FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"If you value your life, drive."

A fury of feathers and feathers, of wings and hooves, of two or more shades of white and a spun white-gold of mane and tail, of speed and desperation, earth and wind in fear-full motion. The large side door of the oversized panel van slammed shut behind the new passenger, a tall young Clydesdale Pegasus, wings now furled, fashionable-looking denim jeans below a matching shirt, a look of fear on his otherwise beautiful face.

Puff-balled from fear or surprise, frozen in the blood yet not in the heart, the russet-furred dingo in the driver's seat looked up into his rear view mirror. Despite the chill, words warmed carefully in his voice. "Are you going to kill me?"

"No, but we might get mobbed. Please. It doesn't have to be fast; it just has to be now."

The eyes that held the dingo's, framed in the looking glass, were delft, wide, and frightened, almost rolling in the equine's head. The dog had only a split second to consult the ticking of his heart, the settling of his fur, the thawing of veins and sinews. His forepaw activated the engine, a hindpaw caressed the accelerator, and equine and canine oozed together carefully through the crowds already milling around the hotel. The dingo had wondered about this strange congregation, as this area was more a loading zone than anyplace for guests or visitors to gather. Focusing on the van's glacial progress, he said to the eyes, "There's a lightweight tarp back there. Get under it."

It was clear that no one had to tell the Clyde twice. He moved with grace even in the small space of the van. It made sense, all in all, given what had to be his history and heritage, but it was still impressive. The van itched and ached through the group of yowens, mostly females, who seemed to be looking for something or someone to lead them away from this strange place in which they had found themselves. Unlike the Pegasus, their eyes showed not desperation and fear but disappointment and confusion, a congregation of the lost amid a collective of the goalless, bodies reduced to a Brownian motion of uncertainty. The dingo felt that he had more to fear from them than from his passenger.

There -- a break in the living wall! Through it, through it, carefully, gently, with precious cargo aboard. The dingo managed to turn right, out of the alley, into the street, down to quieter blocks. Idling at a light, he glanced up into his rear view mirror again, seeing only the tarpaulin. "Where to?"

"Is there somewhere quiet to go? Somewhere I can hear myself think?"

"I can almost hear you thinking from here. I know somewhere quiet. How much do you trust me?"

"If you're a kidnapper, I'm the easiest prey you've ever caught."

"I'm only a kidnapper when both moons are full."

A heartbeat's hesitation before the cocooned Pegasus observed, "We only have one moon."

"Lucky for you, then."

Four ears appreciated the laughter from both maws, and the van flowed easily through urbia into suburbia, as if either such places could really exist. They were merely constructs to separate There from Here until one could be Here again.

"I'd invite you up to the passenger seat," the dingo offered, "but you might have more room where you are. You can probably get out from under the tarp at this point, though. I don't think your followers have followed this far."

A glance in the mirror revealed fear-filled eyes once more.

"First, let me remove the advantage. I'm Regan McLeod, and I'm an electrician. This panel van is good for advertising and hauling, but I've only ever carried live bodies in it, and never to somewhere they didn't want to go. I've got a few hectares outside of town, which is where we're headed. If you prefer, I'll stop anywhere you wish, let you out, or even drive you back to the hotel, convention center, wherever you want. Do you have a cell phone with you?"

"Left it behind."

"I have mine. Anyone you want to call?"

A whinnying snort of laughter. "I'm not even sure that I know the number. Once it's in the phone, I forget about it." A pause, eyes not nearly so afraid as before. "How's the cell reception on your land?"

"Good enough that I usually turn off my phone when I'm out there."

"Fair enough." The Pegasus shucked off the thin blue Tyvek burrito wrapping and looked out of the windows at the trappings of suburbia as seen from one of the old highways that bound the country together before the Interstate system made Here to There shrink still further, to avoid wasting time at smaller towns that grew smaller still, thinner and thinner, until only the highway to There remained. "Let's get out to your place then. I'll try to think."

"I'd recommend a little relaxation and talking. I'm a good listener, or so I'm told."

