FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Dustin deleted the app again.

A month later, he read a profile headline: 'frisky husky mcclusky. str8 4 str8'

Dustin deleted the app again.

A month later, he received a photo message. It was a fatally enormous, erect penis, with quite a prominent knot, and no text whatsoever.

So he deleted the app.

Dustin hadn't really joined it out of wanting anal. He just liked feeling wanted. The newly qualified graphic designer had almost nothing to do in his new job until his line manager got back from her holiday in the sun. Without the induction process started, Dustin couldn't even start sketching logos.

The marketing department for a water treatment plant was no picnic. No, it was far less exciting than that. In the interview, they had told him that the plant was moving into a new era of branding, but did not say how. Now, after speaking with his colleagues in other departments about the working conditions there, the word 'they' was beginning to sound ominous. For all that he had a nice warm office in Winter, and a good salary, and a graduate job straight after graduating, he didn't even have a desk, yet.

So, after this latest uninstall, the up-and-coming marketer mocked up some logos on his own yPad. He talked with the rest of the team, who didn't know what was going on, either. They'd just been hired. After a full week of this, Dustin decided the whole previous team must have walked out. Or they'd been fired. Or something.

On the bus home, he reinstalled Fluff. Why was 'internationalstudmuffin' always two hundred yards away, no matter where he was in the city? No, matter. They probably both worked at the plant.

Back at home, Dustin opened the apartment door, to find Finlay, the Peacock Spider he lived with, had made him a cup of that tea he liked. He thanked the eight-armed creature, and allowed himself to be hugged.

Finlay had gained a little weight, but it was a Spider's luck that all gained weight went into the tail. Big-eyed, silver-furred Finlay would always have stiff-sectioned abdominals, the fucker.

"What's wrong?" Finlay said, letting Dustin go. His claws dragged gingerly along Dustin's sides, a move he'd learned soothed the human. "Still nothing happening?"

He was always so concise. When Dustin remembered conversations with Finlay, he couldn't remember what Finlay meant by any of what he said, context gone. Once, he wondered if that was magic, but he'd known other people of short words he couldn't read, and it was always better to presume poor memory than magical chicanery.

"Nothing until next Tuesday," Dustin said. He sighed. "I still have to go in."

"Of course." Spiders don't have eyelids. They don't ever really blink. Finlay's sympathy was revealed only by the tilt of his head, but it was apparent.

"I'm sorry I missed your big night out," Dustin said.

"I bet you are," Finlay said, elbowing him in the side as they walked through the little hallway into the living room.

It wasn't, actually, very little. The walls went a full room higher than in a normal apartment. This place could easily host parties of up to forty people... provided those people could spend most of the party on the ceilings, or the walls.

"No, I just want to be there for you guys," Dustin said, and took a sullen seat on the couch. He was so tired, he just spat out a stream of consciousness. "I like fun. It's fun to go out. I'm not looking for anything in particular. I just want to dance. I just want to drink."

"And the fluffy studs are... collateral?"

"I'm going out."

"No, you're not, you're probably going to sulk in your room when we both know you need to talk about it." Finlay emphasised the word 'talk' almost to the point of shouting. A silvery hand squeezed Dustin's forearm. "Listen, man, you need to get past this. It's painful for us, and it's toxic for you."

Finlay was probably right. Finlay was definitely right. Dustin fell silent, and tried to think, and couldn't. Abandoning his tea, Dustin stalked off to his room, hunched over his phone, and he uninstalled Fluff. The living room had bright, cream-coloured walls that made you feel blind when you left it, but the light of the screen in that unlit bedroom (on a Winter evening) was properly painful.

To say nothing of having just snapped at one of his best friends.

Sleep didn't come. This was not because of the massive amounts of coffee Dustin had been chugging, or so he told himself. He'd never really know. Outside, as the human almost slept, he almost overheard a conversation.

