FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Staring at the same set of walls, sometimes, can be just as poisonous as whatever troubles the fur observing them.

Matthew Musk removed his glasses and tossed them haphazardly across his desk in his modest, one bedroom apartment, and rubbed at his eyes. The problem with life as a cloud architect, even one as skilled as he, was that it came with a lot of administrative overhead and expectation.

Namely, that one should account for the fact that developers would give no insight into upcoming projects and changes they planned to implement, but somehow mitigate any possible break in communication between environments. Or that they'd just spin up computing resources without configuring them to function in the right damn environment with respect to the enterprise network and systems.

Unfortunately, that sort of role didn't much care if the one in it suffered from anxiety. Or that such stress only compounded it.

The skunk leaned back in his chair, one of those fancy, expensive gaming chairs for comfort. Necessary when one had such shapely hips and, well, that tail.

Big and bushy. More than a few of the girls at work had giggled and teased him that he'd make just the perfect snuggle buddy in colder weather. That, surely, there must be a lady skunk lucky enough, no?

Or just any lady, one would inevitably quip, and send the lot of them into a smattering of giggles and titters and wonderings of what sort of lady friend he might like, and who knew a nice girl that would just adore a big, fluffy tail like his. The perfect thing to wrap around her back and pull in tight.

Yes. Yes, Matthew would certainly like that. Wanting such wasn't so much the problem as it was finding a way to, well, get there.

The first move was always such a pain.

Much like the first moments when the system alerts started popping up in the terminal and angry calls from users flooded the help lines.

And that call from higher up came down, straight to his personal cell phone. The name upon the screen never failed to make the fur on the back of Matthew's neck stand on end.

"Andrew Ryson - CIO"

Calls in the midst of alerts never boded well.

Matthew stood suddenly and rubbed at his eyes. "Stop it," he scolded himself gently, slowly dragging his hands down his black and white furred cheeks. The skunk sighed and flicked his bushy tail. The twin white stripes gracing his most prominent feature flashed a across his computer screen, reflected thanks to a fresh cleaning. "Just ... just stop it. Let it go."

Easier said than done. Anxiety did so love to grip him like a lamprey.

Again, he closed his eyes. It always came like this after Mr. Ryson yelled.

With a shake of his head, Matthew pulled his carmine polo over his head and tossed it haphazardly onto the bed. He strode over to the dresser, bare chested, and retrieved a verdant green t-shirt with "Preserve the L-Space" written across the face in neat silver script. Then, he kicked off the brown loafers he favored for work, and slipped into a nice set of charcoal gray shoes as he plucked his gray zip up hoodie from the rack.

A quick glance at his reflection in the mirror drew a satisfied nod. Matthew let his tail arch against his back, high, to show confidence. And maybe just a little to flirt.

Like it wouldn't lower just as soon as he caught a girl's eye.

Another shake of his head banished that line of thought. "Getting out. Getting out always helps. Wallowing just makes it worse," he muttered. The skunk turned to his bookshelf, frowning in thought as he mused which title appealed tonight. Reaper Malk. That was the ticket.

Matthew plucked the book from among its brethren and strode toward his front door, out into the sickly embrace of a humid Floridian summer night.

Thinking on it again, the skunk removed the sweater and hung it over his shoulder as he walked. Being a skunk this time of year was already hard enough. A sweater on this walk?

Well. He wasn't quite suicidal.

***

In all truth, the Chiller's chain of sports bars wasn't exactly the top of the top when it came to TexMex chains. Hell, it wasn't even that for sports bars. The recent change in atmosphere with the one nearest his apartment, the change from friendly, warm wooden bar counters polished to a shine to the more modern granite just felt wrong.

Granted, yes, the new counters had outlets for patrons to charge their phones--or, in his case, his laptop when he decided to come in and either do some work or just goof around on the internet with his friends. But still.

Matthew didn't like change. Not drastic change, at least.

The skunk greeted the hostess, a pretty young mountain lioness who fluttered her lashes and purred in reply, and shuffled off toward the bar so he might hide the slight pinking in his white cheek fur. The smattering of giggles she and her squirrel understudy gave was testament to his failure in that regard.

She loved to tease him. Quite a few of the girls here did.

Of course, his parents always claimed they weren't just teasing. They were flirting and wanted him to make a move, but that just seemed ... well, possible, yes. But the line between teasing and actual flirting was very fine.

Figuring out whether or not it was the latter and making a move just always seemed to elude him.

