FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The wheels of the subway car rattled with every bump, reverberating inside the cabin. Mumble rappers chattered through headphones and earbuds, while a spring cold spread itself with every hacking cough. Though noone spoke, it was not because of London underground courtesy, or the inability to hear through the noise of the train making it's way.

The lights of the subway car were a tinge too white, like the rims of a florescent lamp. Every jolt caused a particular set four feet from the western egress to flicker, casting bouts of temporary darkness on the figure underneath.

Though she kept her rather large bag on her lap, noone filled the two seats flanking her left and right. There was a circle roughly three meters (a fifth of the car) surrounding her where noone stood or sat. Instead the patrons of the London underground stared at their phones, tapping their legs, forcing themselves to look everywhere else but in her general direction.

Occasionally someone would glance her way. An old man on his way to the pub of his youth, drawn to the well kept brown hair surrounding two black-tufted cat ears. A secretary going through her midlife crisis, noticing her large toed cletes, studs covered in the recycled rubber that colleges made their turf out of. The fifteen-year-old chav transfer from hull, looking at her blue canvas bag sporting the imperial College of London's shield.

There was a lurch as the wheels screeched, and within seconds twenty of the passengers who weren't already standing stood up from their red-leather seats, picked up their baggage and prepared to leave. Though on most subways there would be a clamor to reach the door first, everyone held their ground.

The screeching stopped, as did the car, and with a bing! the door opened. Soles clapped upon concrete as the flock gushed out. A breeze roared and forced itself over the heads and between the legs of the exiting passengers, collapsing hoodies and flinging hats. But few dared to look where their caps flew. Those that did showed either dread or relief, though the chav kept glancing back in hopes of finding out how big her cleavage was.

Only one person boarded. Shoving past the thinning crowd came a young, tanned man. Through square-rimmed glasses he looked around the car, noticed the remaining passenger, and with the departing toll took a seat four feet from the eastern egress; Right across from the passenger.

The doors closed with a shunt, and then the lights outside blurred one way as the metro rumbled along the other. The young man relaxed in his seat, scratched his curly black hair, and continued to look around the car until his eyes rested on the other passenger.

Meanwhile, she moved the tarpaulin bag to the seat on her right. She fumbled about with the contents inside, the man observing how the fur on her lower arm brushed against the toothy insides of the bag's zipper.

Then the armed stopped moving, and the man looked down the length of a cat's muzzle into some humane blue eyes. Immediately the man shifted his head towards the front of the car.

"Where I come from, It's impolite to stare."

He turned back, sweat starting to form on his forehead. Her eyes were still on the bag, though her snout was twisted in a grin.

"My name's Allison. I'm the Tiger of Tappan."

She straightened her back and stretched her arms upwards, her grin widening enough to show her pearly canines.

Allison held her arm out. The fur on top was a chestnut brown, short and with a minor sheen like the rest her body. Turning her arm palm side up though revealed that the underside was lighter in colour, like sand on a beach.

Making a fist, she flexed, making sure to roll up the sleeve of her jersey to show off her guns. The tan man blushed, perspiration beginning to gather in a puddle in the pit of his neck.

The scenery outside the subway windows became brighter, concrete walls illuminated by artificial light giving way to brick and tile reflecting natural sunlight, albeit dulled by clouds.

"See, back in the states I couldn't play men's lacrosse. Even if my upper body strength is as good as a guys, no school was willing to take the risk."

Outside the window, chain link fences and graffiti-covered walls soon gave way to the same artificially-lit tunnels of before. The screeching returned advertisement's for men's shaving cream whizzed by, and Escalators carrying people into the station above came into view. The fluorescent lights outside were blocked by the bodies waiting to enter the subway car.

"So for two years I played women's lacrosse, but even then I found it not challenging enough.Then I learned about your country's diversity rules."

The doors of the car slid open. The crowds on the platform moved to fill the car. Seeing the amount of people, Allison put her canvas bag back on her lap. Ronald's stature shifted from at ease to attention. His left leg, previously lounging off his right knee, was now copying its brother to occupy as little space as possible.