The winged passenger smiled. "Thank you, Regan."

"You're welcome, Jeremiah."

* * * * * * * * * *

The drive wasn't all that long, and Regan pointed out the road signs and points of reference for the few turns made on the way to "Shady Rest," as he called his small holdings. Jeremiah insisted that it wasn't necessary, but the dingo was reasonably sure that it was reassuring nonetheless. The gravel driveway curved modestly through the first of the trees that gave the property its name, and the Pegasus was clearly impressed. The van pulled up, stopped, deactivated. "Welcome to peace and quiet."

Regan exited the driver's seat and pulled open the panel to help his passenger disembark. Jeremiah's exit was as graceful as his entrance, although he did take the opportunity to stretch and take in lungsful of crisp country air. The place was only about 40 minutes from the city proper, but it was still "country" enough to make one remember why it's good to have a place to get away. Although the immediate area had been cleared somewhat, there were still plenty of trees (one with a rope swing depending from a sturdy branch), and the day shone through like a blessing. The Pegasus shifted his wings a little, looked at the beauty, taking it in through more than merely his eyes, and he offered his gratitude through a happy sigh.

"This," he affirmed softly, "is perfect."

"It's where I come to reconnect to myself," the dingo agreed. "Maybe it will help you to do the same."

"It's already started." He looked to the modest but well-built structure nearby. "Cozy."

"Cabin sweet cabin. And yes, it has all the amenities, in case you're wondering."

"May I...?"

Smiling, Regan beckoned for the Pegasus to follow him inside and, with a small flourish, directed him through the bedroom and into the bathroom beyond. Taller than the usual resident, more so because of his wings, Jeremiah did a slight bit of maneuvering to get inside. The canine observed that the movements were just as smooth as those that allowed the young equine to climb into the van so well and so easily. It was likely that those who were "vertically gifted" had to learn a lot of such accommodations just to get along in a world designed around the merely average of height and build. Perhaps it's fortunate that most beings had the ability to adapt to their environments, one way and another.

A brief inventory of the kitchen told the dingo a story of few surprises, but they were good ones. He had finished in time for his guest to join him. "First things taken care of?"

"Blissfully so."

"Second things, then. Who do you want to call?"

"Honestly? Nobody. But I might be causing some worry."

Regan nodded. "You're living up to the best of your reputation. I was thinking about the phone number problem. Call the hotel, leave word with someone...?"

"Good idea, although..."

"Let me address that too. I can prepare something unhealthy for dinner, and we could risk breakfast at a drive-through, if you want to stay hidden. I can also drive you back any time before that. Entirely your call, pun intended."

Jeremiah laughed. "Think you can stand my company that long?" Almost immediately, the Pegasus put up his forepaws. "Sorry; bad manners showing. I'd very much like to take you up on the offer of 'camping out' tonight, if I may. I think I need the space."

"Done and done." Regan pulled out his smartphone and handed it to his guest. "I don't have internet out here; call information and have them patch it through. I'll give you some space."

The dingo padded outside, enjoyed the softness of the summer's afternoon. He took a moment to make sure that the two wooden Adirondack chairs weren't too dusty, that the covered porch was more or less neat, and that the sky could be trusted to give the lie to the forecasters who had sworn rain was imminent by midnight. He breathed in the air, promised the song that he wasn't afraid to care, and wondered if that one was part of his guest's listening repertoire.

"Here you are, Regan." The Pegasus clopped gently onto the porch, passing the phone back to its owner.

"What did you tell them?"

"That I needed a little time to myself, and that I'm staying with a friend at his house somewhere just east of town."

The dingo frowned slightly. "We're to the north."

Jeremiah snapped his fingers with dismissive skill. "Shucks gosh darn, if'n I didn't get that wrong! How fallible of me."

The laughter probably did them both good.

"Time to begin my hosting duties," Regan grinned. "I have a small fridge that's cheap enough to run all the time, so I have bottled water and some sodas, and I can make tea, instant coffee, or cocoa easily enough. I'm afraid that I don't have anything stronger."

