FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

//: City of San Iadras, 'Furry' district. "But I can't figure out what that means," Dallas sighed, leaning over the car's control panel, chin on the backs of his hands while watching the traffic rush by. Troy hadn't been concentrating. He'd been thinking about other things. He shifted in the car's seat, twitching out his tail behind him through the gap in the seats. It was so damn hot down here. The little car Dallas shared with Florence didn't have much by way of air conditioning, either. They were used to it, but this morning Troy'd felt like his tail was freezing off and now his sinuses were feeling cloggy. And he hadn't slept on the plane, either, because he'd been thinking. Dallas looked up, settling back from the various readouts and flexing the seat belt. "What do you think?" Troy put a hand to his forehead tiredly. "Uh, what's your data set again?" Dallas reached up, scratching behind an ear briefly, picking at his T-shirt. "Uh. Well nothing I can quantify too easily. She smiles a lot, which just makes me all... fluttery inside. And whenever I can make it out to one of her shows she adores it, sometimes afterwards she, uh..." Dallas stammered, flicking his head back awkwardly. "Anyway. Now all this has happened and I don't know what to think." Troy had a weird sensation that he'd been the one speaking, so he remained silent, staring at his brother, his exact clone. Except that Dallas was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, while Troy was still wearing his clothes from Minnesota and quietly baking in the heat, even with his cruddy old jacket thrown off. Troy dry swallowed, glancing at the road ahead, staring blankly at an animated ad on the back of a bus for a second. He didn't really want clearer skin. It was covered in fur anyway. "Troy?" "Sorry, uh, what happened with Nadine?" Dallas shrugged. "Just ever since I told her Saigon's getting married she's been really, uhm." He frowned, biting his lip. "Weird. She kinda suggested we should move in together, but I live with Florence and I don't know how that's gonna work, and..." He scratched behind his ear with a sigh. "I can't figure it out." Troy leaned over, patting his brother's shoulder. "It's alright. One way or the other, things will work out with Nadine." "Yeah but I'm worried about Florence. I don't wanna move out, I mean..." Dallas sighed. "He's used to getting his teaching notes prepared on Thursdays when I cook for us and if I move out then he's gonna have to change his schedule and everything." Troy smiled vaguely, slumping back into the seat on his side of the car. "Florence will sort something out. Maybe Nadine could move in with you and Florence, rather than you moving out." "That'd be... weird too." Dallas sighed, glancing down at the car's map. He looked up after a moment. "Sorry, I'm just blathering. You okay, Troy?" Troy hesitated. Dallas was already worried enough about Nadine and Florence and probably about the wedding tomorrow too. Troy made himself smile reassuringly. "Yeah. Just worried about fuel chains. Gotta figure something out for a reliable source." "Oh." Dallas reached up with a hand, covering his mouth while staring blankly at the road ahead. He pointed abruptly. "I think that's the turnoff," he said, before biting at his nails. There was a lot of traffic. The ETA counter on the map screen kept showing a larger number with 'delays'. Troy wished the clock on the dash would stop moving. He was going to be late, and he still felt cramps in his tail from the plane seats. "What's the end sequence you're looking at?" Dallas asked, looking away from the road. "Hydrogen to helium then jump to beryllium and maybe carbon," Troy sighed, pinching his fingers across the bridge of his snout. "And, uh..." "Well, I've got some numbers on red giant cores you can take a look at if you want, though the temperatures and pressures required are kinda high." "That's not a problem, Greg's reactor uses a couple of Maxwell's nano-arrays to keep the pressures constant, the problem comes in with getting the initial mass of Unbiquadium to reliably spark off a triple-alpha process, but, uh." Troy squeezed his eyes shut. He was having trouble concentrating on the science of it. Because he was thinking about something else. Correction. Someone else. The railing was hot underneath his elbows. Troy shifted a little, but kept leaning on the rail, there on the canyon side. He stared across it at the other levels across the wide central gap, squinting a little against the light prisms pouring in light from just over the street level. It'd be a little cooler near the bottom floors, given that it was nearly a hundred feet underground, but he couldn't go and walk down yet. He checked his wristwatch, swallowing grimly. Eight past Ten. He glanced around again, then leaned over to peer down at the garden pod hanging over the middle levels, its pretty green vines hanging down to be pleasing to shoppers's