FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The FBA and many of the characters here belong to Buck Hopper. The cover art was made by Foxenawolf. The Baltimore Spirits' general manager is Tobu and head coach is Rigid. Catherine DeMille is mine. All other characters belong to their respective owners.

---

She saw him coming from a few steps away. She had just caught the ball, and was turning, halfway into rising to the balls of her feet to shoot. Godric Jafet, the Biloxi Voodoo's enormous hippopotamus center, was turning and stepping towards her, hoping to block her before she could make the shot. He had to be at least twice her weight, and all of that was hard, well-trained muscle. She knew he wouldn't be able to stop his momentum. She had a choice: get out of the way, or take the shot.

Afterwards, she would reflect that it had been her own fault. It was the third quarter, and she'd been out of position; on the right, just inside of Biloxi's key. During halftime, Coach Trassel had told her and Joey Cox, the Spirits' other point guard, to push the offensive. That was what Catherine was doing. Small as she was when compared to everybody else on the court, nobody had noticed her sneaking off to the right side of the key while the rest of the play was focused on the left. When a passing lane had opened between her and Corey Allen, neither of them had hesitated. The dog sent the ball her way, and Catherine made for the layup.

So Catherine sent the ball up towards the basket, and then 330 lbs of muscle walked into her. She threw her arms out wildly as she fell back, trying to catch her fall. She fell square on her right elbow, and a sharp, undignified squawk leapt from her beak as pain lanced up the limb.

The next few minutes were hard to follow. She remembered Coach Trassel yelling at Jafet and the refs from the sidelines. There were people crowding around her, all of them seeming to talk at once while she clutched at her elbow. Soon enough, she'd been escorted away from the court, clenching her beak tight and breathing sharply. A few of her teammates wished her well as she stalked by them, the team trainer guiding her. She barely even heard any of them.

Once they were safely in one of the locker rooms, where cameras and reporters couldn't reach or hear them, Catherine unclenched her beak, sucked in a huge breath, and then squawked out, "Fuck!"

"Oh sit down and stop complaining." The trainer, a small and lithe margay named Jesus, rolled his eyes as he forced her to sit on one of the benches. He grabbed her arm with deft and precise hands, and held it out. He crouched a bit to get a look at the elbow, and started muttering. "Well it's not broken. One to ten - how much does this hurt?" He reached out, and deftly flicked her elbow.

"Fuck!" She bent over double, gasping for breath, and then glared over at him. "What the hell, Jesus!?"

"One to ten?"

"I don't know... seven?"

Jesus snorted. "It's not fractured either, then. Probably just a contusion. Now stop complaining. Lord, birds are such crybabies." She shot him a look, and he rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Princess." The margay stood up straight, and glanced down at her, stroking under his muzzle for a few seconds. "We'll have to take a closer look at it in the morning, but I'm putting you on the disabled list. You're going to be out of it for at least a week and a half, probably more."

Catherine blanched, then stared up at him. "A week and a half!?"

"You're the one that keeps complaining about how much it hurts, featherhead. We'll have to scale back your training, but don't worry, we'll keep you working on the machines. Can at least work your legs and core. For now, keep the wing raised. I'm going to grab some ice. Oh, and next time there's a 330 lb hippo running at you? Get out of the way, Princess."

With that, he got up, and headed out the door. Catherine watched Jesus go, staring. The margay had a short way about him at the best of times, but that had been particularly harsh. She couldn't be out of play for a couple weeks. In a way, she was lucky; they had all of the next week off from games, so it would minimize her time off of the court. She couldn't afford to miss that much time training, though.

Also... well. She sure as hell couldn't tell Jesus why she'd really been swearing. She'd gone up against larger opponents before. Hell, she'd been injured before. That said, she'd never felt that terrifying moment before, of knowing that the hit was coming, of watching. Especially not with somebody _that_big. She closed her eyes, and could still clearly see Jafet stepping towards her, losing control of his momentum, all of that weight and muscle and... She opened her eyes and glanced down at her hand; the good one. It was shaking.

"Just shock. That's all," she muttered to herself. The lie sounded thin even in her own ears.

The practice the next day was one of the most frustrating days of her life. She was almost completely restricted to using the machines; anything else posed too much of a risk of jostling her wing or making her exert it. She spent most of the morning in the weight room, doing leg presses with her earbuds turned up as loud as they would go. Her teammates, who had trouble getting along with her at the best of times, kept a wide berth.

