FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Let's set the scene. The room was dark, the windows covered by the industrial-strength bleach of the world of blinds (kills 99.9% of sunlight!) which made it very difficult to have any idea of the time of day or what the weather was doing beyond those walls.

There was, however, some illumination, though it was dim and was only being cast upon one corner of the room: LEDs behind the fans in a computer tower tucked up against the wall were slowly transitioning from red, to yellow, to green, to blue; but the main source of light was a pair of large monitors, mounted side by side at the foot of a large bed, casting ghostly shadows across its occupant.

The bed was surrounded on all sides by the detritus of foods and drinks which had sacrificed themselves to appease the local god. Empty soda bottles were congregated on a patch of floor within sight of the computer whose cycling colours were refracted onto the nearby walls in brand new hues dictated by the greens, blues, and...clears of the different plastics. A stack of plates a foot high teetered on the edge of the desk beneath the monitors, each decorated with artful streaks of various sauces, though none had yet crusted.

Further afield a veritable city of takeout receptacles had blossomed, seeming to be almost separated into neighbourhoods based on origin. The pizza boxes were scattered across a wide area of floor, bordered by their archnemesis: Chinese food. A plastic container holding a few stray grains of rice and some specks of a long-forgotten curry attempted to keep the peace between the two factions, though the Pad Thai remnants were wisely staying well clear of the friction.

Those gathered closest to the bed in adulation of their deity were the empty chip bags. Ready salted, salt and vinegar, barbecue, even sour cream and onion were all collected as a single worshipping mass, uncaring of their flavourful differences. Another member joined their congregation, fluttering down from above, welcomed into the fold without a second thought.

A rich belch confirmed the god's presence, much to the delight of the crowd below. The god himself, however, remained oblivious to everything happening beyond his world which consisted of a freshly opened party bag of mini-Mars, a mouse, a keyboard, and owning noobs as Draven.

"No healing for you!" Lucius sang, dealing irrevocable damage to a hapless newcomer to the arena.

The owl rewarded his skilful handiwork with one of those mouthfuls of chocolate, caramel, and nougat, chewing it up greedily as his hands returned to the controls.

Some would have said that not having a proper surface on which to rest his keyboard and mouse was a ridiculous disadvantage, but Lucius knew better: his gut was a truly excellent desk. It was undeniably true that it was rather softer and more prone to bouts of violent jiggling than was a table, but it was more than spacious enough for his needs and allowed him to recline in his exquisite bed while dishing out the pain online.

Lucius had recently taken to playing with a new meta: kills grant food, victories grant feasts.

"Good thing I'm so good at this game," he said to himself, tossing another couple of candy bars into his mouth to mark a fresh pair of kills, "I'd starve if I wasn't."

He stuck out his tongue, licking around his beak to retrieve any crumbs he might have missed, oblivious to the streak of chocolate extending halfway across his cheek.

On went the match, the owl's prowess showing itself every time he encountered a foe, all of whom were dispatched cleanly, their fates marked with another Mars. There was no question that Lucius was the best player in the game as he dealt out damage while dodging almost every hit aimed at his own character: playing at least twelve hours a day week in, week out for the past year or more was really starting to pay off.

The only hiccup came when he scratched the side of his belly: the subsequent wobbling ripples sent through his hundreds of pounds of feathery belly had his mouse sliding off and down the side of his bed. Fortunately he was able to hide his character in a seldom-visited corner of the map he knew like the feathers on his moobs (the backs of his hands were often lost in the gloom of his bedroom) while he fished the wireless rodent out of the canyon he now discovered to be littered with chocolate wrappers.

Inevitably the round ended with a victorious owl, earning him yet another 'feast' that day; this time it was two litres of ice cream from the mini freezer built into the surrounding structure of his bed. As this would require too much investment from his fingers to really allow for continued gaming, he instead joined another ongoing match as a spectator.

Nestling the tub in the crevice between his chest and belly, he began to spoon chilly, creamy, sugary goodness into his mouth while berating the apparently inferior players for their ineptitude.

"You could have blocked that, idiot!" he cried to no one in particular as the hero he was following suffered a lethal attack from an opponent.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he returned to his ice cream. Meanwhile, his unoccupied claw had found his vast stomach - not a difficult feat - and was idly squeezing and shaking the roll of which it had taken hold, relieving a little of the stress brought on by watching 'casuals'.

The container was empty within minutes and was on the floor with several of its kin seconds later. Belching again with a beak liberally dotted with flecks of steadily melting ice cream his tongue was now seeking, he returned to the fray himself; time for a little lesson in League!