eyes. In the early mornings it was up higher, next to the railing here. He'd had breakfast beside it once, earlier that year. For a couple of minutes he wondered if maybe his watch was still set to the time zone he'd just left, San Iadras was an hour or so ahead. Maybe he was early, maybe Dallas had gotten the time wrong when he'd asked. When he checked his wristwatch he saw it'd updated itself to the local time zone, but made it refresh anyway, just in case. He glanced up and down the walkway. He could only see humans for the most part, though there were a couple of red furred folks walking down one of the pedestrian access points from the streets above. He couldn't tell if they were actual furs or just body-mods from this distance. Troy dry swallowed, settling back on the railing, flicking his tail from side to side. His pants were too hot, he'd already taken down the top two buttons on his collar and rolled up his sleeves. His feet hurt. He'd been waiting ten minutes now, and actually a lot more hurt than his feet. He thought he caught sight of her, just on the floor below, a couple of dozen feet away as she wound through the growing crowds. The colours were right. A tawny yellow-brown canid-like femme, long red hair, stepping briskly along. But the way she walked wasn't quite right. Troy stared after her for awhile anyway, comparing her to Jennifer. Same height. Same features, same stunning body. The bikini top she wore didn't hide any of her curves, nor the tiger-stripes running up her back. But the purse she carried wasn't one Troy'd seen with Jennifer, the sight of her made him feel only a kind of wistful longing rather than the mad thudding of his heart he always felt when he saw Jennifer. The shade of dye she used was a little different, too. Only a little, though. He watched her move along, leaning forward to see her duck into a speciality shoe store, carrying ones made for furry feet. Just another of Jennifer's hundred and fifty odd sisters. What was it old Fred Rodney had said the last time he'd come down here? Break up, and how many sisters are there to try your luck with? Troy pulled back from the railing, gripping it tight with both hands, trying to keep his breathing stable. He didn't want to try his luck with any of the rest. None of Jennifer's sisters would sit up on the phone saying soothing things after one of his nightmares. They hadn't wiped snot and vomit from his mouth when he'd had one that made him physically ill. None of them had held his hand on a park bench while they fed the birds. Because he'd only ever done that with one of the clone group TLC version one dash batch number sixteen. The one with the individual number thirty-one thirteen tattooed into her gums with genedyes. One night she'd shown him, and he'd joked that 'TLC' must stand for tender loving care. She'd laughed, it meant thylacine, of course. He'd shown her his tattoo in turn, pulling at his lip until she could see the mark in the flesh of his gums. Something he'd never done before. Ever. She'd asked what BLM stood for, he'd explained the 'L' stood for lab, that he'd originally been derived from a model subspecies of lab mouse called black six. But maybe she'd seen those numbers, a little different, tattooed there in someone else's gum line. She'd dated Monaco once, he recalled, but Monaco had never said a thing about it. In fact Monaco had just shut off from his brothers entirely, going off into eastern Europe to pick through archaeological digs. Of course that wasn't Jennifer's fault. It couldn't be. Monaco had only truly withdrawn after Osaka died. After all the pain and confusion of that. But maybe there was some wise old fox who once told Jennifer, 'hell. Break up, and how many more brothers are there to try your luck with?' The thought made Troy whimper. Monaco was coming into town for the wedding, uncharacteristically. Maybe Troy could ask him about it. Yeah. Dig up your brother's old wounds to make yours even deeper. That'd be a smart move. Maybe he should call. Or just let her go, try and forget, go downstairs to Fred's little bar and drink himself senseless. Maybe... Maybe just do something, he thought, pulling out his phone and staring at it. There were a lot of people around, walking by. Troy rubbed his left wrist lightly with the back of his phone, glancing around. He wasn't dressed right for the weather. People would think he was weird, weirder than he was for being a fur. He checked his phone, his wristwatch, wishing one of them would tell him it wasn't quarter past ten. He sighed, settling back against the rail, letting his tail flick out into the open air. He keyed on his phone's link to his workstation back up in Minnesota and squinted down at the small display. Eventually he pulled up the reactor simulator and started shuffling around virtual atoms with his fingertips for the next run. But his heart wasn't in it. He took Germanium and stuck it in next to a couple of nitrogen atoms. He put in one each of Iodine