FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

He'd only been living on the coast for three months, barely, but already a part of Quinn was beginning to regret the decision. The sticky summer air clung to his dark gray fur as he made for his apartment on 23rd street, yellow eyes scanning the city. It was late, enough that the sun had gone down but the heat hadn't faded from the pavement, well past late enough that they said it was dangerous to be out on the streets. But then he was probably part of the reason the streets were so dangerous.

It's just a job, he thought to himself as he walked. Just a job interview.

But this thought was immediately drowned by logic, because of course he knew it wasn't just a job. He glanced around, even though his nose told him no one was out on the street, not for a few blocks. Then he pulled out the scrap of paper, given to him earlier that day by a passing tiger shark.

334 Amethyst Avenue

10:30 PM

Don't be late.

This was the first and only message they had given him. He didn't even know who "they" were. It was all very cloak and dagger, but that was the way things ran in this part of the world. He'd moved out to Ocean Point CA not just because of the ocean part, but because it was a drug-ridden, crime-filled cesspool of a city, the kind of place no one wanted to be, and the kind of place he would thrive. Or so he hoped.

He shoved the crumpled piece of paper back into his pocket and saw the door, walking up and jamming the intercom button for Apartment 12. He waited the typical 20-30 seconds it took for the landlord to get off his ass. No answer. He buzzed again. He waited. There was a sound that was either static or a heavy sigh.

"What?" the voice grumbled.

"Roland, it's me," Quinn said.

"Who's 'me'?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Quinn," he said. "Chase."

Another sigh, then the buzzer, and the metal clank of the gate unlocking. He only got the thing halfway open before the intercom crackled again, making him jump.

"Oh, and hey, there's some stuff in the hall outside your door, if you could bring it inside so nobody, you know, steals it, that'd be great."

Quinn slumped, letting out a small groan of frustration.

"'Stuff'?" he said, holding the button, then releasing. There came no answer. He heaved a heavy sigh, turning and making his way into the building.

Sure enough, there was a haphazard pile of what he could only think to describe as random junk, sitting outside the door to his apartment. There was a cardboard box, a guitar case, a plastic bag with random laundry—dirty, from the smell—a bright orange surfboard, and two old Fender amplifiers. Quinn sighed heavily, again.

"Fuck," he groaned. He remembered. Yesterday, Roland had lumbered down to his apartment and told him, in a very asking-but-not-actually-asking way, that he'd be getting a new roommate. Roland's niece, or stepdaughter, or something. He didn't want to draw any unfair conclusions based just on the junk, but an image entered his mind of a big bovine lady lounging about the space he'd once kept to himself, horns scraping the doorways, hooves pounding against the floor with every step, playing loud music at all hours. Great for his lupine ears. Roland had a master key, he couldn't have moved all this into the apartment himself?

Quinn bent and took the handles of each of the two speakers, figuring he'd get the hardest stuff moved in first. He grunted, hoisting them, then remembered he'd need to unlock the door.

"Shit, fuck."

He set the speakers down, shoved a hand into his pocket, and fished out the apartment key, then jammed it into the rusty lock with a metal crunch, and turned it. He shoved the door so hard he felt sure the door jam would break, but it miraculously held up.

The lonely, ugly, yellow couch sat in the center of the living room, facing the small flatscreen perched on a table. The kitchen sat off to the left, consisting of a rusty old oven that he didn't dare use in the summer, a series of cabinets packed with non-perishables, and a minifridge he'd bought himself after an extended conversation with Roland about whether a refrigerator could be considered an amenity. His bedroom was off to the right, shower and bathroom to the right of that. It was small and cramped. But it was enough. For now.

It only took him five minutes to move everything inside, but contrary to what he'd first thought, the speakers weren't nearly as heavy as the cardboard box. He didn't want to pry, but he did glance into the box and raise an eyebrow at what he saw. Biology textbooks? Weird thing for a guitar-playing surfer cow girl to have. He shook his head, trying again not to draw conclusions.

***

It was 10:45.

For the millionth time, Quinn glanced up at the street signs a block down. Amethyst Ave.—he was in the right place. But they were fifteen minutes late.

"Shit," he muttered. "What the fuuuck?"

He heard someone coming, shoes scraping the pavement. They were trying hard to stay quiet, but not quite succeeding, kicking up tiny pebbles. They were less than a block away. He turned and saw a fox, a young guy, scrawny and unassuming, walking toward him. Was he wearing Minecraft merch? Not what he expected from a gang of hardened criminals, but maybe that was the whole point.

"Hey!" the fox said, his voice light. "I-I uhh... I was paid $200 to give you this!"

His little black paw held out a note. Hesitantly, Quinn took it.

"I swear, I didn't read it!" the fox said, not meeting his eyes.

"Uh... thanks," Quinn said.

The fox's light green eyes met his for a fraction of a second.

"I needed the money, don't judge!" he said, quickly scampering away.

Baffled, Quinn opened the folded scrap of paper.

Met with complications. Will contact you when job reopens.

His heart sank.

"Shiiit," he growled, crumpling it. He looked at it again, then growled, "Damn it. Fuck."

He stormed all the way back to his apartment, tossing the paper in a drain on the way. He had to buzz Roland three times before he answered, and by then they were both pissed.

