FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

People who try to compare hunting to dating have never done anything wrong in their entire lives. They also, probably, really suck at dating.

You'll hear it in their voice, the way they oh-so-wistfully talk about the thrill of the chase, the wait, the game they play with their intended. Like trying to coerce someone into liking you is in any way comparable to really hunting, or getting as close to it as our feral cousins would see.

The heist, now... that's the hunt. There's the long, aching wait, when you almost sheer your claws into blunt tips from tapping on every flat surface, when your spine and shoulders and the base of your tail have gone numb because all your energy is focused on every conversation around you at once. There's picking out your prey, your mark, and studying their every move, knowing their every weakness. There's the approach, knowing which truths to tell and stories to make up, which person to slip a name to and which ones just need a twenty.

And then there's the theft, the snatch and grab, the sheer thrill of holding something in your paws that the law tells you you can't have. That is the game.

Too bad I'm still stuck at the 'waiting' part.

I shouldn't have let my brother pick out the coffee shop for me to watch the gallery from, because this place fucking blows. They're playing some goddamn classical crap on the speakers and not, like, actual fucking music I can hum under my breath. And there's art in my latte. Do I look like I want art on the foam of my latte? No, I just want more sugar, but I doubt that this place would just hand me their container of organic cane sugar that I can smell they have in the back.

I sigh, taking another bitter sip of my stupid latte and flipping through the pages of my tabloid, grateful for my night vision as the dim lighting and streetlight would be killing me otherwise. Not only does the coffee suck, but this place is also the spot for every college kid that wants to try to crawl into someone's pants. Actually, I think I'm the only single fox here, because everyone else is seated as a couple, or hell, even three people staring at each-other all moody-eyed.

Go fucking figure. Like people don't give me enough glances, being a cross fox taking the darkest corner in an already dark place for her nefarious schemes, but I'm also clearly, achingly single. I make sure my head fur covers up the tiny golden horns that mark my hybrid status-- still not as bad as my brother, and trust me, I'm thankful for it-- as I glance at everyone over the pages of my tabloid. It's archaic, but it's also easier to watch people with a huge piece of paper in front of my muzzle than a small phone, where it becomes really obvious when I'm not staring at the screen.

Let's see, two lions on a date, the three seated are a zebra, a gazelle, and a mountain goat, and the couple near the big bay windows consists of a wolf and a coyote. Oh, the coyote's cute, she's pretty easy on the eyes. Her date looks like he was almost pretty and then smashed his muzzle into a plate full of ugly. It's a shame, really. Tends to happen with wolves more often than not.

I get an itch on the back of my neck when the wolf looks at me, and I realize I must have been staring for too long as I look back at my tabloid, and my phone nestled at the base of it, scrolling through text from my brother. He's been scouting the place we're going to hit for four days now, and if he doesn't notice any kind of change now, we're going to hit the gallery and clean it out tonight.

A shiver travels up my spine as I fight a grin, my tail wagging underneath me. We're so close to the hunt that I can just about smell the old oils of the paintings and feel the rough canvas on my paws. If we're really, really good, then we'll be in and out of there in a sec, breaking the alarms and leaving not a scrap of fur.

If we're bad.... Well, I don't like to think of when we're bad. But sometimes, it's good when we're bad. Downside, the more blood we leave behind, the bigger our trail gets.

And I don't want someone to find us. I don't want to think about what might happen if he did.

The text messages from my brother stop, and I frown. I let the tabloid fall as I text him: broski, heeeelllloooo??? I'd add emoticons, but these burner phones don't even have that equipped in them. Such shit. Too bad everything that's "smart" has enough trackers to find us even if we're hiding in an underground bunker-- and yeah, that's a whole other story I'm not going to get into. But I blame my brother for it.

No response yet. I huff, tapping my phone on the table, and lift my gaze to the cafe again. I really, really needed some better social camouflage-- I'm kind of envious of how easily the couples here go about their day, and none of them earn as many glances from the barista as I keep getting, as he's seated behind some trying-to-be-hipster-but-it-just-looks-lazy wrought iron thing with glass displays of seed pastries. Or from that damn wolf. Seesh, lay off a girl, why don't you? I roll my eyes for his benefit, lift my gums enough to show a fang, and then get up from the table to head to the bathroom.

The one good thing about this location is that the bathroom faces the art gallery we're going to hit, and as I stand in the third stall and poke my muzzle at the window, I can actually see the entrance and the side alley. I start scanning, and when I don't see my brother emerging, I huff and sit back down, pawing my phone. The bathroom door opens, and I stay in my stall as I listen to someone pad across and stop at the sink, and then huff as she takes out a phone, the furious sound of her texting echoing. I slip out of the stall and see it's the coyote, holding a little clutch as her tail bristles.