Matthew chose his favorite spot--situated around the opposite side of the U-shaped bar counter, nearly up against the corner so he could get a good look at the television sets to watch any hockey games that might be on, and in a position where not too many other furs tended to congregate. Well, except on Friday nights, but all bets were off then, so he couldn't really complain.

Tonight, of course, was a Friday. So getting here early helped.

Especially given Game One of the Eastern Conference Semifinals was about to start, and the hometown Thunder were about to host the Boston Revolution.

The regulars were all nice and so were the bartenders and servers. They let him sit and read his books or fiddle with his laptop, kept his tea full, and chatted sports whenever he was ready.

Sometimes, it felt like they were all just in someone's living room rather than out with a bunch of strangers.

"Hey there, Matty," Alice, a pleasantly plump otter, greeted from behind the counter. She propped her elbows on the counter and leaned in, showing off her Tampa Bay Thunder hockey shirt, just to tease him as one sports fan to another. "Thought we were gonna have to send a search party out for you after the first round finished up."

He rolled his eyes. "Things have been hectic at work. One client mess after another."

"Uh huh, sure." Her eyes glittered. "And the turnstile defense your Devil Dogs trotted out in Game Five didn't make you sick to your stomach, Mr. Former Goalie."

With a roll of his eyes and derisive flick of his tail, Matthew slid onto his chair, careful not to clothesline an oncoming server with the heavy, bushy appendage. "Sorry, Kim," he muttered to the ducking chipmunk.

Kim just laughed. "Gotta watch that thing, Matty!" she teased as she stood and sashayed toward another table with a tray full of drinks. "All that fluff's gonna get you into trouble!"

"Again" went unsaid between them. It was sort of a running joke, and not without good reason.

The front of house staff had affectionately labeled a working hazard, and wondered if they could get worker's compensation for a "Matty Tail Related Incident."

And said tail made things a bit tricky when it came to sitting at the bar, no matter how he loved it. Leaning back against the backrest had the unfortunate effect of ... well, pinching his own tail. No manner of fluff could guard against that.

So Matthew leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table, setting his book down on the mat Alice so kindly set out before he'd taken his seat. She knew the drill.

"Iced tea, unsweet?" she asked, arching a brow. "Or will I get to persuade you to drink something stronger with me again tonight?"

He thought about it for a moment, an ear ticking. "I think I'll pass for now." Matthew shook his head. "I try not to drink when stressed or having an, er--" he hesitated. "A moment."

Alice turned and nodded without missing a beat, and plucked a beer glass from the cooler. Ice and tea joined together in short order, much to the amusement of a couple of regulars down the way.

"You drink like a fish," a lioness teased in her deep New York accent, her husband snickering. "Pity we can never give you to drink more than a shot at a time."

Matthew sent a nod her way and thumbed to the first page of his book as Alice set his glass on a coaster, along with a couple packets of sugar. "Not sure if I'm doing queso dip tonight, Alice," he muttered over the edge of his book.

"You just let me know," he heard her call, while she moved off to the next customer who sat down. "Game One of the semis is coming up soon. I'd better hear you cheering Thunder."

"Cheering for them to get swept, definitely." He didn't even duck the straw she threw javelin style at his head, he simply grinned to himself.

Matthew busied himself, deftly setting about removing the straw from the wrapper and mixing sugar into his tea with one hand while the other held his book. He lifted his drink to his snout, pausing a moment to inhale and savor the familiar scent. A sense of calm settled over his shoulders like a warm blanket.

Tea never failed him. Hot or iced, tea always helped calm those voices whispering lies.

Whispers that always seemed to grow to a crescendo when things blew apart at work.

The skunk shook his head, banishing those thoughts so he might enjoy the first drink of tea, the first assault against anxiety's hold.

Out of the corner of his eye, Matthew could see other furs beginning to file into the bar, some garbed in Tampa Bay Thunder blue and white shirts, others in jerseys, and a smattering of hats between the lot of them. The regulars greeted the Chiller's staff with the sort of boisterous friendliness one could only find in the smaller suburbs, and exchanged similar greetings with one another as they settled into their usual places.

Idly, Matthew closed his book, holding his page with a claw inserted between the first and title pages, while a burly hound delivered a friendly slap upon his shoulder.

"Jeff," Matthew greeted with a slight wince. "At least you minded the tail this time."

Snorting, Jeff stepped past the skunk to join his wife a couple places down. "I still think you ought to register that thing as a lethal weapon," he quipped. "Didn't think something that soft could pack a punch if it flicked hard enough."

"I mean, memory foam pillows hurt more than feather pillows."

"Fair point." The hound grinned. "So, who you got this round?"