"I don't take anything stronger, so that's not a problem."

"If you'll forgive my saying so, that matches up with your reputation."

The Clyde's ears flicked somewhat guiltily, and the white hide on his cheeks pinked. "Not everything the company publicist says is a fabrication."

"That sounds like an item that belongs on a list of things to talk about."

* * * * * * * * * *

A pillow to his upper back and slightly unfurled wings allowed the Pegasus to find complete comfort in his Adirondack chair, as the dingo sprawled familiarly in the other. Each sipped at chilled water bottles, each relaxing, each letting the late afternoon unwind as it wished to. Both saw movement in the tall grasses not far away, gently delighted at the sight of a feral hare exploring the area for some succulent greens.

"It's safe here," Jeremiah observed.

"It's why I bought the place. Tried to keep it as much 'as-is' as I could."

"You've done well." The young equine inhaled deeply, let the air out slowly. The smile painted his voice with soft pastels. "And here am I not talking."

"Did you get everything taken care of, back in the city?"

"They don't like it much, but all I'll miss tonight is opening ceremonies and a Q&A panel that's for all the guests. We can get back tomorrow, by about 9:30...?" When the dingo nodded, the Pegasus continued. "My first panel is at ten, so that'll work out. I'm sure the company publicist will come up with some convincing story that I may have to edit somewhat when I get back." He took more water to fill his pause. "One of those things that you thought we should talk about."

"I just thought it would help." Regan took a pull from his own bottle. "How did it start?"

"To borrow from an infamous book, I was the victim of a series of accidents."

"As are we all."

Unforced laughter helped the Clyde loosen his tongue. "Jeremiah Brogan, the Pegasus who stumbled with artless grace into a job that he had never envisioned possible, much less desirable." He shook his head gently, the immaculately kept white-gold mane dancing a gentle counterpoint. "Don't think I'm not grateful for it. It's given me a lot."

"And taken away...?"

Closing his eyes for moment, blowing out some old air before taking in new, the equine all but whispered into the country quiet, "You're perceptive, Regan." He turned calm, deep blue orbs to his host, passing a smile across his lips. "How much of my story do you know?"

"Probably whatever that publicist has dreamed up, or approved of, or otherwise let into general circulation. Mind you, I hate celebrity gossip rags, or 'entertainment news' programs, or anything of that genre. I'm also not a big fan of 'the latest thing,' whatever it might be. Despite all that, there are some things that find their way under, over, around, or even manage to seep through, my mental blocks." The dingo sipped at his water, seeking better wording, finally admitting defeat. "Who in the nine circles of Hell came up with 'Cuddly-Wuddly Bear'?"

"Buggered if I know!"

More laughter led the two males to bump bottles in salute. "So," the dingo asked, "which of the many origin stories about your career is the correct one?"

"I think that you may safely dismiss the one about my having fallen magically from the skies as a gift from the gods." Jeremiah's self-deprecating chuckle gentled the comment. "It really was more accident than anything else. I was in a city large enough to have mass auditions for anyone wanting to provide a recording sample. I didn't even know what the job was supposed to be; all the ad said was, 'new cartoon for yowens,' not even what character. The demo was supposed to be about thirty to sixty seconds of voice samples -- almost any content, as long as it wasn't porn or something."

"That would be awkward, for ordinary broadcast cartoons."

"It would also be problematic for non-sapient snakes on airplanes." The Pegasus shifted slightly, his wings rearranging themselves comfortably as he maneuvered in his chair. "I just picked up a favorite old yowen's book and read several sentences about a bear and his 'hunny' jar. I'd been guided by an old wolf who'd done voices for much of his life -- a demo can consist of different styles, pitches, inflections, whatever showed off my skills. I'm not that good at accents, so I didn't go there, but I did manage to provide some vocal range and variations on characters. Recorded the OGG file on my computer and emailed it in, with my contact information."

"And that got you the job?"

