Hale sat on a tattered couch in the common room of The Homestead, staring at the four boxes he had brought from his old home, containing everything he still owned. Frank turned his gaze to the clock hanging above the T.V. and sighed through his nose. An hour and forty-five, now. He had called ahead to his new landlord and told him exactly when he would be arriving, and this landlord, a mister Randell Shomer, had told him that they had some brief business to attend to, and that Frank wouldn't be waiting for him more than ten minutes, if at all.

Frank's eyes moved back to the boxes, confirming once again that they had not moved. He considers pulling out his phone to pass the time but decides against it when he remembers how close he is to his data limit for this month. He knows that the Wi-Fi in The Homestead has a password, too, having tried to get on about fifteen minutes into the wait. Not for the first time, Frank looks around the common room, taking in the place that will come to be his home.

The tattered couch he sits on, one of three in the room, seems to have acquired its look merely from age, with small little mends here and there showing that it had been well cared for. He couldn't imagine why someone would care so much for this couch, with its ugly red and orange plaid coloring, made uglier by the mis-matched patches used in repair. The other two couches were newer and better looking, though only by comparison, both sharing a light green color that clashed horribly with the faded blue carpet. The three couches crowded around the sides of a low wooden table that had several ring-shaped stains near the edges. On the fourth side of the table, against the wall, a flat-screened T.V. stood on top of small cabinet. The T.V. was the nicest thing in the room, and even that was still marked with a couple scrapes and dings. Frank suspected that it had been bought used. There was no remote in sight, and the local news was unappealing, so the T.V. remained off.

Frank stared at the blank screen, catching his reflection. A dahl sheep in his early twenties, of an average build, though perhaps a bit shorter than average. Horns of impressive size, impressive enough to have a girl or two comment on them while he was still at college. Never more than a comment, however. Unshaven, as well. It was, officially, autumn at this time of year, though some days of summer weather still hung around occasionally; guests who didn't get the message that the party was over even though everyone else had their coats on and was heading for the door. He had heard that winters in Wichita could get bitter, so he had put off shaving. Now, he was wondering if he had the patience to do a trim by himself. Going to the barber wasn't an option at the time. Too expensive.

Frank's train of thought was derailed as the front door opened. Two women entered, engaged in conversation. "It isn't a 'day off', it's my hours got cut," said a tall timber wolf with fur such a dark brown it was almost black, with small patches of white near her muzzle and around her arms. She was muscular, in the way that those working in physical labor tend to be, bulky and heavy instead of the toned body type found in those that got their exercise only from a gym. A black t-shirt and worn jeans brought the picture together. "I know, but there really isn't anything you can do about it at this point. Just take the opportunity to rest. Watch something dumb. Go out to eat. I'll take you out for dinner, if you want," this one a fox, even thinner and shorter than foxes usually are. She wore tan khakis and a loose white sweater that seemed to Frank to be wholly inappropriate for their current climate. Her fur was orange but had a scraggly quality that made her look older than Frank suspected she was. "Can't do that, Adrianne. You know I can't." The fox (Adrianne, apparently) smiles in a strange way at the wolf's response, her face showing a mixture of emotions somewhere between sad and embarrassed.

The fox's eyes turn from the wolf to look at the couches. "Oh, my! Mary, look!" It takes Frank a handful of seconds to realize that by "look" the fox meant "at him". Frank gave a small wave from his position on the couch before realizing that it was probably rude to remain seated while meeting someone. "Er, Hello," he said, "I'm Frank. I'll be your new neighbor. Pleased to meet you." The wolf stepped up first and offered her hand. "Mary," she said as they shook. "This is Adrianne. You from around here?" She let go of Frank's hand and sank to the couch left of the T.V., the springs protesting with weak squeaking noises as she settled, while Adrianne came up with a welcoming smile and took her place at Frank's hand. "No, I'm from Delaware," he said. Adrianne took the spot next to Mary with less complaints from the springs. "From near the coast, I assume? I hear that's been happening a lot. People moving away from the coast," she began as she stuck her hand in between the cushions. A second later, she pulls free a remote with a small noise of triumph. "Do you know why that is? If you don't mind my asking."