"I transferred into the Imperial College of London for a major in writing. Then I sprinted to lacrosse league, passed a fitness exam, and here I am."

There were twenty-five people entering the car. Soon every seat was taken, even the ones to Allison's left and right.

"Onto my first game!" she said excitedly, lowering her tone as two men in loose robes walked in front of her. Ronald hunched, his focus shifting from the excited cat girl to his phone.

Biiing! The doors close. Allison leaned forward, pulling the bag into her breasts, accidentally accentuating them through her jersey. The men in front of her scoffed and turned towards the young man, who lowered his head more into his phone.

"Sure, under usual circumstances I would be traveling on the bus with my team." Allison whispered, barely seeing her acquintance through the men's cloth curtains. "But the coach forgot to tell me when the bus was leaving."

The tallest man, a tight red rope wringed to hold up his loose hoody, nodded towards Allison while whispering to his companion. Allison, noticing the gesture, looked between the robed men before her, to the curly haired man whose head was almost between his knees.

"It's all good..." She said almost inaudibly. Looking down, her ears pressed against the top of her head and brushing the glass behind her.

A memory of high school comes to her mind.

It was her sophomore year. The night of October fifth. Homecoming.

It had been a foggy night, and as such Marmie Busso couldn't drive. So Allison walked to her homecoming, barefoot, so as to not get dew on her Grandma's prized heels. After the five mile walk, Allison arrived to find that the dance was half over, and that her sapphire skirt was modest in comparison to her female classmate's Chiffons and Fit-flares. Sitting on the bleachers instead of dancing, she was approached by Jay Ode. He was a Junior playing offense for Tappan's lacrosse team, and complimented Allison's semi-formal attire. Other members of the lacrosse team, taking breaks from their dancing, joined Jay over at the bleachers and started talking to Allison. Soon they were comparing how reps and how long their mile around the track was and what flavor of Gharial was best (Will and John said Grape but Jay and Allison vouched for pomegranate.) Laughing with people of similar interests almost made the night worth it.

Then, Mary Pears, Jay Ode's date, came over and demanded she slow dance with him. Hesitantly Jay came down from the bleachers, and soon enough the rest of the lacrosse team left for one last turn at the grind circle.

As Mary lead Jay by the wrist to the dance floor, Oreosmith's "I dont want to miss you" beginning to play, Allison watched, wishing she had done something.

Instead, she had stared at the ground, her tufted ears pressed down.

The men had begun a conversation, something in a different language concerning foreign affairs. Waving about their hands and occasionally stuttering, they payed no mind to the anthro, who had her large bag on the ground beside them. She stood up, her five-foot ten stature only bringing her to the red-crowned man's chin.

She brushed aside the chatting curtains, paying no mind to their objection to what they perceived as her insubordination. The young man was relaxing, the blood going to his head, so much so he didn't notice Allison standing in front of him.

Allison put her hands on his shoulders, still ignoring the foreigners behind as they jabbed fingers inches away from her. The young man was so engrossed with some form of gluebox story on his phone that in being startled he almost headbutted Allison's muzzle. Now his eyes were engaged with Allison's, his brown looking into her green. Slowly, she removed his glasses and put them in his breast pocket.

Then, her eyes closed, Allison kissed him. With her head slightly to the right, wet nose against his cheek, her arms slowly wrapping themselves around his kneck.

She pulled back, their mouths making a kiss noise as she did so. Once more their eyes met, a gaze which lasted until gravity shifted the two bodies left with such force they landed on the aluminium ground.

The doors to the subway slid open to the tune they were most accustomed to. Allison's eyes turned wide as she released her friend from a headlock. She put her hand on the sports bag, the two robbed men now gone as the car began to became less and less full.

"Shit! This is my stop..."

The young man squatted over her, and offered his hand. Now standing with the bag slung over her shoulder, she unzipped it and pulled out a little card. Putting it in his hand, the cat lady brought her muzzle up to his ear and said "Call me" before pecking his cheek.

Turning on her heal, she took four steps and was out the door of the car, walking among the crowded London underground, leaving the young man to rub his cheek with his right hand. In his left he held his phone, putting the number into his contacts list under the name "The catgirl who kissed me."