FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"You good to hold down the fort, Anne?"

You sigh. You hate when he calls you that.

"Yeah, boss."

Ron zips up his jacket and shuffles towards the back room.

"Alright. You've been here long enough, you know the drill. I'll give you a call when I'm coming back."

You give him a half-awake hum as he heads out, various tools and packaged components jingling when he brushes by them. The old man is off to the monthly fleamarket to look for parts. One of the things he advertises is work on older, out of date tech, and that means there's few other ways to find manuals, special tools, or outdated parts. He'll probably come back around the end of your shift, right before close, and have you help him unload all the plastic tubs from the back of his repair van.

But until then, you're stuck at the front desk of the shop. You look over the space for the hundredth time; the divide between old and new is stark. The new electronics section (where everything is priced about $20 over the norm) sits untouched while the section of old equipment is an ever-growing forest of faded packaging and plastic.

You're probably not going to see a single soul until Ron gets back.

It's fine by you. You're not particularly attached to this job. You lean back in the old rolling chair; it's not your dream to work in retail, but your half-finished engineering degree meant Ron took you on with a higher salary than normal. Certainly better than you'd get working at Dairy Yeen or something. Finishing college would've netted you a much better paycheck along with absolute misery, from what the internships and industry insiders told you. Hypercompetition and ass-kissing isn't for you.

So getting paid to sit at the counter and do nothing isn't bad. The only dilemma now is what to do while you wait for the end of the shift.

Fate decides for you. The old phone blares its annoying digital ring. You sigh and pick up; looks like you'll be searching for some ancient fuse or capacitor with a random jumble of characters for a name.

"The Elect-RON-ics Store, A. N. speaking" you say, "how can I help you?"

"Anne?" a female voice on the other end repeats.

You're surprised. The usual clientele are dudes with graying hair and fur, sometimes their hipster kids too.

"Long story. I'd prefer if you just call me Anon," you say. "Now what can I help you with?"

"O-oh, right! Well, I'm having some trouble with my laptop. It's a little older, and I was hoping you could take a look at it?"

"Sure. Do you know what model and operating system it is?"

There's a slight pause. You take the chance to pull out one of the notepads and find a pen.

"No, I don't. I know the operating system is Blinds 7, but I don't know the model. Sorry!"

"That's okay," you say. "Can you give me a quick description of what's wrong?"

"Sure! I think there's something wrong with the screen," she says, "I had to close it while I was using it, and when I opened it up again the screen was black, but I think it was still on."

You scribble down the description. Hopefully she's right and it's just a hardware issue.

"Okay. We can take a look at it," you say when you're done. "Just let us know when you're coming by."

"Actually, could I take it in a little later today? I've got my lunchbreak at noon, so sometime close to then."

"Yep. We can make that work," you say. "Just need a name."

"O-oh!" she chuckles. It sounds rich, even through the phone. "Of course, my apologies! It's Joanne. Joanne Treston."

While you're writing her down, she adds "That's why I was -- surprised by your name. It's similar to mine."

You can hear the smile in her voice. It helps you suppress your groan about her innocent mistake.

"Yep. People call me that a lot when they first meet me. It's not my favorite nickname."

"Of course, Anon," Joanne replies. "Sorry about that. 'Anon' is certainly a more interesting one."

You nod. The lady seems nice, but you've got work to not-do.

"Well," you say, a little awkwardly, "if that's all you had, I'll see you around noon."

"Y-yes! Sorry. I'll see you around then!"

She hangs up abruptly. You can't quite tell if she was busy, or if she caught that things were going on a little long.

Either way, you put the handset down and settle in for a few hours of waiting. There's technically a few projects in the back, but you know Ron wants you up front to 'watch the store.' So you mill around the counter, straightening things up here and there. Your employer isn't the most tidy and it gives you something to do. There's no helping some sections of the store, like where he has the old electronic components, but you do what you can. Every now and then you check your phone for messages. The groupchat of your online friends is abuzz as always, but the app you were hoping had notifications is painfully empty. The warm-colored UI of "Hugh.Meet" is blank as ever. In theory, going after a market that already had a thing for you based on your species should've made it easier. Your empty 'meetlist' says otherwise.

