FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 1

April 4, 2009 (5:58 p.m.)

Seacrest

I didn't know what to expect, really. A bunch of guys wearing anime t-shirts, watching "The Lion King" maybe. Or a collection of sweaty men in a large pile on the floor, having at it. Luckily for me, my first assumption was a lot closer to reality.

I knocked on the door to a medium-sized house located in a community of similar-looking houses all lined up like they had just been shot out of the assembly line of a factory. Each house was brick, colored like beach sand, and had a gray roof.

It wasn't very cold outside, so I might have been overdoing it a little with my white hoodie splotched with neon green paint splatters. I quickly unbuttoned my hoodie, revealing my pale orange t-shirt with a surfing cartoon dog on it.

Although the sun had barely set, all of the houses had bright lights at the ends of their driveways. I could see back down the driveway to my silver 2006 Honda Civic parked in the road at the end of a long line of cars.

I pulled my phone out of my dark navy jeans and checked the time. I'm a few minutes early. Am I sure I'm at the right house? I reach up to knock a second time.

As if on cue; a man, just about my height, pulls open the door. My mouth parts open slightly, not knowing what to say to the probable stranger. He only looks back at me. Not blinking. Not talking. He narrows his gaze, looking me up and down. When he's had enough of the silence, he blinks and begins to inch the door closed. That's when I found my voice.

"Trademark?" I ask, awkwardly loud.

The door opens, fully this time. The man on the other side grins and motions for me to come inside.

"You're Seacrest, right?" He inquires as he backs away from the door. Stepping in, I can count seven other people, split into two groups.

There were three delivery pizza boxes on the coffee table; one open and half-eaten, along with a ripped open box of Mountain Dews and a stack of paper plates.

To my right, three boys and a girl were playing Super Smash Brothers Brawl on a 47 inch LCD television. Straight ahead, on another couch past the guy who answered the door, were two guys talking.

"Yeah... Seacrest, or well... Travis. I mean, yeah I guess... Seacrest," I shyly stammer. At this point, I don't know whether to walk inside to meet everyone or to realize how big a mistake this is and run back to my car.

"Well, Travis... I mean Seacrest," he grins and pauses, "it's time to meet the Code Green Club."

I look around again, and everyone in the room now has their eyes fixed on me. Some of them smiling, some with curious looks on their faces, and others only look for a moment -- barely glancing up from their Wii remote.

I realize now why I feel so uneasy. None of these people belong here. Coming from an Army household and always going from place to place, I had seen all sorts of cliques, and none of them had ever seemed this mismatched. But, this was the first group of friends that I'd seen since moving here a month ago, so I could be wrong... I hope I'm wrong... Honestly though, it looks like the only thing these people have in common with each other, is that they're all furries.

I had been in the "furry closet" for around two years. It's not until now, though, that I've seen another furry outside of the internet.

"I'm Trademark, but call me Marky. Everybody else does," the man just in front of me states as he closes the door. He's maybe an inch shorter than I am and a little bit thinner. His hair is a stark black, and not in a "I dye my hair because the world doesn't understand me" way, but a "I probably have some Native American in my blood somewhere along the line" way. His eyes are a light brown, though you can barely see his eyes under the waves of black hair that hang over his short forehead. I was instantly reminded of Jason Schwartzman, if Jason Schwartzman wore brown corduroy pants and a pin-striped white and brown button-up shirt, but the more I looked at him, the more the similarities faded.

"Thanks for coming, man. I know these round table introductions can be annoying. They feel kind of forced, and it's a lot of information to take in at one time. So come in, sit down, grab some food and remember... We don't bite," Trademark grinned again. I think he was expecting somebody to add "Hard!" to his "We don't bite" comment but instead, the group in front of the TV unpaused their game and Marky just motioned toward the pizza.

I grabbed a semi-cold can of Mountain Dew and sat down on the floor next to the group crowded onto a dark brown leather couch, the reflection of Nintendo characters beating the crap out of each other glowing in their eyes.