"Bro, we could get him a therapist?" Simon said. The giant Tarantula's voice had a deep and throaty burr to it, and this was unusual for him. It was because he was still hungover. Dustin almost slipped under the veil of sleep just from hearing Simon, but struggled, and struggled, and swam upwards... only, it was Simon who held him when he cried, and murmured into his hair until he slept, sometimes. Dustin was only a man. "Or a pastor. Hey, there's a pray-towards-the-gay camp in the next county over, starts in two weeks. Don't know how the bullshit works, but he can at least accept that it's okay, you know? Okay to be like us."

"That stuff is for teenagers," said Jamal, "and he wouldn't agree." The hedonistic Orb-Weaver had other reasons to be suspicious of that kind of thing, but Dustin couldn't remember what. Wasn't his cousin some kind of religious minister...? "Guys, we're leaving in three weeks, and we're not back for six. There isn't even mobile signal out there. We can't leave him when he's emotionally dependent on us."

"Oh, come on," Simon said. "He only admits anything if you tie him up! Or hypnotise him! Or... or whatever!" Simon managed to make this sound almost kind.

"That's not really consent," said Amir, the Recluse. "It's unethical."

"I'll find a night we can take him out again," Jamal said. "I'll confront him nicely, and he'll admit who he is, and we can all die happy."

"No-one's allowed to die!" said Amir.

And things lapsed back into silence. The four split off for their regular evening rituals on a Friday: Simon at the gym (lower leg day), Finlay at the TV, and Amir and Jamal out to their book club. Mildly afraid for his wellbeing, Dustin fell asleep.

He dreamt of Fluff.

On the app, there was suddenly a new video-chat function. 'Visions in Crisp Four OK,' it read, and Dustin wondered why he'd always thought it was called something else. There, in the grid of potential men, a thumbnail showed that awkward giant Peacock Spider from Clutter.

He'd been so awkward. His name was Smarantha, and he kept saying it was his name "for some reason", and they chatted together on the couch at Dustin's place. And he liked Dustin. He said so. Dustin thrilled.

Smarantha reached over and pulled the human into his thick black fur. Everything but his tail was black. They weren't in the living room or the couch, they were on a bed, and there were candles flickering, but Dustin knew that was reflection on the water.

In his eight-armed friend's palm, the plates of chitin parted wetly to allow a strange little embolus to uncoil. This fat red tendril slithered down to just rest on Dustin's hole, just staying there, just teasing, just... just there. Dustin looked into the Spider's eyes and started telling him every secret he'd ever kept.

Dustin woke up fisting his cock, and he didn't think, he just came.

Saturday passed in a blur, and Sunday, and the next week or two. For most of the day, Dustin didn't even remember that his friends were leaving on their big trip. Nevertheless, it was a deep pit under everything he thought and felt, cold and waiting.

It collapsed and went deeper when they actually left. Lights were only on or off as he'd left them, and something about that hurt. The human almost didn't notice anything else about his new loneliness, his anxiety around it affected him so much more than the actual situation. Work was busy, and challenging, and he felt productive at the end of each day, but otherwise, he was always low-key afraid.

Realising he'd been thinking about it too much, Dustin came back to himself. There was a message on his phone - a photo message, with an advert. It wasn't on Fluff, for once, but from Jamal.

Instantly, Jamal was calling him.

"He's speaking in the gym next to our place tonight," Jamal told Dustin over speakerphone, while Dustin pored over the image. There, on the poster, was the big black Peacock Spider from Clutter: Left Peacock. All thick limbs and rich fur, lit with gentle purple. The text around him was vague. It was some sort of therapy thing? Motivational speaking? There was a tagline.

'Your inner saboteur will, themselves, be sabotaged! HAVE YOUR REVENGE ON THAT SHITHEAD.'

"Okay?" Dustin said.

"Go to it," Jamal said. "That's an order, mister."

"Okay," Dustin said, absently, staring at Left Peacock's face on the poster. The pitch colour of his eyes and face meant you could only really tell where they were by their reflectiveness. Somehow, he didn't read the guy's name, even while he bought tickets on the website. (Jamal kept talking, but the Weaver knew Dustin was absorbed into this too much to pay attention.)