You sigh, and give the appropriately retro security camera a look before pulling out your latest thriftstore find. You don't know if Ron will actually check the tapes, but if he does, at least you made it clear there was nothing left for you to do. The pulpy book you picked up is probably as old as some of the radios the old man has sitting in back. The cover is what drew you in; a canine-looking figure sits in a chair with some kind of bright, 70s scifi wired-up helmet on. The jacket blurb said something about 'Starweavers' and a space voyage that brings the canine and some other character together. It's cheesy, but it's perfect for shifts like this.

You're about a third of the way through when the door buzzes. You look up to see a wolf woman in casual clothes, her light gray fur still frizzy from the buzzer's obnoxious report.

"It's a bit of a..."

Your words die off as you take a proper look at her.

Christ, she's big.

Her ears practically touch the ceiling and her hips are at least as wide as the doorway. She's got a bit of a belly, but it's a tasteful amount of chub. And her tits --

"It's a bit of a what?"

Her blue eyes are warm as she addresses you. There's a little grin on her muzzle, and her floofy tail fans gently behind her.

"I-it's a bit annoying," you say. Get a grip, Anon. "How can I help you?"

The wolf grips her purse tight to her stomach as she walks over.

"I called earlier about my laptop?"

"Oh! Right," you say -- you knew you recognized her voice somewhere. "Yes, I can take a look at it -- Joanne, right?"

"Yep!" she replies, her tail wagging faster. Joanne sets down her extra-large purse and pulls out a white laptop of some kind. Her paws seem a little shaky. She makes a few soft sounds as you look it over, like she's trying to say something but can't quite get it out. She looks away whenever you look up at her. You're not sure what she's so nervous about. You're the one with a big wolf lady looming over you, after all.

"W-well, what do you think?" Joanne finally asks. You've turned the computer over at this point and are checking out the backplate info.

"Well, it's an older model, alright. You said it was running Blinds 7?"

"Yes. Is that bad?"

"No, not necessarily," you say. "It just started doing this today, right?"

"Right."

After reading the info off the back a bit, the random bits of tech lore begin to align in your head. It's a high-end model -- for about 15 or 20 years ago. Decent processor and gpu, tweaked more for rendering than gaming. You can see why she'd bring it here.

"What have you been using it for?" you ask, partially out of curiosity. The wolf meets your eyes when you look up this time, those bright blue irises captivating.

"Well, it used to be my main computer, and it kind of still is, I guess."

Blush begins to creep at her cheeks.

"I-I do a little bit of photography, and the program I'm used to only works with Blinds 7. So I've just kept using it."

You nod. You've met plenty of eccentrics with a similar story. Fortunately, that means it's probably not a driver issue. Unfortunately, it means something's wearing out, whether it's software or hardware. You open the laptop up to find that it's a fancy full-screen model.

"Is it a touchscreen?" you ask, watching the keyboard lights flutter on for a moment.

"Y-yes, but I don't really use it, because... well, you know."

She raises a big paw when you look up, wiggling her fingers. Dark claws tip them all.

"That's fair," you say. You pull out a screwdriver kit, eyeballing the fasteners on the laptop's surface. "The screens on these models can sometimes come loose. Let me take a quick look."

Joanne makes a small sound of affirmation. Because the whole upper half of the computer is screen, the manufacturer put most of the connections down in the hinge with some plug extensions. The power ones are sturdy, but the one with data can wiggle loose because it's a flat cable.

"Feel free to look around," you say as you loosen the screws, "it's gonna take a minute to get the top off here."

"Okay," the wolf says with a slight chuckle. More than you'd expect. She's already moseyed off when you look up, her poofy tail bouncing behind her. You return to your work and try not to think of the view it's hiding.