"So you're an otter?" The red-head at the end of the couch asked me, his attention not wavering from the action on-screen. He was the youngest person here, probably by a good bit. I'd peg him for fifteen if I didn't know (and hope) better. His hair was nearly as orange as my shirt, and he had some freckles under his glasses. He was short, for sure, and a little chunky for his height. He was wearing a blue Sonic the Hedgehog t-shirt and khaki shorts. It seemed that the Invader Zim wristbands that he wore were not just for fashion, either, as his arms were sweating a little bit.

"Yeah..." I respond, still a little shocked that these people act like it's not weird to talk to someone as if they were really an animal.

"I'm a husky," the kid looks over at me for a second, smiles, and then snaps his attention back to the game. "So, are you gay?"

The red-headed kid's question came out of nowhere.

"Uh, well yes I am," I say back to him. Wanting to take the attention off of myself, I ask back, "But Trademark... umm Marky... he's straight, right?"

"He is. And he's taken," the sole female in the room speaks up as she looks over at me with a warm smile. Her straight black hair was parted in the middle and framed her dark brown face. Her hair came just past her chin on her right side, and was a few inches longer than that on the left. She had an amazing smile. She must either practice doing that a lot, or must be genuinely happy all the time.

"I'm Cindy," she called over the red-head to me as the announcer in the video game yelled "DEFEATED!". Her character, Kirby, had lost his last life and she got off of the couch to come sit next to me. She was wearing a white fitted t-shirt that had small bubbles of light pink across it. Her belt glittered a little in the light, and it snaked through the loops of her very tight light-blue jeans. She was skinny, but not to the extent where I would tell her that she needs to have some more of that pizza on the coffee table.

"And the husky behind us is Marlon, though sometimes he leaves his manners behind when he's playing," she playfully slapped Marlon on the knee and turned back to me. "He also forgot to make up a new name for his fursona, so he uses his real name for his fursona's name."

"At least my fursona didn't get its name because Marky over there keeps calling you another girl's name... Allison!" Marlon looked away from the television for a second toward Cindy. I couldn't tell if he was snapping off at her, or if this was just the way they joked with each other. Marky looked over when he heard his name, but I don't think he could hear what was said and continued his conversation on the other side of the room.

Cindy sighed. "Seacrest, you can call me Cindy or you can call me Allison. Allison is my real name, Cindy is my wolf fursona's name. I know, I know, it's weird. Just call me Cindy to avoid confusion. Also, you'll probably get made fun of for naming your fursona after Ryan Seacrest." She smiled again, but it was a little less than the award-winning smile that I had seen a few minutes before.

I laughed. "I just thought Seacrest was a cool name, and I started using it early on. It just stuck with me after that."

'Was I already starting to become comfortable in this group of furries?' I asked myself. Before I could think about it any longer, Super Smash Brothers Brawl's announcer excitedly yelled "GAME!" and I knew the match was over. The guy on the farthest side of the couch groaned and threw his arms up, while Marlon did a fist pump victory dance.

"I'm going to get Marky and myself another drink. You want one?" Cindy asked as she stood up. I held up my still nearly-full Mountain Dew can in response. She smiled again and walked away, toward the kitchen.

"So hey! New guy!" a voice from behind me called out. I looked back at the couch and saw the guy who was in between Cindy and Marlon earlier. I can't recall what Woody Harrelson looked like in his mid-twenties, but if I had to bet, I would say it wouldn't be too far from this guy. His hair was as shaved as it could be without being called bald. He had a particular accent, too. Kind of like if you mixed the drawls of someone from the deep South with the enunciation of Gomez Addams. This did not help his case in the Woody Harrelson comparison.

I glance back at the guy behind me. He was wearing faded jeans under a dark grey button-up collared shirt. Is he honestly trying to pull off the Woody Harrelson look on purpose? I held my chuckles in.

