FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

Matthew casually walked into the corner grocer, his grey head-fur ruffled and out of sorts, an obvious case of bed-head. He was wearing a loose pair of slacks, and he couldn't remember if he had put on a shirt, but the gentle weight of cotton against his chest reminded him he had. He walked straight to isle three; hell, after seven years of going to the same grocery store you sooner or later memorize where everything is.

The noontime sun could be seen through the windows that bordered the front two walls of the store, distorted by hundreds of special offers and one-time-only items: a typical Sunday if ever there was one. Matt glanced across the shelves, a little bit of sleep still in his eyes: he'd been up all night talking to his girlfriend again, since weekends were the only time either of them had free. He quickly spotted the annoyingly bright box of his favored brand of cereal, he always had thought the dischordant colors were an eye-sore, but the sugar-coated snacks couldn't be beat when it came to waking you up in the morning, so he grabbed a box and headed towards the front.

He trudged up to the checkout lane with a number 6 illuminated above the register. The female raccoon behind the counter glanced over the disheveled looking wolf with obvious distaste; Matt looked at her nametag which read Debbie, making a mental note to avoid her lane in the future: she was too judgmental. She scanned the bar code on the side of the cereal with one smooth practiced motion, her pudgy fingers flicking across the keyboard, surprisingly nimble.

"That'll be three-fifty." She said in a rough southern accent.

"Thanks," he mumbled handing over the money grudgingly, trying hard not to get too annoyed with her, she was at least doing her job. He took one last look over her as she gave him his change, her work shirt stretch taught against her flabby stomach. He felt his eye give an unintentional twitch, several insulting thoughts running quickly through his head.

He grabbed at the box a bit too forcefully, knocking it to the ground. Great, just what I needed, he thought A reason for her to think she's right. He mumbled curses under his breath and waited for Debbie to lean down and pick it up.

"Hmph!" She said in a throaty growl, no longer trying to be courteous, "Try not t'drink too much, you're obviously buzzed 'nough as is!" She glowered at him with a condescending air, her eyes just begged him to kick the shit out of her, but he held back; he hadn't had his coffee yet. She leaned down, picked up the box, then righted herself (with some difficulty), and held out the box to him.

Matt nodded curtly and took the box from her. He turned around and headed straight towards the doors, wanting to get as far away from that bitch as possible.

He pushed open the doors and ran smack dab into a large burly hyena heading the other way. The hyena grunted on impact, standing his ground, while Matt fell flat on his tail, letting out a yelp of pain and dropping the cereal.

Matt glared up at the hyena while gingerly rubbed his backside, trying not to let the hyena see how much his rump hurt. He let his eyes wander, assessing the new furson with some bias: nice pants-probably stolen, tank top-egotistical prick, green eyes-beautiful...but nevertheless evil!

"Why don't you watch where you're going next time, little man," the hyena said in his horribly cliché baritone voice, "Next time, you might get hurt."

Matt glowered up at him yet said nothing, taking note of the hyena's formidable musculature, definitely within the "kick-my-ass" range.

" 'm sorry sir," He mumbled out, inwardly pissed at how demeaned he felt, "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't." growled the larger canine, before pushing past Matt into the store, kicking him in the process. Matt clenched his teeth and growled but did nothing more.

He picked up his box and began to walk away when he heard Debbie talking again; loud enough to be heard through the closed doors.

"Oh Haji! You shouldn't have!" squealed Debbie looking down at whatever present the hyena had given her. He stood next to her with a stereotypical jock-smile, leaning coolly on the counter

Matt glared at them over his shoulder then walked around the corner and was gone.

---

The fox lay silent as the massive wolf above him landed blow after blow against his spine. Already the world was dimming, the lights were flickering and the table seemed to be spinning somewhere above his head. He whimpered a bit by accident, earning a new series of blows from the enraged wolf; there was an audible crack as one of his ribs broke, but still the wolf continued, growling the entire time.

The wolf was a larger canine, though more from fat than muscle, his face was stretched and distorted in anger, and a sadistic grin played at the corner of his mouth. His fur was snow-white, and his eyes a deep grey, heartless and unfeeling in the dying evening light. He wore nothing but a big pair of sweatpants, the band stretched to its limit on his large stomach.

