FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The cow jolted awake, eyes darting all across her surroundings. She was still in the same bed, in the same room, everything appearing just the same as they were before closing her eyes that night. The warm layers of fabric that covered her body shifted as she sat up at the edge of the mattress. Her fur still felt soft as she smoothed it with her palms, and her hair was unmatted and slightly heavy with conditioner. The world was the same world as the cow had left it, and she was left with few doubts concerning her sanity. Everything was far too lucid and consistent, down to the small red cut on her forearm and the distinct scent of wolf that lingered in the room.

Roland, she figured, must have left the room sometime while she slept. She slid off the bed and approached the door, careful not to slip on the sleek floor with her sock-covered hooves. On the floor just ahead lay a small sheet of paper, and upon further inspection, she found that it was inscribed in ink with a few brief scribblings of various symbols.

The cow frowned. Clearly, the note was left for her, and yet, the message itself remained fully indecipherable. It must have slipped the author's mind that literacy was not a privilege in which her caste was allowed to partake. Either that, or he was simply mocking her. She allowed the paper to fall from between her loose fingers and drift back towards the floor.

There was always a line that she was so careful not to cross. With some nobles, it was clear cut and defined for all to see. One knew their place without question. Though with others, the line became so thin and so blurred such that they seemed to make a game of breaking these typically strict boundaries-- a game in which you were the sole participant with something to lose. To step too far and to become too familiar while playing the game was to be ripped violently back to reality, the misstep surely never to be repeated again. Some of them were tricky like that, and the cow felt a wave of dread wash over her, knowing very well that she may be playing the game.

She didn't know whether she was to stay in her room until commanded, or come out promptly to await her new instructions. Yet, she felt inclined to take the small leap. It was still a small, calculated risk, and she could safely anticipate only minor consequences to the already-established blurring of the lines this early into her stay. Gaging the unwritten rules was imperative to learning exactly how not to break them later. A slap on the wrist in the beginning was far more bearable than what could await further down the line for the same crime.

The cow left her socks behind. They wouldn't do her any favors when descending the stairs. She peered down the hallway with the door open just a crack. As suspected, it was empty. She exited the room, and navigated slowly across the threshold and then down the steps. The house felt so much bigger than it did when she first walked about its premises. Fully rested and now keenly observant, she took in the sweeping expanses of wall, floor, and ceiling. It reeked of wealth, simply less so than the governor's abode. Though unlike his, this house felt old, and not old in the sense of a grand preservation that stood fast and strong against the wear of time. Rather, it was quite the opposite. Modern installments of technology and furnishing were almost clumsily merged together with the weathering remains of a long forgotten empire. Real wood floors, dusty and scratched in some spots from lack of care, clashed with the artificial blue light that shone down upon its surface. Oil paintings hung between vast computer interface panels affixed to the wall. Sparkling tables of natural stone were littered with the occasional discarded plastic packaging or a remote control. It was a disharmony juxtaposed with the memory of Tyson's perfected marriage of tradition and innovation.

She stopped just short of a corner which gave way to the kitchen, the door to its entrance left slightly ajar. The sound of footsteps, quick rustles, and gentle thumps resonated from just beyond it. She peeked into the kitchen for only a brief moment before retreating back into the shadows as her presence was made known.

"Finally awake?" Roland called from the other side.

The cow gulped, stepping forward into the light. Roland stood beside the kitchen's central island as he stirred honey into a cup of coffee.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said meekly.

"Don't apologize. Take a seat in the dining room and I'll be along shortly."

She nodded and hurried into the next room. A long black table stretched its length, accompanied with several chairs along its sides and at each end. Above it hung a glittering black chandelier, and below it, a deep red rug. She heaved herself up onto a seat on the long side and waited. It felt strange to sit here, as if she were a dirty utensil mistakenly stuck into a drawer of clean silverware. She did not belong nor deserve a seat made only for those of the purest breed.