It wasn't until they paused for lunch that Catherine finally pulled out her earbuds. She joined the others in the small dining area set aside for the players, and took the carefully measured out servings they always gave her. She was surprised, when she sat down, to find a few of the others drifting over to her. Occasionally she would talk to her teammates, but more often than not she wound up eating alone, lost in her own thoughts. She preferred it that way.

Today, though, several of them came over to ask her how she was feeling after last night, and to see how her wing was doing. She dodged most of the questions with half answers. Sure, she would say, she was feeling alright. She would leave out the bit about wanting to punch a hole in the wall.

She was glad that neither Joey Cox or Silvia Windcreek came over to talk to her. They were the Spirits' two starting guards, and probably the team's two strongest players. Though she respected their playing abilities, she couldn't help but resent them for their skill. If either of them had tried to show pity, she didn't know if she would've been able to handle it. Instead, the roadrunner and the hare sat over at one of the other tables, speaking and occasionally laughing to each other.

Catherine had just finished nodding and thanking Akako, a single-tailed kitsune, for her concern, when somebody sat down squarely on the other side of the table from her. The palm cockatoo glanced over, and felt her feathers puffing up slightly as she saw Mathiyazangan Balasubramaniam grinning back at her. The squirrel's tall, tufted ears flicked a bit as he nodded to her. "Huh, so, how does it feel to be on the other side of it?"

She blinked. She fully understood the squirrel's thick Indian accent by this point without any trouble. It was more his actual words that were throwing her off. "What?"

"Oh don't tell me you've already forgotten the hard time you gave me about my tail sprain."

Catherine's beak broke from its uncomfortable grimace to a hint of a grin at that, and she leaned back in her seat. She enjoyed her talks with the squirrel. He was quite friendly, and strongly devoted to the Spirits. Still, she'd managed to prod him enough to realize he had a competitive edge almost as strong as her own. "Oh no, Moby, I hadn't forgotten. I still think you were a bit of a wuss for it, though."

Moby, as the team had taken to calling him after many hilarious attempts to pronounce his name, just rolled his eyes at the cockatoo. "Really? You're saying that now, with you not playing?"

Catherine just shrugged. "Sorry, I still think my elbow's a bit more key to my ability to play than your tail is to you." Catherine could see a few of the others glancing over at them uncomfortably, predicting an argument. She didn't care. This was what she wanted. Some aggression.

"Right, right," the squirrel was nodding. "Well I can't wait to see you waving some red and black flags for us from the sidelines. Or, you know, maybe just one." He inclined his head towards her elbow. "You are the Princess. Wouldn't want you exerting yourself."

"Oh please. You know as well as I do that if Jesus or Trassel were to clear me for it, I'd be pinning you in an arm wrestle right now."

"Yes, but how convenient that they won't clear you. I guess it does make sense. Wouldn't want the delicate bird breaking herself."

"Moby." Both Catherine and Moby turned in surprise at the sharp sound of Silvia Windcreek's voice. The silver hare was twisting around in her seat, and had fixed Moby with an intense look. "Too far."

The squirrel tensed, and looked like he was going to reply. He hesitated, though, then deflated. "Right." He glanced back over to Catherine. "Sorry."

"It's alright." Catherine did her best to keep the aggression out of her voice. From the look on Moby's face, though, it seemed like some had snuck through. The rest of the lunch break passed mostly in silence.

When Catherine went back to the weight room, she was clenching her beak hard enough that it hurt. She kept flexing and stretching her wing, testing how far she could push it before it hurt. True, Moby's final words had offended her a bit, but the squirrel had insulted her less than the rest of her teammates. He'd only said aloud what the others were all thinking. Poor Catherine couldn't play because she was hurt. She had to be more careful with those brittle and hollow bones of hers.

Slowly, over the course of the afternoon, her frustration festered and built. By the time Coach Trassel called it a night, Catherine had come up with a plan. A very simple, stupid plan.

Catherine waited until the others had left, and then she went to her locker again. Everybody was used to her being the last one to leave at the end of the day, so nobody had questioned her about still being there. She carefully pulled out her gear, and changed back into it before heading out to the court.

The space felt much bigger without anybody else there. Her footsteps echoed back at her from the rafters. She turned a slow circle as she reached the centre line, looking up into the empty stands. She let out a long sigh that felt much louder than it ought to have.

"Alright... let's see what I can do."

She fetched one of the balls they used for practice, and dribbled it experimentally with her left arm. As she walked over towards the freethrow line, she carefully extended her right wing, stretching it. It gave small twinges whenever she straightened it out fully, making her grimace.