The shell around the keyboard comes off easy enough when the screws are all out-- almost like the engineers knew this would be an issue. Sure enough, you see a misaligned plug. The cable itself doesn't look damaged and you note the lack of fur on the inside the case. Probably just mechanically came loose after a few decades. You swap to a plastic pick and nudge it until it seats with a soft, satisfying click. The screen flashes to life, going through its checks. You set the plastic cover back in place when a pinkish glow reflects on the light plastic.

Oh God.

You didn't know this app had an actual website.

Before you sits Hugh.Meet in glorious browser form. You'd recognize the pink and dark red accents anywhere. Joanne must've had it open when the connection plug came loose. A bunch of human male profiles take up most of the screen, and the left third has the familiar user profile interface. A picture of the wolf sits at the top. She's got a wide, open-mouthed smile that exudes positive energy. The low-cut sports top she's wearing does, too. And --

Holy shit, Joanne's 43?!

Your head spins. She barely looks half that old. Her profile says she's a doctor, so maybe that's part of it? How in the hell --

"Oh! Is it fixed already?"

She's practically on top of you before you can do anything. Her chest presses against the counter as she leans over to get a look at the screen. Her eyes go wide as you attempt to stutter, and her ears stand up straight. The blush on her cheeks is practically as red as the logo when she pulls away.

"Y-yep!" you mange, fumbling for the screwdriver. "J-just a loose connection. Happens with these models."

Joanne takes a deep breath and sighs; you don't look up at her or at her profile. Just stay focused on the screws and work from there.

"Well, that's good," she says, voice only a little shaky. "Do you think it'll happen again?"

"M-maybe in another decade or so," you say. "Probably not soon. It takes a while for it to come loose."

This is awkward enough already; you look up at her to find that her blush has died down.

"I-I could find you an A-A- -- an HDMI cable, if you want," you stutter. "Then you could just h-hook it up to a normal monitor."

The warm smile on Joanne's muzzle only deepens. She giggles, and her huge tail wags behind her.

"That's alright, I think this will work," she says. "Are you...?"

A slight nod to the laptop sends your heart fluttering

"Yep! Yep," you say as you slap the laptop closed, "all finished! Nothing left for me there!"

One of the wolf's ears flick as she leans down slightly, slowly taking the laptop back.

"Be honest with me, Anon... " she said softly. "...I-is it a good profile?"

That surprises you. You hope she didn't take what you said the wrong way. There's desperation in her eyes, anxiety in the way she slips the laptop into her bag. Her fluffy tail gives sharp warning wags behind her in apprehension.

"I-it's a good one, I think, yeah," you say with a nod. "I-I haven't had much luck on there myself, but I'd -- I'd give you a like."

Joanne lights up completely. Her ears prick, her eyes widen, and her tail is swishing hard enough to blow around some of the hanging merchandise.

"You use that site?" she asks.

"Y-yeah," you say. Just when you think she's going to explode, the wolf regains her composure with a huge, deep breath. Her tail still wags furiously, though.

"Well, I know we haven't met digitally," she says, pulling out her phone, "but would you still want to go on a -- a date?"

"Yeah!" you blurt out. "Yeah, y-yes. That sounds nice, Joanne."

The wolf grins so hard her eyes almost close. She whines for a second before pausing, then chuckling to herself.

"S-sorry, I'm just a bit excited," she says, still staring down at you. "Let me get you my number!"

You search around for the pen and paper from before, but the wolf stops you with a business card. "Dr. Joanne Treston," it reads, "Riverview Medical." Now you've got her office, her email, and her fax.

"My personal number is at the bottom," she says, sliding the notepad towards you. "Now, could I get yours?"

You nod dumbly, scratching out your number for her. She takes it with a smile and slips it into her purse, just standing and staring at you for a moment. Then she heads towards the door with a bounce, practically humming with happiness.

"I'll clear my schedule for you," she calls back to you when she's at the door. "Nice to meet you Anon!"

"Good to meet you too!" you say, finally steadying your nerves. As she walks out the door, jumping from the stupid buzzer, you laugh to yourself.

To think you were considering skipping work today...