Ears perked and flicked in his direction. All the regulars knew he'd played for the better part of twenty years, and watched longer than that. In fact, the only reason he'd stopped was to give his knees a bit of a break and save up a bit to replace his old goalie mask.

Fourteen years was a pretty solid lifespan, really.

Matthew shook his head. "If Boston can bait Tampa, the Revolution will take it. But only if they can score on Yulikenov consistently. Also depends on which Hjordståd we see in net for them."

"How'd he do last round?" Jeff's wife, Anna, asked.

The skunk gave a shaky gesture with his hand. "Toronto ran up the score on him a couple times, but when you've got two generational talents on your first line, you'd better do it at least once."

"But we have Stark and Tikonov."

"And Erikson!" Alice was quick to remind them, twirling to show off her favorite rookie's surname spelled out between her shoulder blades.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Yes, half your forwards make the first or second line on any other team in the league. Your weakness will be your defense." He paused a beat, adding, "So, the opposite of Boston, basically. Either way. I'll be surprised if it's not a six game series, seven just to give Alice a heart attack."

The otter gave a one-fingered gesture in reply, sparking a chorus of laughter and mock applause from their audience.

One measure of victory. The only one he'd enjoy this postseason, at least.

He cracked open his book again and reached for his glass, his verdant eyes already skimming the first passage, bringing forth the visage of a tall figure garbed in a hooded robe blacker than a moonless, starless night, his bony fingers clutching the shaft of a scythe so sharp its edge seemed to glow with a haunting blue light. Sight alone should have told any who saw him, any unfortunate enough to hold an appointment with him, that it could cut through anything. Matter, sound, air ...

Death's scythe cut through all, indiscriminately. And those who came face to bony face with him should only wish they could run, just to steal away a few precious seconds.

Yet those standing opposite Death, those wispy figures in empty gray robes held no fear.

Why should the Auditors of Reality fear but a personification of Death conjured by mortal minds long before they even understood the notion of imagination?

They had come not to fight, but to deliver a verdict. The verdict.

Just as Death readied to give his response, the vow, Matthew knew, that he would not go quietly into the night, a merry tune sang out so loud it might as well have been the shrill shrieking of a klaxon, and jerked him straight out of that fantasy realm and back into his seat at the Chiller's bar.

Blinking, Matthew set his book down and reached into his pocket. His heart promptly leapt into his throat once he saw the name displayed on the screen.

"Andrew Ryson - CIO"

A chill ran down his spine, reaching to the very tip of his tail.

The skunk licked his lips and set his glass down, waving a little to get Alice's attention. Once their eyes met, he pointed to his phone and mouthed "I have to take this."

She nodded knowingly and gave him a thumbs up. She'd keep an eye on his place. Not that anyone would actually steal his book.

Certainly not with a crowd of regulars like this.

Matthew quickly strode toward the to-go area and ducked out the side takeout door. He took a deep breath, then pressed the green "answer" icon. "Hello," he greeted.

"Hey, Matt," the bulldog on the opposite end of the line greeted. "It's Andrew. Do you have a minute?"

"Of course," came Matthew's reflexive response.

"Good, good." There was a slight pause. Then came a sigh. "Listen, I had a talk with a couple of the big bosses a little bit ago about that dust-up today, and they ... look, we both know I shouldn't have lost my temper on you like that when you were working as fast as you could to find the problem. And they said the same and asked me to have a word with you about it on Monday, but I didn't feel it a good idea to wait the weekend."

Matthew blinked. "Er ... I didn't--I understand, it was stressful, but--"

"You've done good work since we brought you on two years ago," Andrew interrupted. "I knew that before I took on the CIO role, and I've put quite a bit of pressure on you to perform because of it. And you have."

"Uh. Thank you, sir."

"I trust you, I mean to say. And we recognize you've made great strides since joining," he continued. "And I just want to make sure you understand that we recognize that even if it seems like you hear from me about some problem or new policy, all right?"

His bushy tail flicking, Matthew brought the palm of his free hand up to his forehead. He could feel himself coming down, down off that anxious rush.

Plummeting like a rock.

"Thank you, sir," he repeated almost dumbly. "I'm just glad to know I'm helping."

The slight pause after his statement gave a vision of Andrew fixing him with a flat look.

"You're an asset to the team and the company," Andrew clarified. "And it's been noticed. Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. Thank you for the work you've done and continue to do, and thank you for performing well under pressure. Do me a favor and enjoy your weekend, okay? We're gonna have a talk on Monday with some of the big bosses--"

Matthew felt his anxiety shoot straight through the ceiling again.