It was weird that L.P. of all people would be a motivational speaker, though, Dustin thought. Or any kind of public speaker. Or a speaker. Dustin remembered his excruciatingly awkward preamble to his psychotropic dance at Clutter.

Maybe he'd just read a lot of self-help books before the show, then spread out those tail-fans to bless others with the enlightenment, the way he could with a high. (Was that racist, he wondered? Thinking everything was their species' magic? Finlay told him pretty much everything he did was racist against Spiders, just to get a rise out of him. It left the man confused as to what actually was prejudiced.)

The event was being held at a gym, so Dustin walked to that gym. There wasn't a queue at the gym, so he figured that everyone must be inside, already. He presented his expensive ticket to a flustered personal trainer, and was shown inside the wide, empty gym space. It was dark, for some reason: there were candles, and the sun wasn't quite set in the Winter sky outside, but there weren't any powered lights in the wide gym hall. Dustin realised, as his eyes adjusted to the light, that the candlelight was purple.

He also realised that he was the only one there.

Dustin tried acting casually, as though the walls were covered in eyes watching him, as though his dignity might leak out into the darkness. He approached the centre of the room, where he imagined the audience should be, and he sat cross-legged on the floor. All that money he spent getting in, they could at least have provided chairs... maybe this was an aerobics thing, with physical participation?

Come to think of it, what was this, actually? What was the program? He pulled his phone out, and activated it, and it ran out of battery and died.

"Hrm," Dustin said.

"Hi!" someone said, right into his ear. It was too loud.

"Aah!" Dustin said. To his right was Left Peacock himself, his black fur burning purple in the glimmering candlelight. The speaker was hunched over him. "Huh - hi," he said. "I'm Dustin." He offered his hand.

This hand was taken in one much larger than his own, and L.P.'s fur was considerably thicker than Finlay's. It was like a very gentle Bear. He introduced himself, and Dustin didn't hear the name.

"You're the only one who bought a ticket," the Spider said, as he settled into a sitting position in front of Dustin. The young man had to look up... "I uh, I guess you're the... you get the talk up close tonight. The conversation, instead of the talk."

Conversation?

"How do you mean?" Dustin asked. When he spent money on this, he didn't expect to have to do anything.

Something about this whole situation, from the pitch-dark room but for the candles, to the huge black Spider who had taken his senses last time, should have made him feel a tad unsafe. Somehow, though, he didn't feel anything of the sort. There was something oddly paternalistic about the way the Spider spoke to him now. Not charismatic, but caring, in a sense.

"My speech, uh, my speeches are all made to be about everyone. You know what I mean? Every problem everyone gets. Go vague or go home. This is different. Just you, it's different. If you tell me your problem, I can talk about your problem, and how you can solve your problem." The Spiders' many eyes were kindly, and his voice, even with the stutter, had a rich purr to it. Those eyes glittered in the candlelight so much Dustin thought he was going to cry in a second.

"I'm... uh..." Dustin stalled. This wasn't good. It was good, but this was bad. "You'll... keep it confidential, right?"

"Yup," L.P. said.

"I'm having these... these intrusive thoughts," Dustin said, looking down at his hands. "I keep. I think about." He looked up at L.P. as if begging him, as his mind tried both to force the information out and cram it all back in at the same time. "I don't know what I need."

L.P. looked at him with no little patience.

Dustin didn't say anything else, so the Spider took the human's hand in one, then the other in another.

"Inside'a you, there's all kinds of thoughts," he said. "An' you don't know if they're good or bad. You've had real-life situations with them, I can tell. With your thoughts. You've acted them out."

"Not exactly," Dustin lied. L.P.'s mouthparts formed a weird vertical smile.