Below him the fox was nude, taking the punishment without another thought. His fur was a bright reddish orange, his chest-fur white, running down to his sheath and ending in another patch of orange. His eyes were hidden under long locks of black head-fur, their light green unfocused and dimming. His tail-tip and ear-tips were black as well, though the skin on his back was gradually beginning to take on their hue, making his fur look sickly brown.

Eventually the wolf grew tired and walked away, sitting down in a chair from the table, tenderly rubbing his sore muscles. The aged chair creaked a complaint, but it held. A crumpled heap lay on the floor where there once had been a fox, through the ragged orange fur dark blues and blacks stood in deep contrast, and the body rose in fell with the tempo of harsh breaths, a clicking accompanying each one from the battered ribcage.

Several minutes of silence passed, the sounds of breathe escaping from the fox was all that could be heard. A siren passed by in the background, it's echoing moans seeming to come from the silent walls themselves. Eventually the wolf spoke, his voice a gruff whisper still seething with anger, "Get up Kazoo!"

He waited a few seconds, staring expectantly at the broken body, but the fox didn't move.

"Move your ass you lazy pile of shit!" he screamed, jumping out of his chair and kicking the fox in his stomach again, still getting no response, save a sputtered cough and a new splash of blood. The wolf growled and spit on the limp body. He turned and walked to the cabinet, quickly pulling out a glass and filling it in the metal sink, the valves hissing open and spilling forth the oddly colored water and screeching shut as the glass overflowed and the wolf cursed again.

Kazoo jumped as the cold liquid splashed across his face, ripping him back to reality, and looked up at the angry wolf before him; his breathe remained ragged, and he couldn't quite bring himself to speak yet. He tried to move his arms and found they felt like solid lead. He looked at the wolf again and weakly smiled, the gap from a missing tooth obvious amid the blood-red surroundings, finally croaking out a few words. "F-Feeling bet---," He coughed violently, cutting himself off, blood dripping from his parted lips to join a gathering puddle on the floor. He looked up again, still gasping for breath, "Feeling..." he spat out some more blood and the missing tooth, letting it bounce over to the wolf's feet unnoticed "better, M-Master?"

The wolf crouched down to his haunches and cuffed Kazoo sharply on the muzzle, a murderous glint still in his eyes. "Get outta here slave," he spat in the fox's face again, contempt dripping from his every word, "You're bleedin' all over my floor."

Kazoo nodded in agreement and tried to pull himself over towards the door, wincing a bit as his broken rib was stretched out inside. He pulled at the tile, only to feel it slide away beneath his fingertips, getting him nowhere. He pushed himself upright, collapsing once in the process, falling into the puddle of blood and staining his chest red, letting out a muffled yelp. He crawled slowly across the room towards the door, stopping more than once to rest. Several minutes later he leaned against the white screen door, relieved to have made it, only to have it fall open and drop him out onto the back patio, the cool concrete pushed up against his back. He lay there for what seemed to be an eternity, not really thinking of anything, just drifting into and out of reality, not really sure which one was which. Suddenly, from inside the house, he heard a shrill whistle; he knew he was needed again. He crawled back through the door, leaving a red splotch on the concrete, and made his way into house, awaiting his master's bidding.

Soon the sound of forceful movement and quiet yelps were heard again, but this time of another nature.

---

The room looked a lot like a bar, smoke drifting aimlessly through the air, overhead lights bleeding through it onto the worn, wooden floor. Everyone smoked at the student rec center; there were even burn marks on the no smoking signs where people used them to put out their cigars. A rusted old light hung down over the pool table, the stained glass sides advertising some beer or another; doubtless everyone had tried it at least once. The red felt of the table seemed to glow eerily, a bloody hue that blended with the cherry-wood frame. The walls had pictures of random places and people: old frats and famous public speakers, a map of the grounds and a painting of a cow saying something in Spanish. People were leaning nonchalantly here and there, watching the current game and tapping their foot-paws idly in an attempt to stay calm.

Currently at the table were two wolves, concentrating on their game and joking around with each other, just having a grand old time. One was standard height, nothing special, his grey fur was of general hue, running down the back of his neck and disappearing under his shirt with only a tiny patch of white showing from his belly-fur, and his clothes consisted of loose blue-jeans, a khaki belt, and a bright red tee-shirt, making him instantly forgettable. His eyes however burned a vibrant blue, holding the light, and catching your eye. He was bent down over the table, taking aim at the small black ball the sat nicely in front of the corner pocket.