As she reached the line, she tried a quick, simple dribble back and forth from hand to hand. She clenched her beak down harder every time the ball hit her right hand, sending small shocks up the limb. Finally, she caught the ball with both hands, breathing sharply. This was a stupid idea. She _knew_this was a stupid idea.

She stood up straight, and looked up at the basket. She carefully raised the ball, and steadied her breathing.

She shot. Muscle memory dictated the movement, her right wing straightening and pushing the ball as her fingers cupped. It was all fine until her wing reached full extension.

She gasped out a strangled squawk, and bent down. She clutched her wing to her chest, sheltering the throbbing elbow. She didn't have to look to know that she'd missed the shot. She heard the ball bouncing away from the net, but she didn't really care. She was too busy gasping out every curse word she knew, waiting for the throbbing in her elbow to numb.

Catherine froze, and her head jerked up as she heard one of the stadium's doors open. She held her position, crouched at the free throw line, as she heard footsteps echoing. They stopped, and there was silence for a few seconds. Then,

"You have got to be either the stupidest or the most stubborn rookie I've ever seen."

Catherine felt her cheeks growing very, very hot as she identified Joey Cox's voice. She swallowed it down, though, and just said sharply. "I was hoping for some privacy."

"So you could wreck your wing for the rest of the season?" His footsteps started again, echoing closer to her. "Come on, get your wing up. It needs to be raised."

The roadrunner helped her over to the bench, and made sure she held her wing up above her head. She kept her head down as he knelt to look the elbow over, parting the feathers to get a look at the skin underneath.

"Well it doesn't look like you did any more damage," he finally muttered. His sharp eyes flicked over from her wing to her face, and he raised an eyebrow. "Now would you mind telling me why you were trying to do the one thing the trainers told you not to do?"

"I just don't want to be out of training for that long."

"It isn't that big of a deal. It's not like you're going to fall behind in two weeks. Who knows? It might even be good for you. You probably need an actual break."

"I don't have _time_for a break."

"Catherine, you're one of the most consistent players on the team."

She shrugged, and muttered, "Not consistent enough, I guess."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

Joey kept eying her, the roadrunner's forehead creased with thought. At length, he just shook his head. "Whatever. Look, I can't let you just wreck your wing. Silvia and I need you on the court."

Catherine snorted. "Right."

"'Right?'"

"I think you and Silvia have things under control without me."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Look, it isn't exactly fun or fulfilling just acting as back up for the two of you all the time."

"It's part of the game."

"I know." The palm cockatoo sat back. She did her best to look serious and disinterested, though it was difficult with her wing still raised firmly above her head. "It doesn't change how frustrating it is. Missing a couple weeks of practice isn't going to help my chances."

Joey kept his eyes on her for a few moments longer, then rolled them. "You know, I was drafted by the Stanislaus Thrust. I got to spend my rookie contract warming up the bench and playing whenever Buck Hopper needed some water. Believe it or not, I have a pretty good idea of how you feel right now."

"Then you know just how annoying it is getting this talk from you of all people."

"Yeah, I do. I think you should listen to me, though."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not just warming the bench for Buck Hopper anymore, and you want to know how I did it."

Catherine actually blinked, then glanced over at him. There was a grin on his face, and she immediately regretted showing her interest. He knew he had her now. Still... "Fine. What great wisdom do you have to impart?"

"Ah-ah-ah." Joey's grin took on an edge. "One condition."

"Name it."

"You'll promise to take the next few weeks easy so you'll heal properly."

"Please tell me you're joking."

"Promise!"

"This is really condescending."

"I just walked in on you trying to do free throws with a bum elbow."

"...fine. I promise."

"Good." Joey nodded. "As for how I did it... I learned. I spent that time watching Hopper to learn and improve. I practiced against one of the best in the league almost every day for two solid years. When my contract expired, I decided..." He paused. Catherine didn't push him. When he spoke again, his eyebrows had pulled together, knitting his forehead. "I knew that I needed to start, and that I needed to start on a team that could win. I needed a championship ring. So I went out and started looking for one." Catherine snorted at that, and Joey glanced over at her again. His eyes had lost focus while he'd been speaking. "What?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, you went out and started looking for one. Last I checked, you haven't won a championship yet, though."

The roadrunner went quiet, and Catherine was starting to get uncomfortable by the time he replied. "No. I haven't. I do have a team, though. A team I can consider my team. That counts for something.