"You've thought about asking someone like me to act them out with you... and you think if you just know what they are, if you just confront the source..." Yes. Dustin moved a little towards the giant Spider, scooting forward over the rubbery floor without consciously knowing he was. "...then they'll be fixed, forever, your problem thoughts. If you fight the minotaur in the middle of the maze, he'll stop farting them out and they'll go away. Or, you'll change into someone else, right?"

"Right," said Dustin.

"How would you change?"

Dustin curled in on himself. He wasn't going to answer this. No, not really. He didn't know the answer.

"...I keep meeting hypnotists," Dustin admitted. He folded his arms, realised how much closer he had inched up to L.P., and edged his butt backwards in shame. "I think those... things that happened, between me and the hypnotists, weren't me, but they were good, and now I'm confused."

L.P. visibly didn't tense.

"Did you want those things to happen?"

"Yes," Dustin said.

"Did you go along with it - did you fight it?"

"Yes," Dustin said. "No, I didn't fight it." He stared forward, big eyed and expectant. He could sort of see his own frightened reflection in L.P.'s big eyes.

L.P. visibly didn't relax.

"You think a spell made it feel good," the dancer-turned-speaker began. "But."

"But now I want it more," Dustin snapped quickly, surprising himself. "I want it more, and I want them to keep doing it, but I need them to. I... I need them to."

"I don't think that's it, Dustin," L.P. murmured to him. Another pair of hands settled over his shoulders, only they were so big it was like a huge fingered shawl. L.P.'s tail fan spread out behind him, and he leaned forward, head right in front of Dustin's. "I think..." He raised that fan upwards, and Dustin saw its pattern. He saw that it was like a dusted pair of purple and blue wings, now. How did they change from day to day? "...that you've been generous, because this stuff fills somethin' deep inside you. Something that's cold and hungry and needs to be warmed and fed."

Dustin's mouth quirked up into a smile of its own accord.

"That's not it," he said. "No."

"Uh huh. Wanna see a dance, Dustin?"

Dustin blinked a couple of times, and looked down at the Spider. He actively didn't perk up. L.P.'s broad lower arms enfolded Dustin's legs, and lifted him upwards, so he could see all of the tail. L.P.'s face was right in Dustin's chest, and almost bigger than it.

"Sure," he said. Good. Great! Audience participation over.

L.P., the motivational speaker, whose name no-one in this building knew, didn't say anything further. He lifted the young man up, and let his tail raise vertically and unfurl. Before the show, of course, he had taken a couple of pills - and as Dustin had found out before moving in with Finlay, such was the gift of his specie that he could then spread the effects to others in a dance, lowering his high and increasing theirs.

It could be dangerous, as in order for both provider and receiver to get especially intoxicated, the dancer had to consume quite a lot of the substance. Luckily, L.P. was a heavyweight, and had dulled the reward response he himself got to most of the things he'd been performing with.

In this case, he had taken some of an extract of hawthorn berries. This was a substance that worked on Spiders like ecstasy on humans.

This human grew looser, happier, as the effect was mirrored in his body.

As he'd been taken under so many times, the Spider didn't bother reminding the human that he could snap himself out of it at any time. It was a very poorly choreographed dance, this, a dance with the human following the motion of this great oval kaleidoscope with his upper body, cross-legged in L.P.'s arms. Dustin's eyes reflected and repeated the odd tyrion rhythm, and his skin became needful.

Over time, of course, more goes into a Peacock Spider's dance than just what substances he's had. There are trace elements of other drugs in one who takes them regularly enough, but that's not what comes out strongest.

You can achieve a kind of high with just mindfulness and positive thinking. This was L.P.'s secret: he was almost always in trance, almost always hypnotising himself. This allowed him to fill himself with giddy happiness, with self-forgiveness.

Now, he let all of that flow into Dustin. Lonely, denying Dustin. The Spider felt a little sympathy for him, but kept it to himself. Dustin's need, he'd decided, was more about identity than feeling. He led the poor boy through the hall to a space without candles, where all the human could see was the odd flash of L.P.'s psychotropic tail. The Spider lay on his front and set Dustin onto his soft back, giving all ten of his limbs a rest.