"Seacrest the otter," he started, with slow deliberation, "I am Pheathers the bird! Pheathers with a 'PH' insead of an 'F', of course," I snorted a little bit, but covered it up smoothly by taking a sip of my warming Mountain Dew.

"Nice to meet you, Pheathers," I greet the bird, making sure to emphasize the 'PH'. "So, uh, what kind of bird are you?" I asked.

"Hmmm," Pheathers paused and looked slightly away for a moment, "Ya know... I've never really thought about it."

"Oh," I respond, not knowing what to say. Trying to deviate from the odd silence, I ask another question: "So, do your wings come out of your back, or like, replace your arms? Like Foghorn Leghorn."

"Well..." Pheathers paused again. "I never thought about that either." He scratched at his chin, and his eyes narrowed in concentration.

This is more typical conversation for me. This is why I never really try to meet new people. Pheathers stopped pulling at his chin and just looked at me (or past me... I couldn't really tell). I tug at the arm of my hoodie a bit and look around, trying to think of something to say. Marky and Cindy were sitting on another couch that was just far enough away that two separate conversations can go on without interfering with the other. They were laughing and chatting with the other two furs on the couch.

"So Trademark and Cindy are a couple? I didn't think there were any straight furries," I chuckled as I attempted a joke, to offset the previous line of questions.

"Well, they're the only straight ones here," Pheathers responded shyly, trying to stop a grin from slowly drawing across his face.

"I don't know if I'd call them a couple though," Marlon piped in. "I hear that he calls her Cindy because he had this ex-girlfriend years ago and ever since, he's made all of the girls he dates take the name Cindy. The bull's a player!"

"I don't think that's fair," the only person on the couch yet to speak, says. "I've known Marky, and Cindy, since I was twenty-one, and I don't think that's true at all."

As this guy talks, I watch his lips form every word. He was by far the most attractive person here, and at times he had a look on his face that meant that he knew it. He had short brown hair casually brushed off to one side, and soft green eyes that were expressive when he talked, or when he lost in Smash Brothers. He wore a lime green t-shirt with Reptar from Rugrats on it and some wrinkled khaki-colored cargo pants.

"How old are you now?" I wondered aloud, since he'd mentioned that he met Marky and Cindy when he was twenty-one.

He leaned back onto the couch and took a bite of pizza, then put the slice back onto its paper plate and onto the coffee table. "Twenty-three," he responded when he finished chewing. "Marky's twenty-seven. Cindy is twenty-five. Pheathers here just turned twenty-one," Pheathers's grin returned. "Little Marlon is only seventeen."

"I'm almost eighteen!" Marlon interrupted, before he realized how young that outburst made him sound. He grabbed a fresh slice of pizza.

"And Ecko and Stripes over there," he pointed to the two sitting on the other couch next to Marky and Cindy, who each had a fresh Mountain Dew. "Are nineteen and thirty-one, respectively."

"Are they together?" I ask, trying not to sound too curious about a boyfriend too soon.

"No," The Reptar-shirt-guy responded, in an almost laugh. "The bull and the wolf are the only ones who are together here."

"Oh, wait," I realized, "I didn't catch your name."

He looked at me, craning his skinny neck to the left. "Me? Oh, I'm Snowcone, but..."

"Wait, Snowcone? As in Snowy the polar bear? I've seen you on YouTube! You've got a really cute suit."

He chortled to himself, in what seemed to be genuine embarrassment due to my overreaction. "In the fur. You can call me Snowcone, or Snowy, or Cone, or Coney. I prefer Snowcone or Snowy but I've been called everything." He laughed again. This time it sounded a little less genuine.

"You want in on the next round?" Snowcone asked me. He held out a Wii remote and Nunchuck. "We've also got GameCube controllers in the entertainment center if that's more your style."

"Actually, I'll play you guys next time. I'm pretty awesome with Lucas, but I want to meet everybody first." Oddly enough, I was actually not shy talking openly anymore. I found this strange, because I never thought in a million years that I'd be talking to Snowcone the polar bear, much less telling me I can call him "Snowy".