"Got me a second audition, in a small studio, along with a good many other hopefuls. After that, a third, the last one, with the director and producer of the show. They gave me immediate feedback on the performance as I provided it, and I guess I gave them what they wanted... and I became the voice for 'the huggiest, snuggiest, Cuddly-Wuddly Bear that ever was'!"

Regan offered an exaggerated wince. "That's enough to give me diabetes."

"Then you don't want me to do the voice?" Jeremiah batted his long eyelashes coquettishly.

"If you have even the merest shred of decency in your soul... no, I beg you, no!"

"Oh, I'm absolutely made of decency, dear dingo. Not an evil thought in my head, not an indecent action ever taken, not the slightest impropriety of ill will even in the most private recesses of my soul." Raising the bottle slowly toward his lips, the Pegasus added softly, "As if any such place still exists."

The stone that rolled against the canine's heart felt too real to be metaphorical. Silence stretched, an afternoon zephyr tenderly running its fingers through the equine's mane as if to apologize. "Everything," Regan breathed, "that comes to my mind feels somewhere between insulting and dismissive."

"Try me."

"Phrases like 'the price of fame,' or how yowens need their heroes. Pithy observations about how we elevate individuals onto pedestals that were created not by them but for them, and then delight in taking pot-shots at them. The idiotic notion that celebrities must be perfect examples of what every sapient being should aspire to, and the sadism of schadenfreude when they are found to be as fallible as the rest of us."

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

"Jeremiah, I can't imagine what that must feel like."

The Pegasus sighed, shifted forward to put his elbows on his knees, his wings furling with him. "Right now, I can let it all be back there in the city. I can't tell you how much I needed this." He turned to his host, a wry smile on his lips. "I'm sorry I kidnapped you."

Regan smiled back. "You were running for your life. I think I can overlook the slight deviation from social norms of introduction." He didn't let the pause last too long this time. "I'm torn between wanting to respect your privacy and being your listener. Also, there are a few walking paths around here, if you want to stretch your legs, give yourself a little more alone-time. Dinner won't take long to fix; I just hope you're not used to upscale food."

"I'm used to food from the convention greenrooms. They do their best; the volunteer staff raids the discount clubs for sodas and snackables, buns and sandwich meats, that kind of thing. There's usually plenty, but it's not exactly Lobster Thermidore au Crevette with a Mornay sauce, etc, etc."

The dingo made a show of considering this. "Okay, I can't supply the Vikings, but I think I can do ya one better than the greenrooms. At least it'll be fresh-made, and not a spot of Spam in sight." After a quick rundown of food allergies (none) and spicing preferences (wide-ranging), Regan rose to make his way inside. "Enjoy the outdoors for a while, Jeremiah. That rope swing will hold you, if you want to try it out; there's a sturdy bench on t'other side of it, too. Makes a nice place to enjoy the breeze."

"How long until dinner?"

"I have a few things to do while you walk around. Couple hours be okay?"

"Perfect." Gaining his hooves, the Pegasus extended his forepaws to take the dingo's own. "Thank you, Regan. I don't think I realized until now just how much I..." The eyes clouded so very slightly, but they held the canine's own even so. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Jeremiah." He squeezed the forepaws briefly before releasing them. He grinned. "I hope that I haven't oversold my cooking."

* * * * * * * * * *

The sunlight had begun its coquettish departure as the diners enjoyed their meal and their companionship. Jeremiah, in Regan's opinion, would have made an excellent presenter; the dingo fielded gently-asked questions, telling much of himself and his life, without the slightest sense of being pressed for answers. Generally something of an "open book" anyway, Regan was glad to be able to give the Pegasus the chance to know who he was daring to open himself to, not to mention taking the conversational spotlight off of him for a while. Jeremiah himself seemed to find it helpful; he offered up some information about himself as well, from family and friends to a classically-based college curriculum and aspirations toward research and teaching that veered somewhat when this strange opportunity came to him, dancing with bells on, denying any attempt to ignore it. Certain types of success will push themselves even upon those who weren't sure that they wanted it.