Roland soon entered the dining room, gracefully balancing his mug upon a platter in one hand, and a platter with its own respective glass on the other. He set it all down onto the table and took a seat across from the cow. She examined what she assumed was to be her breakfast as he pushed it towards her. Beside the glass of water lay two pieces of toasted white bread and a heap of iceberg lettuce. There was also a small medicine bottle stashed between the food.

"Forgive the limited selection. Jannick is buying groceries, so I assure you this will be the last rotten meal you'll have to endure," Roland said as the cow stared silently at her plate. "You'll need to take two tablets when you're done-- as an extra precaution."

She reached for the medicine bottle. It felt cold to the touch and half-empty as she held it in her palm.

"Nuclex," he explained. "I had to dig around deep into the fridge to find it. Hopefully it hasn't yet expired. The date was rubbed off when I found it."

The cow knew what it was. They took the pills once a week, and sometimes more on special occasions. She spent at least a few days locked up in that hotel suite, however. In truth, she wasn't so sure of the medicine's exact purpose-- simply that they were important to just about everyone short of nobility.

"Sir?" She asked after falling quiet for some time.

Roland looked up from his dish of toast and fried egg and nodded for her to continue. "Yes?"

"What are my duties?"

"I thought we could talk, actually. What's your name?"

The cow hesitated. A tag hung from her left ear which contained an inscribed serial number. She reached for it, but her fingers fell through empty air.

"I removed it while you were sleeping. You were out cold. I don't imagine you would miss it," Roland said, pausing to take a sip of coffee. "I'm quite sure it was a tracking device. Can't be too careful. Besides, I'm more interested in your real name."

"Master Tyson called me Daisy, most of the time..." The cow trailed off, remembering her last home.

"But you don't like that name," Roland concluded, noting the dissatisfaction in her tone.

"No, sir," she frowned, shaking her head. "He'd call another girl Daisy, too. We didn't even look similar."

"What would you rather be called? Maybe the name your mother gave you?"

It was a fuzzy memory. Two strong arms belonging to a pale-furred cow held her close. Her eyes were an amiable rich brown, but behind them hid a weariness and slight sorrow. She could barely remember the rest of her face or her voice when she'd sing to her-- only that the cow made her feel like nothing could ever hurt her as long as she lived. If only her childish delusions were true.

"My mother..."

Fumes of suffocating exhaust filled her lungs. She cried, palms outstretched against the glass that separated them. The freighter's engine coughed and rumbled, and she felt the floor beneath her jolt upward. She was thrown against the cold pane as it accelerated forward, watching helplessly with vision blurred as her mother chased after her. The cow would slip and fall, and get back up to run as she screamed her child's name, repeating until she became a distant speck on the dark horizon.

"Mary, or Madeline. It had a similar sound. I think it was Marlena," she faltered, grasping desperately to the fleeting memory. "I don't know."

"Marlena," he repeated, mulling over his next words. "Luckily for you, Marlena, Roseport Manor is fully equipped with shielding just as effective as anything Tyson spared the loose change to install."

"Shielding, sir? But, when I tried to run--"

"EM and solid, that's right. You would have smacked right into a barrier had I let you go," he sighed, pausing. "I was hoping you'd feel as if you had at least a semblance of a choice."

"Oh," Marlena said simply. She never even had a chance-- as if she ever did.

The bread and lettuce before her quickly became unappetizing. She prodded at her food with a fork. "There are no other working folk around here, are there, sir?"

"That's right."

"Then, if I may ask, why do you keep the shields up if your kind doesn't need them?"

"Ah. Very good question," Roland said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "Well, I'll show you."

The wolf stood and gathered up his dishes. He frowned at the sight of Marlena's mostly untouched breakfast.

"Meet me in the sunroom once you're finished, and leave your dishes there-- I'll get them later. It's just down the hall though this door. You'll know it when you see it," he said, making his way quickly to the kitchen and back, then towards the back of the room. "And don't forget to take the Nuclex."

She watched him leave for the hall, then turned her attention back to the small white container on her plate, nervous yet intrigued by what would soon await her.