Frank scratched his cheek and stared at the fox woman. So, people knew about the troubles even this far away? It made sense, he supposed. It wasn't some kind of secret. Anyone with an internet connection had a chance of reading it somewhere or another. Still, her knowing didn't really bother him. "Cheaper. Can't afford hardly anything with the kind of money I make." He had long since stopped being embarrassed by his economic situation. It seemed everyone on his block was either moving away or neck-deep in debt trying to stay in houses that they were only renting in the first place. Still paying off his degree, the choice of which road to go down had been made for him before he even graduated. "Hey, Mary, was it? How did you tell? That I wasn't from here, I mean." Mary sniffs, already seeming bored conversing with the new face. "Asked," she said. Adrianne lightly clears her throat at Mary's response. "You also have an accent. Of a kind you don't hear too often in Kansas." Mary rolls her eyes and gestures toward the T.V., which prompts a sigh from Adrianne, who hands her the remote with a frown. Adrianne's face smoothly shifts back to a friendly smile as she turns back to Frank. "So, why here?"

Mary turns on the T.V. and flips it to some cop show, earning her another frown from Adrianne. "I'll keep it low," Mary says, and that seems to be all she's willing to offer on the subject. Adrianne lays a glare on Mary fit to strip the bark off a tree and opens her mouth for what looks to be the start of a lecture on hospitality. Sensing the friction building between the two women seated across from him, Frank interjects before anything could be said. "Well, why not here? There's work, things cost less. And the work's not too bad either. I play my cards right and I might have a house before I turn thirty," Frank says a bit too quickly. From the way Adrianne looks at him with a tilted head, it is obvious that she could tell what he was intending to do, and he cringes internally as he realizes this, but the fox doesn't seem to take any offence. She even gives him another smile, seemingly thankful for being prevented from saying whatever she was about to.

"That's great," she says, speaking over a hammily acted hostage negotiation. "It's always nice when a cute guy moves in. Right, Mary?" No response. She gives up with a click of her tongue. "What room are- oh! Look at that. Randy hasn't given you your keys yet, I notice," indicating the boxes next to the couch that had been hidden from her until she shifted herself to lounge against the armrest. Frank nodded, then looked back to the clock with an annoyed grunt. Two hours, ten minutes. "Don't gotta stand there. We're all greeted now, so take your seat back." Frank stared at Mary, wondering who she was talking to, before realizing with a start that it was him. He slunk back down to the ugly couch to continue his long wait. By this time, Mary had become completely engrossed in her show, having already forgotten her new neighbor. Adrianne, on the other hand, was staring directly at Frank, as if expecting something from him. Frank stared back at her for a moment, then another, and another. The moment turned awkward, her staring at him with her head cocked to the side, him with nothing to fill the silence. Desperately, Frank throws out the first sentence that comes to mind. "You live here?" Frank often wondered what it would be like if he were mute. Then, maybe, he wouldn't feel compelled to say stupid things just for the sake of keeping a conversation going. Adrianne giggled at the question, while Mary gave an amused snort. "Yes. We both live here. I'm in 102 with my husband Mort. Mary is in 202, right above me. Everyone comes down here to watch a game often enough, so I'm sure you'll meet the rest of the tenants in no time. I'm sure you'll-," Adrianne cuts herself off with a yawn, covering her mouth with the back of her right hand. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's been a day, I'll tell ya. Listen, I'm sure Randy will be along shortly, ok? If you need any help getting your stuff up to your room, Jeb'll be home in thirty. He's in 103 with May. Tell him I sent you. I'm going to sleep for a bit before dinner. I'll see you around, Frank." With another yawn, she gets up from the couch and gives a pat on the shoulder to Mary, who takes her eyes off her show just long enough to give a quick salute. Adrianne comes over to Frank for one more handshake before disappearing to her room.