They remained like that a long while. In little circles, he wiggled that tail, for hours and hours. Dustin felt many things, then, and felt his heart go on a little journey: one without cares, but not without responsibility. One without fear, but not without work. L.P. didn't try to insert any information into Dustin's head, and he didn't try to guide Dustin to the 'right' conclusion for the vision quest. That would be beside the point.

He just made the human work for his happy doziness. The human had to keep circling his head in the right rhythm, in L.P.'s almost frustrating staccato spirals, to keep the spell on him and keep the feeling flowing. Even as he grew tired, he continued. (It was actually quite a good workout for his shoulders and core muscles, not that he cared.)

And Dustin did need to keep the spell on him. God, but he needed it. He had to be wrapped in it forever. He could be taken away, could be kidnapped, if he - no.

Purple, said his head. Wanted. Touched. Soft.

The urgency left him, but he needed it, still. He could feel L.P.'s soft black fur under his thighs, as it was an unseasonably warm night, and he'd worn shorts... if only L.P. could slip his hand over Dustin's mouth, stop him crying out for help - no.

Purple. Dark circles. Safe.

But, yes. Dustin could focus. Dustin could keep time with the dance all he needed. He'd danced pretty well all his life. He could sense more and more of the feeling of sociability L.P. gave him, the feeling of relief, the... pity...? No.

Purple. Swirling. Cared for.

In the rest of the increasingly lucid trip, Dustin's mind wandered the deepening purple circles in search of change. He tried to feel, at first, but soon he was trying to learn, instead, trying to know. In a hypnotic landscape he believed to be the drug's spell, Dustin felt himself jumping to conclusions. Then, jumping back. Then, jumping downwards, but then, he saw something on the ground, something... on paper. He saw a street name.

"And wide awake," L.P. said, and Dustin was.

He was back in the gym. The lights were on, the candles blown out. The floor was a geometric maze of primary colours. It was like a school gym, weirdly.

The light didn't hurt, even though everything had been dark when he was asleep. When he was enraptured.

"How did that feel?"

"Short," Dustin said, before he could help himself. He apologised, feeling like a greedy child. "I. I mean. It -- it was perfect, I... thank you. Please."

"'Thank you, please'. That's a new one." L.P. lifted Dustin's chin up to look him in the eyes. In this light, it was clear where they ended and fur began. "Do you remember what you were saying?"

"No," Dustin said.

"You were asking me all kindsa things," the Spider said, grinning a weird and knowing grin. "You gotta nosy side, don't ya, Dustin?"

"What...? Nosy how?" Dustin fiddled with his fingers, nervously, but he ended up sinking them into L.P.'s fur instead. "I... I don't want to offend you."

"You've crept your way into my home," L.P. said, conspiratory.

"What? No, I --" but he looked around at a completely new environment.

It was a living room - just a little smaller than the four's. Tasteful paisley wallpaper, somehow, pleasant blues and yellows. There was a framed picture of a famous scientist on the wall behind him, with a quote on it. Dustin was sure he'd heard Jamal saying wasn't really from that guy. The room was lit by static on the TV, and Dustin was sat cross-legged on the back of the Spider whose home he'd apparently 'invaded'.

"Oh. Sorry."

Dustin was hard.

"No worries," L.P. said. "I think you need a little more takin' care of, kid." The dancer then seemed to gasp, low and wet --

-- no, he was sucking down on something, because he puffed smoke out after the noise, and Dustin smelled the strange plant matter, and his eyes gravitated back towards L.P.'s tail.

"Thank you," he murmured. He liked not having to think.

"No prob, bro," the Spider droned, himself quite stoned, "I don't wanna think right now, either."

Back Dustin went into the world of little circles.

This, too, lasted for hours.

For what felt like five minutes and forever simultaneously, Dustin hallucinated scales and tendrils and fingers creeping all over his skin. Not even doing anything untoward, just touching him, just being with him. (He could almost hear an 'aww' while he was held like that.)