He slammed his door open, shoved it shut, and gave a long glare at the random junk on his way to the couch, then collapsed onto the cushions. The guitar case and surfboard were leaned against the back of the couch, the speakers and the cardboard box stacked beside them, and the laundry bag he'd tossed into the corner, as far away from his nose as he could get it.

After a moment, he pushed himself angrily up off the couch. Fuck it. If today was going to be this much of a pain in his ass, he'd be a pain in someone else's. He had a right to be angry this random person's shit was cluttering up his space when they weren't even here.

He pounded on the door to Apartment 12. He was about to do so again when it swung open.

Quinn was greeted with the familiar sight of the landlord, a big bull with a rolling beer gut and massively muscular arms, all covered in coarse brown fur, which in turn was covered in a white t-shirt that was too small for its owner and a pair of torn and faded jeans. Two dark green eyes glowered down at him.

"What is it this—"

"When exactly is this friend or kid of yours or whatever supposed to show up?" Quinn cut off.

Roland scoffed, a spray of spit misting Quinn's muzzle.

"My niece, not my kid," he said. "Step-niece."

"When is she—"

"She gets here when she gets here," the bull said, waving a hand. Quinn opened his mouth to protest, but the door had closed. He growled in frustration and went back to his apartment.

***

A week later, he was still waiting. He went back to the spot, at the right time, five nights in a row, but nothing happened. He was running out of money, fast, and that pit in his stomach was growing. Desperation was creeping back.

He found himself scanning the streets, looking for a lone car he could jack, someone gullible enough to scam, anything. There was nothing.

When he'd come to the city, he was sure he'd found the right people, asked the right questions, and greased the right palms. He'd gotten word out that he was available, shared his skills and experience, a much harder thing to do than applying somewhere legal. But there was nothing. By his calculation, between rent and food, he had a week left.

Someone shoulder checked him and he turned to curse at them, only to find a piece of paper in his hand. He unfolded it, not caring who saw.

9:15 PM

2045 Serenity Road

Don't be late.

"Fucking yes," he breathed. "Finally."

He just hoped they could follow their own advice this time.

There was a spring in his step as he headed back to the apartment, though he tried not to get his hopes up. This time, he thought, this time he'd have it for sure. No way the universe would fuck with him again.

He immediately cursed himself for thinking that, because now of course the universe probably would fuck with him.

***

"Roland, it's Quinn, buzz me in."

He cringed internally at the accidental rhyme, but it would be harder than that to dampen his spirits now. Roland buzzed him in without comment, and on his way up the stairs, he thought about how strange it was that he'd been so nervous about the same job just a week ago. Funny how a little time and the slow encroaching threat of starvation did things to change the mind.

He unlocked the door and practically threw it open, kicking it closed with a slam that was louder than he intended, but he didn't care. Then he froze.

He smelled something—someone—in his apartment. His whole body reacted to the scent first; it had the sharp edge of a predator, the pheromones of another species. But it was a species he knew, and his heart leapt at the scent: shark.

The next thing to register with his brain was that the guitar case and amplifiers had been moved, and his heart didn't so much leap as do a backflip in his chest as it clicked that this must have been the roommate. There was a wooden squeak from his right, a sound he'd heard dozens of times by now: the floorboard right in the doorway between his bedroom and the living room. He turned and this time his heart full on stopped.

The first thing he saw was her short hair, dyed sky blue with purple highlights. It matched her eyes, which were also blue, gazing seductively at him under half-closed lids colored with purple eyeshadow. Her skin was a stony blue-gray, with little enough blue to stand out from her hair and eyes, but her belly and chin were pure white. A smirk curved along her snout as she saw him, and those blue eyes held his for a moment before he broke the contact, glanced up to see her sharp fin-like ears, each adorned with a series of gold piercings.

His eyes swept lower, and she paused there in the doorway, leaning against the frame with one heavily tattooed arm going up behind her head and the other going to her hip. He saw her black crop top, the strap slipping off one shoulder—God, that killed him—and a pair of equally black short shorts. And below that was a tantalizing set of dark fishnet stockings, the lines crisscrossing over yet more ink on her thighs. All together, her outfit wasn't hiding much more than a bikini would, apparently designed to reveal as much skin as possible.

"You're..." he started but couldn't finish.

"Yup." She pushed out her lips to add a pop to the P at the end. "And you're in luck, roomie..."

She strode forward, her clear scent growing stronger, and he was hit by the familiar smell of his own shampoo. Not that he minded her using it.

Her hand reached up and stroked the fur under his chin, and she leaned in, her breath a cool breeze in his ear as she whispered, "I've got a thing for wolves."

His heart began to pound. This was too good to be true. She walked around him and he saw her long, thick tail swinging back and forth behind her. God, that tail.

"Do you?" he asked, turning and propping his elbows up on the back of the couch as she went around it. He was trying to keep his cool.

"Oh, yeah," she purred. She knelt on the cushions, coming face-to-face with him, and drew in a long breath through her nose. "Big time."

"That works out," he said, "'cuz I've got a huge thing for sharks."

He was very into sharks. But punk sharks? He was practically head over heels. Her sharp teeth gleamed as she broke into a wide grin, one he matched.

"Yeah?" she asked, the question coming from deep in her throat.

"Hell yeah," he breathed. Her nostrils flared, her blue eyes more intense than ever.

"Well, what're we gonna do about that?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper now. He could hear her heartbeat too.