Now alone with Mary, whom he can tell still lacks the motivation to converse with him, Frank resigns himself to watching whatever mindless crap is on at the moment. A team of highly trained specialists are attempting to trace the IP address of a Chinese hacker who wants to blow up a subway station for poorly explained reasons. A higher-up that questions the main character's "extreme tactics" almost dies in a car bombing before the main character sprints out and tackles him away from the explosion just in the nick of time. Frank didn't know much about how shows were made. Did they strip the car down to just the frame before it was detonated? Or was it a whole working car? The thought of a working car being blown up for the sake of entertainment bothered him more now than it might have used to. If they were just going to break a perfectly working car, why not just give it to someone who needs it? He hadn't even started working yet and was already dreading the prospect of using public transit. The buses back in Delaware always seemed to have wet seats, as if the person who had sat down before you had pissed themselves before they got up to leave.

"Do you know anything about how they make this show?" he asked Mary. Mary turned her whole body to face him, eyes squinted quizzically. "What?", said in such a way that he was sure was intended to make him feel stupid for asking. It worked; he did feel stupid. But, as he had already outed himself as an idiot for the second time today, he felt there was little harm in pursuing the question. "Well, what I meant was, do you think, when they blow up cars in these shows, do they blow up a whole, working car? Or do you think they, like, strip it down to just the frame?" Mary manages to make her squint just a bit narrower before answering. "I don't know. I'd guess it's just the frame. Waste of money, otherwise. Why?" Frank shifts uneasily under her glare. She doesn't seem mad at him, but he still feels as if he said something rude, somehow. "I just thought it'd be a waste if they blew up a whole car, and I wanted to know if they did," he managed after a moment. "Mm. Dumb question," she said. Suddenly indignant, Frank sits up a bit straighter and looks her in the eye. "What's wrong with a dumb question every now and again?", he says with perhaps a bit more energy than he had intended.

In response, Mary actually smiled at him. "That's right. Yeah, I think that might be right." She grabs the remote and puts the T.V. on mute for a moment. "Sorry. Ain't trying to act like this. You done nothing to deserve it. It hasn't been the best of days, for me," she said as she rubbed one hand on the side of her neck. She takes the hand off her neck and looks at it, considering for a moment before extending it to Frank. "How about we start over? Mary." The sudden shift in attitude makes Frank pause for a moment. Had he accidentally said something meaningful? He didn't feel like it. Not wanting his hesitation to be taken the wrong way, he takes a deep inhalation through his nose, then extends his hand as well. "Frank Hale." Neither of them felt like getting up from their seats, but the couches were close enough together (and Mary tall enough) that they managed from a sitting position. "Nice to meet you, Frank. Hope I didn't say anything to offend," she said as she leaned back onto the couch.

She kept leaning back as she rolled her head back and stuck out her chest, trying to stretch her upper back out. It was only now, in this position that seem to draw attention to it, that Frank noticed that Mary had a sizable chest hidden under all that muscle. Frank stared for two or three seconds longer than he meant to before catching himself. Clearing his throat, he said, "No worries. I'm sure I'll have my bad days every once in a while, too. Especially since I start working next week, too." Talking too fast again. He clears his throat again, hoping she didn't notice him staring. Mary returned to a relaxed position with a grunt. "Oh? Where you workin'? One of the factories?" Just as Frank had begun to answer, the front door opened yet again, admitting a horse, shorter than would be expected from his kind but still taller than Frank, with a misty gray coat under plain brown clothes. Upon noticing the two people seated on the couches, he briskly trotted over to stand next to Mary's seat. The horse had the appearance of a man whom, in his earlier days, might have been fit and attractive, possibly even an athlete of some kind. Now, his fur's color had faded, he had wrinkles in his face that made him permanently look as if he were angry at whatever he was looking at, and whatever muscle remained from the glory days was hidden beneath layers of fat that bulged from the too-tight clothing. Frank was of the opinion that getting fat didn't make people look worse, just different. When people realized they had gotten fat, they could wear it with grace, sometimes looking better than they had thin. It was only people who stubbornly refused to admit to themselves that their style needed to adapt to a new body type that he found unappealing.

