FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Int' there wi' ye!"

He felt a boot covered foot push him into the cell's dusty floor from his lower back, just above his tail. He began the terrible process of spitting out the dirt that got trapped in his mouth.

'Just had to get caught once again, didn't ya?' he asked himself.

When he got the majority of the taste of dirt out of his mouth, he stood up and mindlessly dusted himself off, although nothing could get the dirt out of the rags they shoved him into, he was successful with his orange and black striped arms.

Groaning, he took a seat next to the iron bars of the door. They may be slightly rusted, but a single solid kick proved the strength still inherent in them.

As he shuffled to get into as comfortable a position one could get on solid stone, and reminisced on how exactly it all ended up here...

~ ~ ~

Flashback:

"So you're taking the contract?"

"You question me?"

"This is something I'd hire a professional for."

"I am."

_A rolled up piece of parchment, sealed by twine. _

"Fine. Once you read it and memorize the target, burn this. You have 2 days. When I hear about this, the payment will be behind this brick."

~ ~ ~

He memorized the target at the tiny safehouse he had, burning the precious parchment with the open candle's flame. He wished he could use it for more purposes, but that is what the contractor wanted.

Some noble who stuck his claws into the wrong loaf of bread, probably.

He stood up from the small desk he had shoved into this tiny hole, and picked up the hard cured leather cone that held his tool of the trade. He hooked the cone on his back, securing it with the dulled buckle on his chest, pulled the mail-reinforced hood over the back of his head and placed the protective mask over his muzzle and face.

With the set-up complete, he left the safehouse to complete the contract.

Flashback End

~ ~ ~

He did kill who he needed to kill, but he dashed the opportunity to escape to save his tool of the trade, since it escaped the cone it was meant to be secured it.

It cost him a few nights in this cell.

Temporary confiscation of his stuff. At least he did burn the contract, like he was asked to.

Still doesn't feel nice to be caught.

He sighed heavily, pushing his head harder against the iron bars.

Just a few cold nights in this tiny hell. At least he was closer to the heat than where the thin blanket is.

~ ~ ~

He's spent the few nights in the cell, his skin clinging tighter to his bones as when he left, his fur dirty from the cell.

He had all his stuff given back, all bundled up. His armoured mask was laid atop the bundle, and his tool was still within the cone. He'll check it for reckless damage later.

Right now, he'll be checking if his payment's still there.

Ducking into an alleyway, he got most of his attire on, hooking his mask on his belt, next to his backup dagger.

He made his way snaking through the alleys of this city, getting to the point he met the contact for his hidden payment, remembering the brick they tapped. He saw the gouge and hooked his claws into behind the brick.

He saw the pouch there, reaching towards it and feeling the weight of it.

He hummed, it seemed a little light. He'll count it in the safehouse.

'I just hope that none of it has been taken.'

~ ~ ~

He threw the pouch onto the desk, sighing heavily and put his head into his paws.

Hardly anything.

'How can I keep...?' he asked himself mentally.

He punched the desk's corner so hard he snapped it off. Annoyed, he picked up the piece and threw it at the safehouse's wall.

Maybe he'd just go another day hungry.

Tail hanging, he curled up uncomfortably into the space allocated for a bed, pulling the rough blanket over him.

'It's all for you, Skye,' he thought as he began the long journey to sleep.

~ ~ ~

POV changed. The next day

A gryphon, purple furred accented with brown, and adorned with chequered red and blue wings, head held high proudly and walking with an aura of regality, a longsword hung on his hip with his travel-worn noble clothes, his crest on a scrap of linen hung on his belt.

He skimmed through the diamond pigeonholes filled with parchment, looking for a certain something in these here Archives.

He's lived centuries for this.

He looked left and right, noting that no one was watching him. He took out the one parchment that he was looking for, and unfurled it where he stood.

'Ah, this ancient language of mine,' he thought, reading the manuscript.

"A deceptive hybrid, who holds a staff and bears a personal burden and terrible choices.

A non-killing amalgamation, who uses geomantic powers and suffers for a grave mistake.

And one of our own kingdom, a survivor of the Royal Family from the greatest evil."

He nodded, taking care whilst rolling it back up, and placed it back into its pigeonhole. He went back the way he came, calmly walking past the unconscious Archivist at their desk.

Called for a desperate measure, unfortunately.