By the end of the meal, the only light in the room came from a quartet of large pillar candles set in various locations of the main room of the cabin. As Regan had pointed out, electricity for lights was certainly available, but the gentleness of candlelight kept the space just that much more removed from the glitz and neon of the city. It had the calming effect that was intended; the Clyde had leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched out before him, an air of something between relaxation and resignation settling around his shoulders.

"Pensive," the dingo said gently. To the question in the soft, deep blue eyes, he said, "It's the word that describes the mood that I'm getting from you right now."

"It's a very good word." The Pegasus hesitated again, a rueful smile on his lips. "Regan, you've been very good to me. I'm embarrassed to say that there is some small part of me that is sure that you want something out of me. I apologize..."

"No need. You live in a world where everyone and everything seems to want a piece of you, in one form or another. I've read enough stories about Hollywood and stars of past and present to know that side of it. I'm not sure if your world of animation and voice acting is like that."

"Drawn smaller, perhaps. It's a much more 'closed club,' in that most of the world barely registers that voice actors exist, unless they're also stars in their own right. For everyone else, the voices are magically produced by some esoteric means that no mortal can understand." Chuckling softly, the equine shook his head in mild disbelief. "There are rumors, stories, and shouted whispers at nearly every convention of this sort. Some are to do with the presumed sexual appetites of at least one infamous voice actress, or with the equally rumored drug appetites of a certain executive producer of an anime company now long since shut down. It might surprise you to discover that most of these tidbits of scandal actually make them more popular. Some part of them are even true."

He took in a huge amount of air and huffed it out with something a tinge of disgust. "And then there's me."

The dingo nodded slowly. "The danger of such rumors being said of someone that the yowens are supposed to look up to."

"A standard that Caesar's wife didn't have to live up to."

"That's more of your classical education showing through."

"You're the first fur I've met in a long time who understood it. Not the sort of thing that comes up in the panels I host or the Q&A sessions that I'm part of."

"Do you ever have to dodge questions about such things?"

"Indirectly. Most of the propositioning at these conventions is performed quietly, at least. Friend of a friend, sometimes, or managing to intercept someone in the motel lobbies and halls. It's not as bad as the rock stars who get motel room keys and underwear with cell numbers scrawled on them, thrown onto the stage."

"Does that still happen?" the dingo chuckled softly.

"I haven't been to a concert in years, but yeah, I think it does." Jeremiah's ears went forward as he considered his memory. "The classiest thing I ever saw at a concert was the presentation of a single blue rose. I had to check the Internet before I could be sure, but blue roses stand for mystery, or perhaps the unattainable. They can also speak to someone's uniqueness. A young vixen placed it at the stage's edge, in a simple white vase. It got knocked over by some flying garments, but the singer managed to signal to a roadie, who ran out and picked it up again. When the song was done, the singer switched off his mike, said something to the roadie, who took it backstage. He switched the mike back on and offered the softest 'thank you' of his career, I think." Jeremiah shook his head. "I wish I knew what happened after that, but his love song 'Blue Rose' came out on his album the following year."

"I'd heard that story!" Regan sat up, surprised, delighted. "I thought it was legend. You were at that concert?"

The Pegasus nodded. "I saw it. The rest of the fans watched it happen, too, but I don't know how many of them really saw it." For a long moment, he said nothing. Regan watched, those delft eyes seeming to be looking at anything from that legendary moment to wondering what would happen if someone were to give to him a blue rose at some public gathering. Would he be able to accept it, the dingo wondered? What sort of rumor would spring up from that? Would the fans of "the huggiest, snuggiest, Cuddly-Wuddly Bear that ever was" even know how to bestow a rose, much less the subtleties of the meanings of their colors? The canine returned to himself when Jeremiah spoke again. "Anyway... no, that sort of thing doesn't happen at these types of conventions... at least not with so many onlookers."

"Does that help keep it quieter?"

"At least until one or more of the parties involved decides to brag about it." Chuckling, the Pegasus sipped more tea. "Those sort of questions do come up at certain types of panels, sometimes called the 'after dark' or 'unleashed' panels that are strictly 18-and-over affairs. Something else I'm not allowed to participate in."