and Iron, and bit his lip. He couldn't think of anything with just 'R' as a symbol, so he traded out the Iron for Fluorine and stuck in an Iridium atom on the end. Ge N N I F Ir. "What're you playing?" asked a familiar voice. There she stood, out of breath, wearing a forced smile. Jennifer. Sandy-furred and red-haired and the most beautiful thing he'd lain eyes on today, limping a little on her strappy high heeled shoes. She was wearing a short blue skirt and green top, though the slight shading dye applied around her eyes was still wet. She hadn't put on any lipstick yet, either. "It's not a game." Troy guiltily keyed off the workstation connection, shoving his phone back into a pocket. "Just, uh, some work stuff." "Sorry I'm late, I, got caught up," she explained, slinging her purse over one shoulder. Troy felt his gut churn. He hesitated, going so far as to button the pocket down over his phone, glancing away awkwardly. Because he knew that if he looked at her, he'd wonder who she'd kissed last. Who she'd looked at with those dazzling green eyes, how she'd looked at them. How she'd gotten caught up with them, been late. Her fingers caught his chin, though, gently forced him to look up. Jennifer smiled at him. "Hi." Her smile didn't seem forced at all now. It still made his heart go a little faster. She ducked her head forward and kissed him lightly on the nose. He dry swallowed after a moment. "This is where you say hi, back," she prompted. Troy bowed his head self-consciously. "Hi," he said. He scuffed his foot against the tiled canyon's flooring, adding sheepishly, "back." Her smile made it worth it. The way her eyes sparkled with unvoiced laughter. "You big silly. You want some coffee?" He nodded slowly, smiling back a little. "Come on. You look awful. Didn't you get any sleep?" Jennifer offered out a hand. He stuck his hands into his pockets, stepping up alongside, but not taking her hand. Not yet, anyway. "Just been thinking." "About?" "Crazy little molecule I was trying to model." "Mhmm?" She stepped beside him towards an empty table, one of the few. "What's it made up of?" "Germanium, Iridium." He shrugged a little. "Don't know what I'm going to do about it." Jennifer smiled again, letting it crawl up the side of her muzzle. "Well. You'll figure something out, Troy. I'm glad you're thinking about work, I was uhm. Kind of worried." "No, uh." Troy didn't quite meet her gaze. "I'll be okay. So what was that coffee you had last time? I think I'll try that." Jennifer was excited about a new play they were putting on at the Spirit of '67. Something based on old science fiction. Somebody's island. It was about vivisection, though, and she didn't mention much, knowing how Troy felt about it. Even so, she was worried. She bit her lip when she didn't think he was looking. Then again, those long searching gazes she gave him meant he was showing something, too. She didn't stop him in a drawn out explanation of a fuel chain mix for mass production, fusing loose helium and hydrogen to heavier elements to start building them up towards more unstable artificial ones, using fission reactions to try and get enough free particles and a high enough energy state developed for Unbiquadium to form. Usually she stopped him, asked for explanation or a simplified version. Not today. Today she just took tiny, tiny sips of her coffee and watched his eyes, which he found distracted by the Tyrel's ads on the tablecloth. The little sprite pointed eagerly at each of their brunch specials. Troy wasn't sure he could keep down more than the coffee. "So, uh, yeah," he finished, taking a swallow of his coffee. "Greg's going to try and run some of the lab's equipment off his reactor later, so even if we screw up selling it we can still save some money for the physics department." She leaned over the table, putting both of her hands over his right hand, her fingers gentle. "What're you going to be doing?" "After I develop a fuel solution, pretty much nothing. Hopefully I can use the results to back up my thesis, if I get it done fast enough." Jennifer squeezed his hand. He trailed off, and stared at those pretty hands covering his. He moved his left hand over hers, just resting there. Just so they'd press a little closer to his, so he could feel the flex of her fur. He let his head droop a little more. His eyes ached, kind of itched, as if he'd been crying. He hadn't been. Not in public, anyway, just in the plane's bathroom for fifteen minutes during the flight. "You okay?" she whispered, voice soft, the way it was when they were alone. He shook his head a little. "I thought it was going to be no broken hearts." "This is why getting possessive is bad," Jennifer replied, pulling one of her hands back so she could pick up her mug. She lightly rubbed at the side of his knuckle with her thumb, a gentle little scratching. When Troy looked up, she was staring away, at nothing, at something else. Anything else. She wasn't smiling anymore. "I fucked it