His companion was a little different, he was taller than the usual, around six-foot-two, and his fur was an odd brown-grey. Streaking patterns ran through his head-fur and continued down his back, which could be seen clearly through his tight white tank-top. He wore a pair of nice black pants and a black leather belt, but even so the tops of his boxers could be seen. He was well muscled, though not buff, but you could tell he definitely worked out. His eyes were wide, one eyebrow arched high, so confused it was comical; the first wolf picked a pocket and took aim.

"Shit!" Jaysen said as the last ball dropped, making a hollow clinking sound as it hit the bottom, "It just doesn't make any sense!"

Nathan smiled and hefted his cue smugly onto his shoulder, looking at his handiwork: on the table were six remaining stripes, and in the pockets were all the solids and, most recently, the eight.

"I mean," Jaysen started again, "how in the hell do you keep beating me? It defies all logic and breaks the laws of physics."

Nathan chuckled to himself and silently agreed. "Poor baby," He taunted, then paused a second and looked mockingly concerned...he reached over and grabbed a pool ball from the table, tossing it up in the air once. "I have a ball...perhaps you'd like to bounce it."

Jaysen continued on, ignoring his friend completely, caught up as he was in his wonderful little monologue. "I own a pool table and played for years, and here you are kickin' my ass, it just doesn't make any sense!" Jaysen gestured animatedly through the whole discourse, still incredulous to the whole situation, "And what's this? Your third game in two years, how the hell do you do it?"

Nathan laughed as he set his pool cue down, "Guess I'm just lucky like that..." He smiled smugly, "oh, and don't sell yourself short, it's my fourth game in two years."

Jaysen put his cue back on the wall rack, gamely accepting defeat, "Yeah yeah, whatever, just never let me bet against you while drunk, I don't think I could afford losing that much."

Nathan smiled and set his cue next to Jaysen's, both of the cues quickly being grabbed away by the next group who had waited at least semi-patiently the entire time.

"Let's just go grab a bite; I don't want to be here when Jeff tells all my frat brothers how I bit it in pool." He grabbed his denim Jacket and swung it over his shoulder.

He and Nathan were room-mates in the wolf-dorm. He was one year ahead of Nathan, but due to space issues he had been stuck with the younger wolf, though he never really complained, Nathan was a good kid, if only just a bit odd.

"Heh, don't worry about him Jay, who'd believe -I- beat you in pool anyways?" He chuckled dryly to himself, "That's right, absolutely no one. Now let's get going, lunch sounds great, and Narren said he'd meet us there."

The two headed out the door to the sound of billiards in the background, in good spirits, and in good company.

---

Richie walked down the sidewalk on the crowded street, passing by a bus-stop that, while usually crowded, was occupied by only one fur at this time of the day. He was chatting energetically with someone on his phone, Cathrine is what it sounded like, apparently his girlfriend, Richie didn't care. His foot-paws pattered further along, unnoticed by all the people in a hurry, they always bugged him somehow. He glanced over as a hotrod passed by to his right, the jock in the front seat leaned back casually against the leather. He wore a red letter-jacket with numerous pins on it, and a large black R, his head-fur slicked back a pair of glasses perched unused on his head; they think that gel stuff makes your hair look wet, but it looks downright greasy. In the quick second he had of the driver, Richie carefully formed an opinion.

Hmmm, a golden retriever, they always had such beautiful hair, why they would spend all the time that people do fixing it up is beyond me. The sun just shines off it and makes it hard to look at, if only they were more natural. Speaking of sun, it is awfully hot today, perhaps I shouldn't have come. But then again, Narren and Nathan can always use support, and Jay's just fun to be around, at least when he's not like last Christmas, I still can't believe he thought we were lying about grandma's ashes. Well, I guess it can't be helped, and besides, he's much more interesting to talk to than everyone else in the dorm, they're always so paranoid like someone's gonna come and get them, but just because we're the smallest group on campus (aside from the foreign exchange students of course) does not necessarily mean that people want to kill us---

He stopped suddenly in his train of thought, pausing also in his walk. He had wandered off topic again. He hated doing that, but it happened so often that he was slowly getting used to it, and gradually staying more on topic. He started off again.