"--A good talk, relax," Andrew added hastily. "Career advancement within the company. Look, it's good stuff and it's been in the works for a while, no need to sweat it or overthink it."

Wincing, the skunk ducked his head. "I wouldn't overthink it," he muttered.

He could almost sense Andrew rolling his eyes. "Uh huh. Well, enjoy your weekend and thank you. Oh, and Matt?"

Matthew waited.

Andrew snorted. "If you even think of siding against the Thunder, there will be trouble."

A laugh slipped forth from his lips before Matthew could stop himself. "Wouldn't dream of it, sir," he replied.

"Good. See you Monday morning."

A low tone chimed thrice in his ear, signaling that Andrew had ended the call.

Slowly, the fur on the back of his neck began to settle. Matthew's tail relaxed from its raised defensive posture and settled so it curled just behind the base of his skull as he let out a deep sigh.

Stars above, one of these days. One of these days, Matthew knew he'd end up working himself up into a coma. Or into another magic incident.

One of the two.

The skunk slid his phone into his pocket, closing his eyes while he drank in a deep, soothing breath through his nose. And held it.

His tail twitched once.

Matthew released that breath as a heavy sigh and covered his eyes with his hands. Slowly, he dragged them down his face, along his snout so he might stifle what could only be called a relieved groan.

"Great." He turned his gaze skyward, tracking a moonlit cloud drifting lazily across the sky. "I get to wonder what constitutes a good career advancement talk with C-suite furs all weekend. Spectacular."

His ears lowering, Matthew shook his head. He let himself drink in the slightly cooler, yet still humid night air--quite a far sight from trying to gulp down a breath in mid afternoon this time of year.

Once he was satisfied that he could breathe normally, without feeling as though he needed to keep sucking down air, Matthew turned and slipped back inside, pausing to hold the door open for a young dormouse couple with the broad, fanning curl of his tail. He let them pass by on their way to the to-go register, then returned to his place at the bar.

"Everything okay, Matt?" Alice asked over her shoulder.

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine." He rubbed at the bridge of his snout. Hell with it. "I'm gonna go ahead and do chips and queso, I think."

The otter nodded. He didn't have to see her face to know she was smiling knowingly. "Charging you double for being a Devil Dogs fan, though!" she quipped.

Without looking, he just shook his head and turned to take his seat again.

Naturally, that little turn was enough to turn into a disaster.

His large, bushy tail into a big fluffy weapon for the unsuspecting server trying to squeeze behind him. He heard a startled yelp, then the telltale clinking of glass as plates began to shift on tray and gravity snatched them out of the air.

Matthew moved quicker than any fur could blink and thrust his right arm out to hook Kim around the waist, catching her in mid fall. He flicked his left hand out, and tendrils of glittering green scent slithered forth from his tail and solidified just in the knick of time to catch the plates and cups and silverware just before they shattered against the ground. The food ...

Not quite.

He winced. His cheeks colored a rosy pink hue. Matthew could feel the patrons' eyes on him, all conversation came to a full halt.

Now, his ears lay flat against his hair. The food, at least, could just be swept or mopped off the floor.

Grimacing, Matthew squeezed his eyes shut. "Kim, I'm--" he stopped short and bit his lip. "I'm so sorry."

He heard the little chipmunk in his grasp giggle. "I told you all that fluff's gonna get you in trouble, Matty!" she teased. He felt her nose press against his cheek, her buck teeth tickling against his fur. "We're gonna have to do something about you knocking into me like this so often one day..."

Laughter and catcalls made that blush bleed a deep crimson into his fur. Matthew stood slowly and guided Kim to her feet, doing his level best to ignore the impish grin worn upon her face as his magic scent tendrils deftly deposited the tray into her waiting hands, and then neatly stacked the dishes atop it.

But he couldn't draw back before she stood on tiptoe to press her nose to his chin, then scurried back to the kitchen to a chorus of titters from a few of her fellow servers who'd stolen a moment to stop and watch. They grinned at him, one even winked before she ducked back into the kitchen to hide.

If a skunk could blush to the tip of his tail, Matthew felt his body was making quite the effort to see it done! He ducked his head as if he might hide his face behind his collar.

Worst of all, though, was how Alice just snickered.

"Not a word," he whispered as he slid into his seat. "Not one word."

"Mmm, I'll consider it." Her eyes practically glittered. "If I see you've put that book away to rep the proper team tonight."

His ears flattened. Matthew grumbled a few choice words under his breath as he took up his book again, and buried his nose in its pages.

At least Death wouldn't flirt mercilessly just to see that look on his face.