After that, he walked barefoot through the softest sandy grass, and was just there, in existence, just happy.

At the same time, Dustin felt as if he was pursued by someone, by something, something with intentions for him. It was a thrilling feeling, like a long walk when you know there's an exciting and hopeful event tomorrow.

They both ate something substantial while this went on, but Dustin had no idea when. It was between finding that piece of paper on the ground again, and losing it again. But he saw the house number.

He sank into the long grass and slept for the rest of his life.

"And wide awake," the Spider said, and he was awake again, in the morning. "You slept like a baby, li'l guy. Let's get breakfast."

"Sure," Dustin said. He gripped L.P.'s enormous forearm, and was helped to stand up. Thinking about it, this apartment of the Spider's was appropriately sized - which meant everything was far too big for a little human to do anything with. The kitchen table came up to Dustin's eyes, so he was sat on a high chair that L.P. obviously kept for smaller creatures.

There was still that lingering haze, that lingering comfort of it all... and once the dishes were done, and put away, Dustin put on his shoes, and zipped up his coat, and prepared to leave.

"Don't look in the mirror," L.P. called out, before taking a deep suck... Dustin heard it and immediately, almost performatively stared into the mirror, like a trained dog waiting for a treat. In a sense, that's what he was, now.

"And wide awake," the Spider said.

It was evening.

"I can't keep doing this," Dustin said. "I'm gonna have to go."

"Me, too," L.P. said. "I'm due in the next city tomorrow. Gotta get my plane now."

They were outside the airport.

"What? Already?"

L.P. laughed, and picked up the human in a tight, brotherly hug.

"We've shed a few tears together, now. You're gonna be fine, little guy," he said, as his huge hands ruffled Dustin's head, and back, and lower back, and knees. "You'll know yourself by this time next year."

"Thanks for everything," Dustin said, and felt a huge part of his heart lurch towards the Spider that held him. They'd been in one another's minds, but he couldn't remember the damned name... he laughed into the warm fur.

L.P. set off for his flight, and Dustin, who lived a fair bit away from the airport, decided a walk was what he needed to clear his head. He wasn't feeling woozy at all after his days-long trip, something that still confused him. He was sure there would be some sort of consequence to this kind of thing later in life.

"And wide awake," L.P. said.

Dustin was back in the gym.

The room with candles, and...

...and L.P., and it had only been... how long?

"It's been about two hours," L.P. said.

"Only two hours? I mean, it..." Dustin shook his head, but he wasn't dizzy, and he wasn't confused. That in itself should have been disorienting, but it wasn't. Every one of those awakenings before hadn't been real: he'd spent two hours having an epic dream. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." The Spider leaned down, and gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead. "Remember my name next time, yeah?"

Dustin nodded dishonestly.

So, finally, they parted. Dustin left the gym with an odd new feeling of hope and relaxation, and a full weekend of time free which he had believed he'd lost. The young man checked his phone, and found photos: the four were enjoying themselves, and had messaged him about twelve times each. There were holiday photos, and advice on everything from housework to weather warnings.

Dustin still had most of this night left, too. L.P.'s show only started at six. There was a work social on tonight, but Dustin had already been to the prerequisite three socials to establish his social position: 'doormat, but I'm here, accept me'. He wouldn't lose out from one night away, and he wasn't in the mood to put 'work Dustin' back on again. It was best, he decided, to wander.

This side of the city was basically Beast central. Dustin stuck out like a lily in a rosebush, and he could feel and hear the implication made by those he passed that he must have been someone's boyfriend, or adopted kid, or 'chaser'. It was something he'd got used to since moving in with the four, these stares and murmurs. At first, it had hurt a little, but now it made him wonder if he actually was a 'chaser'.

