FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

~ The hallways of the deep space way point station were always a crowded bustle of the recreational travelers transferring ships, visiting the many frivolous shops, or simply lingering about. Through the crowds, a fairly short fox slipped along with his well worn backpack and cassette player hanging heavily on his hip. He presented up a barrage of "Excuse me, Ma'am", and "Might kindly, Sir", ducking and bobbing amongst the shuffle towards the food court. This fox, clearly labeled with a "My Name Is: Greg. SAY HELLO" sticker on his ragged shirt, moved with a sense of urgency to meet with an old friend.

~ Breaking loose from the constrained crowds and into the more open room of the chow hall, it was immediately clear where his friend was seated. For a radius of about twenty feet from a particular spot against the far wall there were only folks calmly eating in clothes that bore the sickly white tinging about the edges that come from being many times washed in the station Laundro-Clave. Reclining in his chair, the basilisk waved to the fox with a beckoning gesture. "Oye! Linda! Over here!", he called out with the disharmonious tone his kind were known for. Several of the tourists seemed to jump, and one dropped a tray of food.

~ The fox slid up to the table in an exaggerated trot, tossing his backpack onto the chair. "Laying it on a bit thick, I think, ya' old bird?", pointing up to the light gauze the basilisk had wrapped around his head. His eyes were visible as a soft green glow through the material, which seemed to flicker in time with the deep belly laugh that followed. One tourist dove under a table. "We can't all go for subtly around here...", leaning close to get a look at the fox's name tag before raising his hands to do air quotes around the name, "Greg."

~ "Bah. Lots a' folks get kind of twitchy with magic they know about being about on their transports.", the fox flopping down into a chair. As he relaxed, Linda's illusion sloughed to the floor, the fox abruptly a jackalope wearing only a pair of blue jeans, a cassette player hung from his hip, and a matte black vest bearing a very tarnished silver star. "Port officials mostly care about how legitimate your papers are; they don't care much about your person." He shrugged, his exhaustion from the trip quite visible in the absence of a fox's image to wear.

~ "I took the liberty of ordering for you; I trust you like stuff that's all potato-y.", the basilisk volunteered while Linda recouped his vigor. "I've not seen you in years; what's the business like, and who's that fox you were playing to be?", waving to one of the waitstaff to bring over the tray of variously adorned Tato-Totoes while he gave the jackalope pause to reply.

~ Linda regarded his hands for a moment, "Been mostly traveling. I figured who's it is that's make 'her' so angry, now I want to find that owl and figure out the why of it all.", his gaze rose to meet the basilisk's, "Greg was a friend of mine, years ago before we launched off the rocks to the stars. We traveled a leg, and he gave more than I'd like to keep me safe on that last occasion.", his long ears drooping. The waitstaff arriving to lay the a tray of processed potato-hunks drenched in copious colors of sauce before each of them, leaning over to direct a flirtatious wink to the basilisk before she slunk back off towards the kitchens. "And you, how's the 'spice' business?", Linda inquired of his friend once the excitement of potential eavesdroppers were away.

~ The basilisk gave a calm shrug, "The legit side, doin' just fine. The lucrative side, as described. Turns out not many folks want to pick a fight with me, so long as I don't start any trouble they're all fine to let me keep the 'spices' flowing." He leaned down to start delicately picking out bits of flavor with his fork, "It is nice to see you, again. It's been too long since I've seen those antlers of yours; they don't ever seem to show in the pictures on the news."

~ Linda grinned a bit, "Yeah; I usually keep busy. I'm glad to cross your path, even if this is what's technically food around here.", nudging a cylinder of potato about with his own spoon. Sauce seemed to be leaking out from the ends. The calm silences found in old friendships settled in over the meal, each relaxed before the other.