The man gave a brief nod of greeting to Mary before turning to face Frank with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hello! And my apologies! I'm Randell Shomer. It's nice to finally meet you face to face. There was some business I had to attend to, family stuff you see, and it took much longer that I think anyone expected. Is this all your stuff? I see you live quite the spartan life. You'll be living on the second floor, room 204. If you need any help getting the things to your room, just ask one of the other tenants when they get back from work. I'm sure one of them will help you." He digs inside one of his pockets for a moment before producing a set of keys. "I have simple rules here: no smoking, no vaping, no loud noises after seven in the afternoon, and you have to pay for anything you break that's not yours. That includes anything already in the room. You'll see. Oh, and no strong scents. Candles, incense, that sort of thing. All of this is in the email I sent you, along with anything I might have forgotten." He leans down to put the keys in Frank's hand. "Any questions?"

Still reeling from the verbal barrage, all Frank can do is weakly shake his head. And he thought that he talked too fast! "Great! Very sorry, but being home lender is a busy job, and I really must get back to my work. All sorts of bills to get settled. Hey, I'm real happy you chose The Homestead. I'm sure it'll feel like home in no time. If you need any advice getting settled, don't be afraid to ask your neighbors, ok? They're all great. Right?", he says, shooting a smile at Mary. He gets a grimace in return. "Well, you've got my email. I'll be seeing you around," he said, already half-way to the door. A couple seconds later, Frank hears a car starting up in the parking lot. Mary snorts. "No, you won't. He never comes 'round here. Not unless he absolutely has to." Frank stares back and forth from the front door to the silver-colored keys in his hand. "I see." A brief silence. "What was that he said? 'Home lender?'" The term elicits another grimace from Mary. "Landlord. You know how those types are." Frank nodded in understanding, although he didn't, really. "Want any help with those? I can carry stuff just as good as Jeb, if you don't feel like waiting," she said, pointing at the remains of Frank's belongings with her muzzle. With a polite refusal, Frank grabs two of the boxes and heads to the stairs.

The stairs are carpeted, with what Frank assumes is supposed to be a floral pattern showing up wherever a long history of wear hadn't faded the colors to almost nothing. Despite not being particularly heavy himself, the stairs still groan ominously as he climbs up to the second floor, where he is greeted with a third worn down rug, different from the ones on the first floor and the stairs, but just as hideous. He places his stuff down in front of the door to room 204 and begins fumbling with the keys. There are three on the ring Shomer had given him. One for the room, obviously. He assumed one was for one of the mailboxes he had seen as he was driven up by a local taxi. What was the third for? Frank figured that he could probably find out by reading that email Shomer mentioned and put the question out of his mind for the moment. A moment later and the door was unlocked, Frank was stepping into the room. Into his room, actually. It was a strange thought. He had never really owned anything before. No, he still didn't. This was Shomer's room, he was just paying for the right to use it. Still, the room was mentally filed away as being his.

Frank set the two boxes down next to his new bed. He pressed down on the bed a few times, testing it. Springs, instead of the foam he was used to, but ultimately not terrible. He looked up and took in the view of what would come to be his home. The floor was wooden, for a nice change. There were scratches all around that showed where the previous tenants had moved furniture, and a tiny stain here and there, long since caked in past the point of anyone being able to remove them. The walls, painted a grayish blue, also had stains on them. Mold of some kind, Frank thought. That would have to be taken care of quick, before allergies got a hold of him. He really hoped it hadn't gotten inside the walls. The kitchen was really just an extension of the bedroom, with nothing to separate the two. He'd have to buy a table soon, too. There was a refrigerator of an odd height, coming up to about his chin. There was a dresser across from his bed, with markings in the dust on top that indicated a television had once been here. He had never really used the one back in Delaware, so he supposed that that was one thing he could just live without.

Frank made one more quick trip to the common room, where Mary was back to being fully immersed in her show, and he had brought everything up. Mary hadn't even taken her eyes off the screen. In under forty minutes, Frank was unpacked and ready to start his new life. Only, he would have to wait about eight days before he could actually do that. His job didn't start until then. He sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh and began planning how to get through the week. His parents could send him some money to help him along, and probably would, but no more than a hundred dollars or so. The smart thing to do would be to only buy stuff as he needed it but, without a car, he'd be screwed if he ran out of anything essential after the busses stopped. As he thought this, he realized that he didn't even know where he would buy half the stuff he needed. Would the grocery store he passed on the way here have something to deal with the mold? He sighed again as he lay back on the bed, legs dangling off the side. "I'm home," he said.