FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The rodent sitting at the desk taps his fingers together, glancing at the rabbit sitting before him with a sneer spreading over his face. "So, missie, you think just because you're old enough to enter this fine establishment that you can just stumble around and break things without repercussion, do you? Poor Betty probably twisted her ankle, which means not only do you owe us for the oh-so-rare vintage you destroyed, but also for the lost revenue she would have given us."

Cream slams her hands upon the table, leaning over it. "No, that's not it at all! I was just looking for my mom. It was an honest mistake, and-"

The rat stands up, his own hands upon the desk, narrowing his eyes. "No, no excuses are gonna get you out of this debt, toots. We got it all on tape, and witness reports. Either you deal with me, or you're dealing with the SSPD."

Cream stares at him, her eyes darting, searching for a way out of this predicament, but his own cold gaze does not falter. She lowers her head and flops onto the chair, sighing.

"Thatta girl," he says, walking off to the side of the room and pouring himself a glass of amber delight from a collection of spirits. "Now, you said you were lookin' for yer mom, right? I have to say, my clients are all of the most prosperous variety, so you may be able to dip into mommy's pocketbook to make this all go away."

"No, I can't do that," Cream says, slumping back.

"Eh, what's that?" the rat snaps, spinning around and slamming his half-sipped glass upon the desk. "What kinda stunt are ya tryin' to pull here. Is your mom a rich rabbit, or..." He trails off, his gaze going over her before he stands up, adjusting his tie. "Say, kid, what did you say your name was?"

"I uh, I didn't. I'm Cream... Cream the Rabbit. And you, sir?"

The rodent coughs, picking up his drink again and chugging it down. "The Rabbit, eh. Well, I'm Renfield T. Rodent, or you can call me the guy you owe your debts to, because if you don't want your mommy finding out you're here, you'll have to pay directly to me, capice?"

Cream takes a deep breath and straightens herself, gripping the arms of the chair. "How much do I owe your fine establishment?"

"You'd better not be funning me, kid. I ain't here to waste time. Are you loaded or what?"

"I'll pay you back," she responds in a calm voice.

Sliding his used glass to the table, he turns away from her, his whiskers twitching. "Well, the way I see it, Betty is a good girl. Ain't too often you find a butterfly willin' to do this line of work. And that vintage is from the Southern Baronies, and all those vineyards were burnt and turned into the Oil Ocean awhile back... So, I'd say, you'd owe me twenty-thousand Mobiums, easy."

"How long would it have taken Betty to make that kind of money?"

"Eh?"

Renfield stares at her, his nose wrinkled. "Kid, you gotta be joking! Are you turning this into a job interview?"

Cream stands up, and then she hops her bunny butt onto the desk, leaning forward on it, fluttering her eyes. "You can start by not calling me 'kid' anymore, Mr. Rodent. After all, aren't girls my age always looking for ways to make money in places like this?"

Renfield taps his nose, snickering. "Girlie, it takes a certain kind of sicko to be so gung-ho about a position like this. That, or yer tryin' to pull the wool over my eyes, Miss The Rabbit. Aren't ya scared of being found out if yer lookin' for your momma in a place like this?"

"Not if I hide my identity," Cream says, tilting her head. "That is a thing you do around here sometimes, yes?"

"Most certainly, but only for clients with the deepest pockets and the girls with the greatest skill. Anonimity is only afforded to one of those groups."

"Mister," Cream says, sweeping her finger up and down over the desk. "Have you ever seen my momma 'round here?"

He snickers, sitting in his chair, stroking his muzzle. "I get what yer sayin'. But, you ain't going to get me to budge, not unless you can prove yourself with a little test.

Cream bites her lip, tilting her head. "Hm...? And what sort of test might that be, Mister Renfield?"

Renfield looks past her and nods. "Ripper. You've been workin' hard, bro. Why don't you take the rest of the night off from the front and give her some assessments. Call the domme in, too, if you think it's appropriate."

The larger rat marches up behind Cream, gripping her shoulder, a low chuckle coming from his mouth as he leans in, breathing hot air against her fur.

"Ah... ah, r-right..." Cream says, shuddering. "S-so, it's Mister Ripper, r-right?"

"You two are gonna get well acquainted tonight, that is, unless you finally find yourself willin' to spread your waller rather than your legs."

'No, I got this," Cream says, turning around, placing a hand on top of Ripper's. "You know, what I don't have in experience, I make up for in enthusiasm."

"Oh, don't you worry about that, Renfield says, snickering. "We have an excellent training program. Now, then, get outta here, ya crazy kids!" He waves the two of them off.

Cream has hardly a chance to hop off of the desk before Ripper lifts her up from around her side and carries her over his shoulder. The massive mouse stomps out of the room, and as Cream returns to the hallway, she can't help but wonder if perhaps her burst of bravado was a bit too much for her to handle. But, if there was any way of finding out exactly what her mom was doing in a place like this, being on the inside would be the best way to find out.