I stood up, set down my drink can, and walked over to the other couch.

"You having fun?" Marky asked as I got close to the other four furs. "I noticed that you didn't play any games. Don't let them hog it. I'll make them play fair. My house, my rules!" He grinned at me, and then at Cindy as she playfully pinched his knee.

"Lots of fun!" I smile and reply. "I just didn't want these two to think I was being anti-social."

"Well," the older guy at the right end of the couch said, "I want to apologize. We were the ones being anti-social. My name's Stripes the tiger." He offered his hand for a shake. Snowcone had said that this guy was thirty-one, but he honestly looked to be mid-twenties, if that. He had a tummy, and was what certain subcultures would call a "bear". His light brown hair was combed neatly, and he had a trimmed beard over his round face. He was very cute, and when he talked, a sincere warmth seemed to accompany his voice. It also looked like he had some muscle that he was trying to hide under his cream-colored polo, but I didn't want to appear as though I was looking.

"Hi, Stripes..." I reply, lowering my face a bit in case I was blushing thinking about looking for Stripes's muscles. "Good to meet you." I shake his hand, expecting a painful death-grip, but instead he only grasped my hand as firmly as I grasped his.

"And I'm Ecko," the final nameless face in the room added. "I'm a gecko." Ecko was wearing a black Lamb of God t-shirt over a pair of tight dark-blue jeans. He smiled nervously, barely showing his teeth. He had thin black dreadlocks that hung just past his chin, and when he looked down to hide his smile, his hair covered his face. He looked a little familiar, but I couldn't think of how I knew this guy.

"I think I've seen you before. Do you go to the mall?" I ask. The mall is about the only social thing I've done since I've been in this town.

"I work in the mall. I'm the only black guy at the music store." The tensed lips that he barely opened before loosened up a little as he visibly opened up to the conversation.

"That's where I've seen you," I quickly remembered. "I'll have to come back in and buy the Them Crooked Vultures CD when it comes out." It was so odd for me to be leading the conversation like this. New town, new me I guess.

"Yeah, that CD is going to be sick! Between Dave Grohl, John Paul Jones, and the guy from Queens of the Stone Age, it could be the best thing out in a long time." Ecko chimed in. Of course, I knew that "the guy from Queens of the Stone Age" was Josh Homme, but I didn't want to correct him. Not this early in the friendship anyway.

From across the room, Pheathers yelled, a little too loudly, "Hey guys! We're through with Smash Brothers! Want to watch a movie or something?"

"I did pick something up from the store the other day that I think you all will like," Ecko replied, his voice now loud and confident.

Ecko stood up, and reached into his backpack that was propped up against the side of the couch and pulls out a DVD.

Across the room, I notice Snowcone looking down at his phone.

"Actually," Snowcone said as he stood up, "I have to get going. I forgot that my mom was cooking a big dinner tonight and she's wondering where I am."

A tense silence hung in the air for a few moments.

Stripes, who appeared to be the most irritated by Snowcone's latest comment, spoke up. "You didn't think to tell your mother that you'd be out late? We're welcoming a new member to our group tonight. That's why it was so important that we were all here for once."

"Yeah, Snowy. Think your mom will care too much if you just stay here for the night?" Marky added.

Snowcone looked quickly away from Stripes toward Marky. A slight look of panic spread quickly across his face, and just as fast, it was gone.

"She really needs me home, guys," Snowy said, with a very matter-of-fact tone.

"Can you give me a ride, Snowy-Bear?" Marlon asks as he also stands up. "Mom told me she didn't want me to stay out late... Church tomorrow.... and I'm not really feeling a movie."

Marky gave one last, desperate look to Snowy before he stood up. "Alright," he sighed, "Hugs before you go?"

Snowcone's eyes perked back up, and his smile returned. "Of course!"

Everyone in the room stood up, so I followed suit. Snowy and Marlon walk to each person in the room, giving them parting words, and hugging them. I am definitely not used to such an odd ritual, but I guess that's furry for you.