up, didn't I?" she asked, blinking. She pulled her other hand out from between his, wiping at her wet eyes before her eye shadow streaked. "What up?" Troy asked, closing his hands over each other. He missed the friction of her thumb, the weight of her hand on his. "You and me." Troy didn't reply immediately. First he folded over his napkin, offering it out to her despite the blurring in his own eyes. Jennifer took the white square, pressed it to her face. She grimaced at the tan dye that seeped into the disposable fabric. She squeezed her eyes shut then, lifting the napkin to cover her mouth. "I mean, I warned you. I'm just... I mean." She paused for breath, staring away again, at the shining light prisms lighting up the canyon. Her shoulders shook as she drew breath, then shuddered. "I'm not a slut or anything," she whispered hoarsely. He reached up and scratched at his cheek awkwardly, chewed on his lip. "You don't think of me like that, do you?" She reached up, brushing at her eyes with the napkin again. Her eyelashes looked almost dewy. "No." Troy shut his eyes a moment, sniffled at the back of one of his hands. He couldn't find any words for it, just waved a hand, It didn't so much buy him time as make him look like a spastic freak, he thought. "I'm just, uhm." He dry swallowed. "Confused." His stomach churned again, and the words dried up in his throat. He picked up his cup of coffee, staring down at the little Tyrel's ad while taking a sip of his coffee. More bitter than usual. He glanced up, noticed one of the waiters lingering at the doors, staring. "I'm sorry, Troy, I didn't meant to hurt you, I just..." The sides of her mouth quirked up a little. Just for a second, before she covered her eyes with her hands, unable to get her palms over her trembling lips too. Troy watched her for a couple of moments before he couldn't bear it. "I, I gotta..." He got so far as straightening his back to stand before he fell back onto the stool, crumpling like a wet paper bag. He bit his lip hard, trying not to notice how people were staring. She lowered her hands, covering her muzzle with the back of a hand for a moment. Streaks of dye were running down her fur, discolouring her cheeks a little. "You gotta what?" Jennifer asked, eyes wide. Find a way for you to stop crying. Make you smile again. Run far, far away because I hurt so much seeing you, thinking about your hands on someone else. Troy folded his arms tightly, bowing his head, wrapping his tail around his legs. "I, uhm." One breath. Two breaths. "Uhm." Jennifer glanced around, blinked. Had she recognized one of the passerby glancing their way? "Come on, Troy. Let me get you out of here," she offered, fishing through her purse before tapping her card against the table's centrepiece. "We can go home, and we can just calm down, and.. and maybe have another coffee or something." She got to her feet first, glancing side to side quickly. "Where's your suitcase?" she asked, holding out a hand in front of him, open wide so he could slip his into hers. "Dallas's got it. Philadelphia's putting up Orleans 'and Dakar 'n Boston so Dallas and Florence made some space for me on their couch tonight. And I can't. The guys are waiting for me. Saigon's bachelor party." Her hand looked so empty. Finally she let it drop down to her side. "Oh," she replied softly. The fur across her throat shifted a little. "Maybe you should go, have some fun. Get it out of your system with some girls." Her face was unreadable. "Not that kind of party," Troy replied. "His fiancée's there." She tugged her purse around, fidgeting with it. "What kind of bachelor's party is this?" she asked, relief in her stressed voice. "What kind would you expect for someone related to me?" He dry swallowed. "Wanna come? It's just downstairs at Fred's." It was thrilling. Troy couldn't keep her eyes off her. First a little left, then right. It was beautiful watching her move under his brother's furred hands. Almost shocking the way Saigon touched her. She was in the open, exposed, but that just made it all the more thrilling. Saigon rubbed his fingers, not willing to touch her again, those beautiful curves. Troy wanted to reach out and slap his brother's hands away and take over, out of a kind of desperate need to just lose himself in the moment. But he wouldn't. It'd be improper. Saigon finally picker her up, used her base to knock over the knight, set her down, and tapped the chess clock. "Mate," he added after an uncertain moment, staring at the board. "Queen takes knight." Philadelphia smoothed down his suit's tie, having taken off from work early, and grimly hunched over the board. "I was hoping you wouldn't do that." "Mhmm," Saigon grinned across the table. Fred's bar was almost entirely silent but for the party guests, closed off to the public today. No music, nice and quiet. There were another four games in progress, Dallas and Dakar, Boston and Orleans, Florence and his friend Tim, Turin and Monaco. Nagoya and Oslo