"Would you want to?"

"I'm not entirely sure." The light was too dim to be sure of it, but Regan imagined that he saw the faintest blush on those white cheeks. "I've heard about what goes on in them. Even allowing for exaggeration, they sound like the verbal equivalent of a bacchanalia. A lot of X-rated dialog in the voices of various characters that the actors are best known for."

"I don't think I want to know."

"I don't think I do, either."

Regan let his mind back up a few steps. "You said that you weren't 'allowed' to be part of such panels. Do they really control you that much?"

"Not literally. It's just 'strongly suggested' by my Powers That Be that I not be part of it. I also get the impression that other actors don't really want me there, but that's not necessarily true. The whole thing goes against my type -- booze, language, outright verbal sexuality. Those panels are popular entertainment for late on Saturday nights. By that time, I'm usually back in my room, alone, getting a good night's sleep."

There._The tone, the words. Regan let his heart beat slowly for a time before asking his question of it. The reply that he received came with a great number of deeply irritated heart-based memos from throughout the day, all saying the same thing. He ran through the various permutations of the old psychiatric question,_What is the thing you're most afraid will happen if...? The formal Question, made tradition by sapientkind over the centuries, offered a form of safety to both of them. Nothing was expected beyond simple tactile comfort, and naturally, he could always refuse.

"Jeremiah," he said softly, "may I share my fur with you?"

The Pegasus' eyes were filled with candlelight, and in only few seconds, he responded, formally but tenderly, with the Response: "It is warmth to us both."

Regan rose slowly, so as not to spook his guest. It took very little time for Jeremiah to gain his hooves and, with a quick glance toward the bedroom, he offered his forepaw to his host. Together, they moved to extinguish the candles and then into a room lit only by whatever moon and starlight could filter through the trees, although that was augmented by the white-gold mane, the spun white-gold forearm and hoof Clyde feathers, and the silvery-white wing feathers. Regan indicated the switch for the room light; Jeremiah shook his head.

The two males shared a short laugh as each plucked at his shirt, asking the question silently. The Question usually was meant literally, with both parties being furclad, but even that was not a requirement. Dingo and Pegasus doffed their clothing and stood simply looking at one another. The light in the room seemed to rise another level, amplified by the brilliant white hide of the young Clyde. Regan, again following the sounds of his heart, padded slowly to Jeremiah, reaching carefully around him in order to hug him closely. He felt the wings shift a little to allow him the embrace even as he felt the equine's arms around him. The hug lasted for some time before Regan asked if they should lie down.

"Let me," Jeremiah said, arranging himself on the bed first, then showing the dingo how they could continue the closeness of the embrace without the canine having to worry about hurting the equine's wings nor, for that matter, cutting off the circulation to any of the four arms involved.

For many sweet minutes, silence rested easily upon them. Regan found the truth of the ritual Response easily, for the Pegasus was warm indeed. He thought gently about things to say, questions to ask, offers of consolation, but all that was needed in these moments was exactly what had been offered and accepted. Just this.

"How did you know?" Jeremiah whispered into the stillness.

"The only thing I know," Regan murmured, "is that your world lacks intimacy. Closeness."

The Pegasus nodded briefly. "I provide a voice for a character renowned for his cuddliness, but I can barely risk hugs in public."

"Caesar's wife."

"And not even wed to a Caesar." Jeremiah made a sound that Regan heard with his ears, felt through the chest pressed against his own, ached in his heart as much as he was sure it ached in the other's. "I'm sorry..."

Shushing tenderly, the dingo gave his guest a squeeze, one which he felt returned. "No need for 'sorry,' not here, not now. You've got some hurt to let out."

Trembling. Breath withheld.

"I've got you."

A tenuous, short, agonized whinny.

Regan lowered his muzzle to bestow a simple kiss to Jeremiah's breastbone, an offering, a benediction.

With an anguished howl, the fiery tears began.

...to be continued