Richie was an average badger, maybe a little short, his hair dense and unkempt, as it rarely got any attention. His clothes were a mismatch of whatever he picked out of the drawer that morning. Today it was a pair of faded blue-jeans that were a bit too big, a khaki fabric belt was pulled tight around the waist to keep them up, but you could still see the edges of his grew boxer-briefs peaking out. He was wearing white socks and dark shoes, their edges worn and tattered from more than a year of use. He was wearing a maroon shirt that advertised some restaurant or other.

Twenty minutes ago he had gotten a call from Jay, they were heading downtown to meat Narren and have lunch, and as always, Richie was invited to come. He had quickly grabbed together an outfit and headed out, finding a quick parking spot, and was now walking in towards the restaurant.

As he walked he began thinking of the last two years. College can be a real bitch. When he'd first showed up at the university with academic scholarships up the wazoo, but absolutely no idea what he wanted to go into. Sometime this year he would have to decide, but right now it felt nice to just take the classes he was told to and not have to worry about the future. The first week had been pretty tough, adjusting to the new settings, and having absolutely no one to talk to; hell, he thought it was bad in high-school, but out here people just didn't give you an icicles chance in hell. That's about when he'd bumped into Narren, and from then on they'd occasionally had little chats here and there, though nothing substantial enough to be called a conversation. He taught Narren some English, and Narren taught him how to be a grasshopper (he still wasn't too great at that though).

Later that Year, maybe two or three weeks, Narren was at a coffee shop trying to

order a latte, but the men behind the counter had no idea what a café aux lait was. Nathan, being the kind soul he was (and being at least partially proficient in French) had translated for Narren, and from then on the two were inseparable...at least till the end of the day when they both had to go home.

That was two years ago, and gradually Richie had been introduced to Jay, now the four of them were something akin to a big happy family...until Nathan came out about six months ago and he and Narren had gotten together...then it was like some big happy incestual family...but a family none-the-less!

They had called from the student rec center, which means there was a fifty-fifty chance of Richie beating them there, and due to his parking discovery, he was sure he had them beat.

As he approached the intersection he saw a flash of green as a truck shot passed him, and there on the other side of the street was Narren, grinning oddly through his mandibles. Richie was always very curious about Narren, he was one of the foreign exchange students at the university, his insectoid structure always a shock on the senses, but he had never really been frightened by Narren's looks, and because of that the two had become good friends, dampened only by a slight language barrier.

"Bounjour mon amis! Ca va?" Narren chirped across the street, his exoskeleton clicking as he moved.

Richie quickly delved into his memory. He had taken French in high school, but for some reason he could never remember any of it. He slowly translated the sentence and decided honesty wouldn't quite make it across the lingual barrier, so instead he sighed and went with the positive. "Tres bien, Narren. Et toi?"

Narren chuckled a bit at Richie's accent, but aside from that ignored it. "Je suis vraiment bien, le soleil est brille, et le ciel est bleu, non?"

Richie smiled despite himself, all he had caught of that was blue, and as far as he knew the grasshopper said he was choking and would soon be turning blue...or something about mozzarella on newspaper. Regardless, he did enjoy Narren's company.

Narren grinned again and hopped once out onto the street, crossing over towards Richie. The next thing Richie saw was a soup advertisement, and a gust of wind, then nothing. It took a moment for what had happened to register, but the screeching of brakes, and the sound of shattering glass brought it into context quickly enough.

"Oh shit!"

Richie ran over to the stopped bus that was parked conveniently into another car, completely ignoring the two figures that were staring wide-eyed at the crash. There were random smatterings of green viscous fluids arced across the street, an exoskeletal wrist plate crushed indistinguishably over on the sidewalk, spinning slowly in idle circles. The grid-plate of the bus was imprinted with a grasshopper shape, a shattered head remained, slowly dripping a strange yellow liquid that looked unusually like brain matter. Richie started screaming at people to call the police, and then he saw them, the two fursons he had passed as he crossed the street. One put his arm over the other and pulled him close, turning him away from the crash.

Nathan let himself be turned and just stared numbly into Jaysen's shoulder, a tear slowly dripping down his cheek. Things beginning to move as a blur, indistinguishable from each other. He saw paramedics speaking to him, telling him something important. Something. Something about there being nothing they could do.

He saw Richie holding him as if from another's eyes, he was only watching the tragedy happen, not living it...right? It was like watching a movie in an old theater, the film being jerked by some prankster operator.

It couldn't be real...could it?