wouldn't be here until their flights landed tonight, Sydney wasn't coming until tomorrow and Denver was sleeping off jet lag, so Troy was the odd mouse out right now, no game to play. He bit his lip lightly, glancing over at Turin making his move, wishing he could join in. He slumped down, folding his arms on the table and put his chin down on them, listening to the quiet hubbub of conversation from the ladies, clustered around a table with their drinks. "I mean, this is really a hen party?" he heard Jennifer ask. "Bachelor party, whatever?" "Compared to nights at the research station, this is times square, sister!" Anne laughed a little, she was a tall human girl with tattoos flowing down her bare arms, brunette and built with a little extra weight. Nadine laughed too, a grey tabby girl, with a different physique to her sister Therese, who for once was out of her waitress's clothes. Their faces were almost identical, but Nadine was a dancer, her limbs thin and graceful. Therese wasn't so toned. "It's kind of nice, actually. Dallas never likes it when we go out on the town, so, I'm happy to see him enjoying himself," Nadine said, glancing their way. "Isn't Troy the same way?" Jennifer perked an eyebrow. "Hm?" "You're his girlfriend, right?" Troy caught the way her ear tips tilted away from each other, tense. "Well I really hope so, why else would I be here?" she laughed, picking up her drink. A quick sip and she added, "He's not in town all that often. All that fancy work, you know?" "Yeah, Saigon's like that, really distant when he's busy fixing the ice drones, or the lighting, or whatever," Anne agreed. "Huh." Troy glanced up, trying to work out who'd spoken. It was Turin, scratching at the side of his replacement eye while staring at the board. It didn't look good for Monaco, he'd left a bishop alone and unprotected. "Why'd you go and do that?" Monaco settled back down, deliberately keeping his eyes on the chessboard, tail lashing out behind him. "Thinking." "Work?" Turin asked quietly, looking over the pieces. Monaco offered a vague shrug. "Yeah." Troy dry swallowed. He slipped back off his open-backed chair. "I'm going to get a drink. You guys want anything?" "Nah." A shrug here, the shake of a head there. Tim, a skinny human guy Troy hadn't met before Florence introduced them, looked up. "Ah, Piña Colada?" Troy offered a vague smile. "Sure thing." He moved over towards the bar, giving the women a wide berth. Three or four from the research station, a couple of errant friends and girlfriends. It wasn't much of a party, Troy knew, ducking his gaze so he wouldn't have to make eye contact with Jennifer. "Y'know, Fred's got Karaoke software on the screen there," Therese said with a little grin. "Oh really," laughed one of the research station girls. Anne grinned, "you wanna go boot that up for us? Lemme go and see if the boys have any requests." Troy moved behind the bar, looking over the unfamiliar equipment. He dry swallowed. He didn't really want anything to drink. Anne draped her arms over Saigon's shoulders, peering over the top of his head at the chess board. "We're playing Karaoke. You have any requests?" "Uh... Honey?" Saigon replied awkwardly, cringing in his chair. He pointed at the board with a wince. "I'm kinda, y'know..." Speakers squealed, hands were clapped over ears. Dallas scrunched up his nose, glaring across at the girls. "Sorry," Nadine called out in a sing-song way. Troy slumped down behind the bar, sitting with his back against one of the cupboards, hidden from view. He leaned his head back, listening to the girls get set up, the errant bits of conversation. Nobody'd notice him missing. Maybe Jennifer would. Maybe he actually mattered enough to her that she'd go looking. He looked up at the ceiling, the top edge of the bar longingly. Come and rescue him, all smiles, like nothing had ever happened. Take him to her place, and it'd be just like that first time. Full of passion, her gentle breath ruffling his fur when they fell asleep together afterward. She'd put her head over the top of the bar and smile down at him sadly, because he was a little screw-up, not like those guys she usually fucked. She'd smile a little and say, hey sweetie, like she probably did to everyone, and take him home, and fuck him so he could think he was in love, and forget all about him the next day when she was with some other guy. Troy squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing at them with the back of his hands. It was all his fault. If he wasn't out of town all the time, didn't get so damn caught up so he'd forget what month it was, let alone day of the week... She didn't need him. She didn't call him. "Hey champ." Troy looked up shakily. It wasn't her red hair dangling there over him, just a red furred face. A fox's, kind of the right shape, but not. It wasn't her. It was just Fred. "Hey," Troy sighed. "Whatcha doin' down there, man?" Troy reached out and tapped the white door of one of the appliances. "Waiting