Marlon walked to me and slapped me a high-five and quickly jabbed, "You're playing Smash Brothers with us next time... and you're going down!" We hug and he casually walks to the next person in line.

Snowcone approaches me next. He offers a split-second hug followed by "Good to meet you," then off to the next person. I feel a little bit odd, seeing these people I just met offer kind words to me as they leave.

Marky opens the door and peeks out. "Hey, Seacrest and Pheathers! Mind moving your cars? You're blocking Snowy in."

Slinking toward my car, I wonder if this is a good time for me to leave as well. I check my phone again. Seven thirty-four p.m. It's still early. I turn my key and back my car up, allowing Pheathers and then Snowcone enough room to pull out of the driveway.

Pheathers drives back up to the house. I switch my car from reverse to drive, and park behind him. I'll give it a few more hours.

When I close my door, Pheathers is standing there with an unusual look on his face. "Get used to Snowy leaving like that," the bird states, with disappointment in his voice.

I look down the road for Snowcone's tail lights, until they fade out of my vantage point. "I thought his mom wanted him home for dinner," I remark, confused.

"It's hard to tell when Snowy's being honest... Well, I guess he's never out right lied to me... I don't think... It's just hard to tell, ya know?" Pheathers replies, seemingly confused about all of this, himself. "And Marlon, he only wants to do what makes him seem like a big-shot-Mr.-Popular-guy. He ordered a fursuit just because Snowy and Stripes have suits."

"Stripes has a suit?" I asked. I can't recall ever seeing it anywhere on the internet.

"Yeah, he's a tiger without stripes." Pheathers puts on another confused expression. "Which, now that I think about it, is a little odd." His slow pace makes it seem like he concentrates on each word as he says it. "He hasn't worn it in a long time. Stopped about the same time as he quit drawing furry porn."

Now I know where I had seen Stripes before. I had seen his art on galleries online. It was all very good, but clean, and not the reason why I'm looking on the internet for furry art if you catch my drift.

We got back to the door and slid back to the rest of the group. They had all changed places. Marky and Cindy were alone on the couch farthest from the TV. Ecko put the disc into the DVD player and sat down on the opposite end of Stripes on the other couch.

Pheathers plops himself down next to Cindy on the far couch, as the red FBI Anti-Piracy warning appears on the screen. I half-expect "The Lion King" to start playing with its distinctive opening song. Instead, I see something I don't recognize.

"It's called 'The IT Crowd'. It just came out on DVD last week. Trust me, guys, you will love this." Ecko assured everybody. When the menu came up, Marky pressed "play" on the remote.

The TV show started, and I looked around. A group that would otherwise be content staying strangers with each other, sits united by one thing only. A fondness for anthropomorphic animals is the only thing that we all have in common, but I started to think that I might have just found a group of people that I could really start to call "friends".

As I laugh and chuckle during the comedy TV show, I think about how I made the right decision in staying, despite how many chances I had to leave.

By the time the second episode is ending, Cindy is trying to hide her yawns, and is leaning on Marky's shoulder slightly.

"Caffiene break!" Marky shouts as he pauses the DVD. He stands up and he and his girlfriend walk toward the kitchen. He starts to open his refrigerator when his cellphone chirps. He pulls out his slider phone and checks his message. He smiles and shows the screen to Cindy. She wraps her arm around him and smiles back.

He brings back a cold blue Mountain Dew Voltage for each of us.

"So what do you think of the Code Green Club?" Trademark asks me as he sits down.

"So far...." I pause, to pretend I'm making a judgement. "I like it! Just not sure I'm sold on the name though."

Cindy, Ecko and Stripes laugh. Pheathers puts his hand over his mouth to hide his chuckles.

"How did you come up with a name like that for a furry group anyway?" I ask Marky.

"Well... It's kind of a long story," he replies as he intertwines his fingers and rests his elbows on his knees.

He leans forward and begins the origin story of the Code Green Club...