Dustin certainly didn't deliberately extricate himself from all these situations. No, he actually stepped right into them. There was the deniability of the magic part... Typhon's smoke, L.P. and Finlay's tails... but that only went so far. Dustin had never, he realised on reflection, actually been forced to do anything with them, and he'd basically been begging other people to do more.

Why else would he have gone to someone with aphrodisiac vision for memory-training, when there were probably textbooks or online resources for it?

It all seemed to work out well, but Dustin had this need inside him. It went further down than the unique happiness he got from each encounter. For the first time, on his wander, Dustin confronted the situation head-on mentally.

Was it like a drug, maybe? Was he getting addicted to having his mind interfered with? The thought excited and scared him, and he made a mental note to himself to find a dealer for Finlay to -

• only, no, that wasn't an addiction, that was a fantasy he was suddenly having about not having any choice.

Again.

Like the fantasy he had whenever he opened up Fluff, how he'd get contacted by someone unambiguously ordering him to do stuff, erotic stuff. He wouldn't know why, but he'd find himself complying. He'd find out the dude - the Rhino, or the Ape, or whatever - knew far too much about him, and he'd find that he couldn't get out of the situation.

This, of course, never happened. This was real life, where you do everything you're supposed to with a girl and find yourself dumped and friendless. Where hallucinogenic vision quests with giant arachnid people took far less time than they seemed to. In real life, you didn't get swept off your feet by some hypnotic Dark Lord and slapped in a decorative minikini, occasionally fighting against their control just for the plausible deniability that you're definitely, certainly, one hundred and fifty per cent heterosexual.

Dustin stopped where he was. A Badger bumped into him from behind, he'd stopped so suddenly, and she asked him to be more careful.

"Sorry," he said, absent. He'd done everything right by his ex. Everything. She didn't think he was interested enough.

Dustin didn't keep walking. He'd reached his destination, after all. In front of him, he saw the door number, and looked behind him, and saw the street name. The black brick buildings were tall and familiar. L.P. really had been sharing information in that trance.

The young man reached out and pressed the apartment number's buzzer.

"Hello," came a not-familiar voice at the other end. "He texted me saying you might come. C'mon up."

The door clicked open.

Tentatively, feeling that excited fear again, Dustin stepped inside the ratty apartment building. He climbed the dilapidated stairs, all but destroyed by years without any upkeep. There were cobwebs everywhere, intensifying the shadows in the stairwell. It was only even lit from the windows, the streetlights outside.

Why was he here?

Same reason as always.

He climbed the stairs to the apartment, and opened the door. It was an attic, and there were thick silk ropes strung about the ceiling and the rafters. In the centre, some thinner ropes draped down... the pattern was familiar. This was the place of the pair of Orb Weavers from the big show at the Funnel. He'd picked up their address from L.P.'s mind.

"Hey," he said, wondering where they were.

"Hi," the two said, almost in unison, above him. They were sitting on the ceiling, having coffee off one of those hanging tables.

"I'm not sure why I'm here?"

"Our pal told us you looked about a bit in his memory," one said.

"And that he saw us in yours," said the other.

"That still doesn't explain why I'm here."

Go on, Dustin.

"You decided to come, so you tell us!"

Say it.

"Do you guys need any help?" Dustin offered, feebly.

"Just come up here," the one nearest the window said, as he dropped a silk rope down.

"Up there?" Dustin took hold of the rope, and tugged. He tried to pull himself upwards with both hands. All that happened from him trying to climb it was clinging and swinging.

"Is that how you climb, then?"

"Needs help, this one."

"A lot of help."

Dustin kicked off his shoes and tried to grip it more, but all he ended up doing was shoving his toes between glue-covered fibres and getting his fet stuck in it. He fell backward, nearly hitting the floor or twisting his ankle, but one of the two was suddenly underneath him, helping his brother lift Dustin up into the rafters.

"You can box-jump for us," the one pulling said.

"Change you a little," the lifting one said, "then change ya back."

"Can I..." Dustin paused. It was what he'd always wanted - but could he say it?

He could.

"Could you make me into a bee?"

"Certainly."