for my beer to cool down. Just a little tired. Been up since..." Troy frowned. He couldn't remember. He'd fallen asleep by the sequencers yesterday, maybe. "Didn't know you could cool down beer inna dishwasher." Troy laughed a little. More just like his chest caved in on itself and he made a noise. He looked around for some other explanation, shook his head. "Yeah, takes awhile, I guess." "You wanna step into the basement for a bit? We could sit down and have a chat. My back's killin' me, man." Troy thought of Jennifer. Maybe a dozen feet away with the other girls. Why couldn't she have stuck her head over the bar? Come to rescue him from his own immature stupidity, hiding behind the bar like a five year old. He bit his lip. "Yeah. Sounds good, Fred." "Un-da-whatium?" Troy really didn't want to be here. He wanted to be anywhere but here. But Fred actually looked sore as he settled down, putting his cane down. His tail didn't have much fur left on it, just a couple of white puffs at the tip. His breath stank of marijuana, nicotine, something else smoky that Troy couldn't identify. Hadn't quite kicked the cancer yet, huh Fred? No wonder. Troy dry swallowed, pulling the latex gloves on with a snap, trying not to inhale too deeply. "Unbiquadium," he replied, pulling open the dusty old drawers. "Which goes up hot enough to get fusion going, like inside stars." "I thought you said it was cold fusion." "Usually it happens at a hundred million kelvins," Troy replied sharply. "If this works we can build it safely into baby rattles if we want. It's fucking cold, alright?" "Geez, geez, alright." Fred lifted his hands defensively. "Hey, man, I'm sorry. I know you wanna be up with your girl, but old Fred, he's hurting, you know?" Troy didn't want to be up there. Because up there it hurt. It hurt a lot. Down here, here Troy could be angry. Angry felt better. He held out his hand, hoping his fur wouldn't poke through the latex. Maybe he could stay clean this time. "Where're the bricks, Fred? I don't want to talk." The old fox leaned forward, putting down a couple of paper-wrapped packages on Troy's old workbench, careful not to disturb the equipment. Troy looked down at them, biting the inside of his lip. "Personal use only," he said finally. "Yeah," Fred agreed. "Can't afford anything better, I use too much to ever deal." "What do you want?" Fred shook his head. "Whatever drips out of the tube, Troy. Heroin, whatever. I ain't picky today. Just something to make the pain go away, huh?" He smiled. "Help me get through the wedding." Troy unwrapped the first brick. Hard stuff, brick was a bad term. The raw opium was round. Round because they got little kids to pack it up like mud pies in Columbia after first refinement of the poppy sap. Normally it got shipped to Africa these days, got made into pseudo-legal painkillers and highs and whitewashed through national hospitals, resold. But Fred always had a couple of bricks on hand for Troy to make into something, because Troy was weak. Troy wanted to help Fred as a kid, had been such a dumbass as to mention that he liked chemistry. Fred smiled vaguely, his teeth all crooked. He was a third generation fur. Built out of cobbled together gene sequences and even more medically unstable than Troy and his brothers. He hurt, Troy knew. He hurt a lot, real physical pain because of the cancers he kept getting. God awful pain, but Fred never screamed or wept unless there wasn't anyone around to hear, just late at night when he thought he wouldn't wake anyone. Fred who'd helped Troy and his brothers get back on their feet. Fred who was making Troy cook up drugs in his basement during Saigon's bachelor party. Troy just wanted to play chess. All he wanted to do was play chess and forget about Jennifer for awhile. That's all. "I'll just, uh, let you get to it, huh?" Troy nodded finally. "Yeah. Let me get to it." Troy waited until Fred was gone before letting himself cry, cry and chop up the goddamn opium and turn it into bad heroin with the fast catalysts Troy'd been so proud of designing in high school so that Fred could stick it in his veins and laugh his god awful laugh again, instead of being in pain. Troy could barely keep his eyes open. He slumped his head back against the wall of the little maintenance corridor behind the canyon fronts, lit perky white with neon lamps and smelling bad because of all the garbage that got hauled through here. He picked up his beer bottle by the neck and took a swig. It didn't help much. He could still hear her singing along to the music. "My baby's lost downtown," he whispered along to the whispers through the vents, "where's he gawn," he drawled, twisting the word 'gone' to the weird accent along with her singing back in the bar. He couldn't sing as nicely as Jennifer. She really had the voice for it, all sultry, seductive. His was just squeaks and choking and tears right now. He pushed his head back against the plasticized wall, ears scrunching up against it