"Now, last night you chose to take that hit." She was surprised by the sudden change of subject, but she nodded. "The thing is, we're birds. Hollow bones and all that. We're frail, we can't take a hit; I know you've heard it. People are always going to try to take advantage of that. When they do, there are two ways we can react. What most people will tell you to do is to get out of the way. Jesus probably told you to do exactly that last night." Catherine nodded, her forehead creasing as she recalled her conversation with the margay. "The problem with getting out of the way is that it means their tactic worked; they know that every time they try to push you, you'll move for them. My personal policy?" He leaned in a bit closer, and tapped her wing very lightly, just shy of her elbow. "Take the hit, but make them hurt for it. Jafet hit you last night, but you still got that basket."

Catherine blinked, surprised. In all of the madness after she'd taken the hit, she'd completely forgotten to ask whether or not her shot had actually landed in the net. She glanced up as Joey kept speaking.

"The most important thing about taking the hit, though, is getting back up. If you wreck your wing, you aren't playing again, period. If you can come back from that injury and play just as strong, though, that sends a message. That's something that everybody in the league will take note of."

Catherine considered his words. At length, she replied. "You know..." She hesitated. It almost felt wrong, what she was about to say, but she had to say it. "If you're still on this team when my rookie contract expires, I probably won't come back. I'll be like you: I'll go out and try to find my own team to lead. I'm only going to try to make it harder for you to get that championship ring."

"I know." The roadrunner's face cracked into a grin again. "Like you even stand a chance."

Catherine snorted, and Joey finally stood up. He stretched himself out a bit, then said, "Well, I think it's too late for me to be doing any extra laps. Meet you in the lobby?"

"Sure. I promise I won't try to lift any weights in the locker room."

He laughed, and she got up.

As they were about to part in the parking lot, Joey stopped and looked over at her. "Oh yeah, did you watch TFSN last night?"

Catherine shook her head. "I was a bit rattled. I just went to bed."

"Fair enough. I'm surprised your parents didn't tell you about it."

"I haven't talked to them."

Joey blinked, and raised an eyebrow. "You're joking, right?"

"What?"

"Catherine, you got run over by a hippo last night. Your parents haven't called you yet?"

"They're busy a lot of the time."

Joey stared at her for a moment longer, before holding up his hands and shaking his head. "Whatever you say. I would go and watch the FBA replay reel from last night, though. Just a tip."

He walked off to his car. Catherine watched him getting in, then shook her head, heading over to her own vehicle.

When she got back to the condo she was using in downtown Baltimore, she left the lights off as she wandered around. She tracked down her phone easily, and checked it. She never brought it to practice or games; it was just a distraction.

When she saw that she'd received no calls or messages, she sighed and put the phone away. She fetched some left over food from the fridge, and then headed into her bedroom. There, she sat herself down in front of her computer, and started eating as it booted up.

Not long after, she'd browsed to the TFSN website, and opened the video of the highlight reel from the night before. She sat back, still eating her food slowly as it flashed through, showing all of the impressive plays from the night.

"...and one last one from the Biloxi at Baltimore game." She sat up abruptly, leaning in closer to the screen. "Here we have Catherine DeMille, a player we haven't seen a lot from this season. Now right here, keep your eye on Godric Jafet. Just watch..." Catherine flinched as she watched the play in slow motion, remembering the awful second of decision, and the hit that followed. She blinked when she realized the reporter was still talking. "Now let's go back and take a close look here." The video zoomed in, and it showed her head flicking to the side, towards Jafet. "DeMille actually sees Jafet coming towards her, and she still takes the shot. Let's be honest here, DeMille and Jafet are on opposite ends of the size and weight spectrum for the FBA. Not to mention, DeMille is an avian, and we all know how well birds can take hits. So DeMille sees him coming, and she makes the decision to take that hit. She goes down, and she winds up sustaining an injury. Best part, though? She gets up and manages to walk off the court. I'm sure a lot of people might disagree with her choice, but you can't fault her for lack of guts."

The highlight reel went on a short while longer, but Catherine was sitting back, not paying attention at that point. Eventually, the stream ended, and she was left in the quiet and dark of her room. She glanced over at her phone again. She hadn't heard any beeps, and the notification light wasn't blinking.

She thought back to the day, and to her conversation with Moby, and sighed to herself.

"A couple weeks, eh?" She looked down at her wing, and slowly flexed the fingers. "I can do that." Then she would show Moby, the rest of her team, and the rest of the league just how 'delicate' a bird she was.