"Stupid ex, I hope he fucking chokes," She grumbles, hitting her touch screen with force. She looks up when she notices me and yelps. "Oh, uh--"

"Hey, no need to explain." I lift my paws and flash her a smile I think is charming, but I'm not really sure. "Been there, done that, cracked a phone or two," I say.

I lie so well even I almost believe that.

The coyote laughs, her tension easing off her. "Yeah, it's... dating is great, isn't it?" I thought she was just going to go back to her date, but her ears are tilted toward me and so is her whole body, and hot damn does she look great in that off-shoulder top, and oh, fucking shit fuck, this is the part where I'm supposed to have a story about my dating life.

Okay, the best lie is the one that's closest to the truth. So... what truth do I have that I could twist to be about my dating life?

Well, there was the one time where I talked a security guard into giving me his passcode, and as soon as I had it, I cracked his skull on a banister.

No, okay, uh... Oh, there was the horse with his wife, and I spilled my wine on his shirt while screaming about how my (fake) boyfriend dumped me so he would be distracted while my brother disarmed the security system and plunged the gala into darkness.

Nope, okay, there was the time where it was my birthday, and I had to hold up a gas station all by myself because my brother got shot in the leg and we knew the police were coming after us, and the ocelot staring at me from the counter looked so scared, so petrified, because I had blood on my paws and the sirens sounded so loud in my ears, the gun shook in my hand, and--

"Men, right?" I say, with a smile. It's too much fang after too much silence, because I see my reflection in the mirror and I can only see white against my black fur, gleaming and sharp.

"Yeah," the coyote says, but she's leery now. She takes a step to go out, and out of impulse, I step beside her.

"I mean, your date might be okay," I say, "But your ex probably deserves it." I get a look at her clutch: it has no labels on it. There's an outline in it, like there's only one object in it, and it's only ever held one object.

When you're a hunter, you have to follow your instinct. Mine right now was screaming at me.

Her hackles rise, but she nods. "I should... probably be getting back to him," she says, starting to edge away from me.

I remember the way her boyfriend looked at me, stared at me, and continued to stare even as I left my table.

I put my arm out and block her in. She freezes. I'm shorter than her, but I slide right up to her and she may as well be forced to look up at me.

"Your boyfriend out there is a real piece of work," I start, smoothly. I see her paw tremble on her phone, and it's so achingly easy for me to pluck it out of her grasp and drop it in the sink. "Was he watching me too?"

"I, I--" she starts, and tries to move around me. I move again, and my hackles lift.

"Was it his idea to follow me in here," I growl, "Or yours?"

"Please--" She whines, and I press forward. She trips over her own tail, and stumbles to steady herself on the counter. I use the momentum to kick her ankle, and she falls hard against the counter, and I hear the woosh of the air leaving her lungs. When she's distracted, I snatch her clutch, and she lets out a growl, and this time her demure voice is gone. I open the clutch, catch my paw in my shirt, and use it to pull out the hand gun.

Fucking. Figures.

She's all piss and vinegar when she glares at me, and I keep my front to her as I back up into the stall and drop the gun into the toilet. She'll fetch it as soon as I'm gone, but this is going to delay her little vigilante justice. "Fucking thought I saw you down the street from this place," I growl. "What, you saw a fox and you and your partner out there thought you could catch me in the act?"

"What act?" She snarls, and as she moves to brace herself on the sink, I see the wire in her tan fur. "I saw a fox, and the station has been alight with thefts all over this city-- someone matching your description."

I lurch forward, and she tries to catch me, but I'm far quicker than this police bitch gives me credit for. I bash her muzzle and rip the wire right off her, and she snarls as she tries to snatch it. I elbow her in the stomach, and as she goes down I place a paw on her spine and press her into the tile.

I whistle, bouncing the wire in my paw. "Damn. And here I was almost worried." Ripping off a scrap of my shirt, I rub the wire down, and then toss that too into the toilet. "Let me guess, first little undercover work, you and your partner been planning this for a few days now, huh?"

She growls and tries to thrash, and I kick her in the ribs. That makes her yelp and shut up for a few seconds. I grin over her, leaning down into her ear as I whisper. "You're not as subtle as you think you are, sweetie."

"And you're not as clever," she growls, and tries to throw me into the stall. I'll admit, she's got more strength than me, and she manages to toss me, but I recover my balance quick. Her not-boyfriend bursts in by then, and I see him reaching for something on his side.

Such a shame for him that I have quick fingers like my brother.

The coyote didn't notice when I lifted the pepper spray from her, and now both of them get hit with the business end of it as I cover my muzzle and eyes with my shirt. Judging from their howls and yelps, I got them both good.

I bum rush her partner, ripping off his wires and his phone, and with a hop, skip, a jump, and a middle finger, I'm out the window and on the street. My paws hit the pavement, and my phone buzzes then.

Good to go, the message reads. Well, hey, my brother didn't fuck up this time.

I look at the police trappings in my paw, and I grin.

This is the hunt.