every time he twisted his head uncomfortably. After awhile he couldn't make out her singing, wished he'd listened a little more carefully while Jennifer had been at the mic. Then he heard Fred's laughter, loud and happy. Loud and doped up. Having the time of his life with the first dregs of crappy heroin, just barely cleaned up enough not to poison him because Troy didn't give a shit anymore. Or at least Troy wished that he didn't. Troy wished a lot of things, like maybe he'd saved a little to stick into his own veins. Maybe it'd help the hurt go away, let him picture something other than her hands caressing another man's face. Troy looked at his beer bottle and tossed it aside at the trash pile. It landed with a gentle scrunch of plastic garbage bags and a clink of glass, not a satisfying smash like in the movies. He shut his eyes against the fluorescent lighting, but couldn't make it all go away. He wanted a nap, but he'd just wake up with the damn nightmares as soon as he dropped into REM sleep. Hour and a half and bang. It was like a goddamn clock. He still felt too hot, his stomach hurt. He looked up at the light again miserably, head aching. Why'd he called her this morning? If he hadn't none of this would've happened. He could just blithely live in ignorance and maybe have skipped the party with her, avoided Fred's mess. His mouth was dry, though. And maybe another few beers would help him forget. He got up tiredly and went back into the bar room. It was mostly empty. Dallas and Nadine were standing by the door, Dallas with his head down, waiting for Nadine to finish rearranging her shoulder bag. Troy cleared his throat. "Where is everybody?" "Taking a break before we hit the park this evening. Fred's upstairs," Dallas offered. Troy couldn't help but glance up. "Yeah?" "Yeah. He got an, uhm..." Dallas frowned, biting his lip uncertainly. Nadine laughed a little and stepped in. "He hired a stripper for Saigon. You should've seen his face, Troy!" Nadine grinned. "She didn't even finish unbuttoning her shirt before he freaked out!" Not out of character for the old fox. "So Fred's upstairs with her now, huh?" "Yup," Dallas said with an uncomfortable nod. "Just like old times," Troy said, trying to laugh. He couldn't. The silence dragged on a bit, and Dallas put his arm around Nadine, and Troy looked away. "See you at the park later, huh? "Ah, okay," Dallas shrugged, stepping out with Nadine, leaving Troy alone in the bar. Troy glanced back at the fridges. He wasn't all that thirsty anymore. He heard the click of high heels from behind him, glanced back down the short back room corridor. Jennifer stepped out of the kitchen, shutting the door. She looked up, saw him. Smiled. Broke his heart. "Hey. I was wondering where you'd gotten to," she said, stepping forward slowly in her high heels. She tottered a little, a little drunk, maybe. Or her high heels were uncomfortable. He dry swallowed. "New shoes?" "Yeah," she replied. "I wanted to, uhm. You know, look nice." Troy nodded quietly, settling back against the bar. "You do," he offered quietly. "But they must be iffy to stand in." She nodded in turn, looking down at them, the little faux-leather black straps. "I thought you might like them," she whispered distractedly. He did. They made her calves seem a little curvier. But he didn't say anything, just swallowed down air. "Everybody's going to go down to the park tonight," he said finally. " Going to have a family picnic." "Which park?" "Gordon's Park." Jennifer frowned at him suddenly. "The cemetery?" He nodded. "Kind of a tradition when something good happens." He leaned back, kicked at the flooring with the toe of his shoe. "You okay, Troy?" He shook his head a little before he knew what he was doing. He'd meant to say 'yes'. "What's wrong?" She tightened her smile a little. Realized what she'd said and shut her eyes, smile tightening uncomfortably. "Besides uhm. That." Troy blinked hard. I want someone to hold me and make it better. To make this morning go away, to make today go away, to just... "I just need a little space, Jennifer." Troy whimpered. "I can't look at you without it hurting right now." The tip of Jennifer's snout dropped, pointed down at the ground. She pulled her purse from her shoulder, slipped her gentle fingertips over the handle, squeezed. With a flick of her hair she looked away, up over a shoulder. Twisting away far enough that her red hair fell from behind her shoulder, errant tresses falling over her collar, down the neck line. "I guess I deserve that." No she didn't. Troy twisted, settling a hand over his stomach, because it hurt. "I just need a walk." "You need a walk," she repeated without looking at him, nodding. "And then maybe, maybe we could forget about things and..." She ground her hands around the handle of her purse. "I don't know about that," Troy swallowed. "Not yet, anyway." She twisted her lips down, ears flat back against her red hair, tail shuddering. "You take your walk, Troy."