FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The glass and cement skyscrapers were unable to live up their name to the immovable wall of sepia clouds above them. They released a steady flow of early autumn rain under them, causing the cement sidewalks to illuminate the gold, green and red beams that shone from the traffic lights. At a bus stop that didn't have enough roof to keep all the potential passengers dry, a fox kept coughing awkwardly and to some unnecessarily. However this didn't bother Jargon, a young yet somewhat successful otter, who had his headphones in listening to one of his favorite bands, Questioning Claudia. The double pedals of the drums that matched the shredding riffs of the guitar, accompanied by the low growls and high screams, soothed his weary mind as he stared at the sidewalk that was changing colors with the traffic lights. In his moment, he almost missed the bus that drove him by his home. He, the coughing fox, and a dark brown rabbit boarded. There were plenty of empty seats, so Jargon took one by the window a few rows from the front. Exhausted, he lay his head on the window and stared at the drops of rain that fell upon it as they raced to the bottom of the glass. Jargon concentrated on the raindrops. Then, they began to shift to his liking. He drew patterns and swirls with the drops, from smiley faces to dragons, using nothing but his thoughts of will. As he practiced, his mind went back to earlier that day in the office....

Jargon was in his cubicle, wearing his black and white business suit that represented his success. He was typing furiously, trying to finish a record of the employees in the building that his supervisor decided was absolutely needed tomorrow. His eyes grew tired from staring at a screen, and his fingers kept hitting wrong keys so he had to keep backtracking his mistakes. "I could use some coffee..." he thought. As if on cue, a tan mouse in glasses with a sky blue frock and painted claws to match handed him a cup of steaming caffeine. She spied at him from behind the cubicle wall. "You like tired." she smiled at him.

"Thank you Clair." Jargon replied. He brought an icy sensation to his fingers, and sipped the coffee at an ice cold temperature even though it was just steaming. But that was magic for you. The coffee was Black, just how liked it, like his unusual fur. Now why couldn't she remember he liked iced coffee? "You look nice today." he said in robotic pleasantry. He disliked talking to coworkers, but Clair was alright.

"Uhm, Jargon, I wanted to ask you something..." Clair clutched her vanilla folder to her chest and stared at the floor. "Yes?" Jargon asked, not particularly interested. "Next week, I'm hosting a weekend getaway with some of the others in the office. We're going to this really big lake in the middle of a beautiful forest, not far from here. I'm not much for water, but otters like to swim, right? You should come." She gave him a sheepish smile. Clair was a pretty mouse, Jargon thought, and mice aren't usually very attractive to some. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself, so shy and careful, as if the ground she walked on was made of glass. Jargon knew she always had feelings for him, but she unfortunately was totally unaware that this certain otter cared for the romantic company of males more than females.

"I'm sorry Clair, but I have a feeling this extra work Dern puts on me won't let up anytime soon. I need the weekends for myself. I appreciate the offer." He said in the most unappreciative tone, took a big gulp of his cooled down coffee, and went back to typing, so he wouldn't have to look the mouse's disappointed face. "Oh, I....I understand. Mr.Dern has been working you a lot, that's why I brought you coffee." "Thanks for that too. Do you mind though, Clair? I have to finish this tomorrow." Jargon would clearly see her hurt if he wasn't so absorbed in ignoring her, but she only said. "Of course, Jargon. Anytime." and she walked away, without making a sound.

Not even a moment later, his phone was being paged from the front desk. "Hey Jargon, It's Clair. Mr.Dern wants to see you in his office." Shit. Jargon's head thudded onto his desk and he groaned. What in the world did that pompous panda want now? He turned his head not lifting it from the desk, and dramatically pushed the page back button on the desk phone. "I'm coming. Thank you Clair." He arose from his desk and walked to the office in the back, gathering strength and courage with each step as if walking through a gladiator's hall. Mr.Dern's office had a glass door you could see one another through, but Jargon knocked anyways.

Mr.Dern was built for a panda. Jargon couldn't fathom how he had the energy to exercise when panda's were naturally lazy, this one no exception. Mr.Dern wore the stupidest ties (today's had pineapples and palm trees.) He waved for Jargon to come in, he was smiling. "Hey man, thanks. I really owe you one for that!" He must have been talking about that big pile of work he put on Jargon. "Oh, uh, you're welcome sir." Mr.Dern shook his head and waved his hand in a dismissive motion, then pointed at his ear. He was wearing a headset. Jargon despised those things. "No, NO!" Mr.Dern laughed uncontrollably. He grabbed cigarettes from his desk and put one in his mouth. "Well tell him he's an idiot. I'll call you back." he pushed the headset. "Crazy bastard....Mr. Arête! How's one of my best workers doing!" he was about to light the cigarette. Jargon didn't think it was fair that he got to smoke inside just because he was a supervisor. Every time the large panda flicked the lighter Jargon snuffed the air around it. When Mr.Dern gave up, muttering how just got the damn lighter, Jargon replied "Better than I may seem."

"I wanted to talk to you son." Jargon hated being called son. "You do a good job here, nobody can deny that. But you don't seem to get along with the fellow employees. I don't know why, but they say things about you...." Jargon was confused. "Sir, I don't even talk to them. And what do they say about me?" Jargon's body started to heat, but he looked at the panda with cool eyes. "Just that you're sorta...mean. You don't engage in meetings either. They think you might be some sort of devil worshipper! These guys...I tell you..." Jargon knew he was talked about, and despite the card with 10 swords on it that he always had on his desk, they continued to open their mouths about things they didn't know about.

"Look, man..." Dern's beady eyes shone through the black patches around them. "I know what it's like to be different, to be...better. But you gotta learn to look to others, even if it's just using them as a step ladder, like you're doing me." Jargon was about to protest, "Don't play dumb kid, your too smart for this job, I know you're looking for a better one. So here's the deal. I'll let you go easy, wont fuss or fight. But you need to go to this little extravaganza of Clair's next week. Otherwise I'll have to put in a case note that says 'doesn't work well with others', capiche?"

Jargon's mind returned to the present, with the swirling drops on his window and the lovely screaming voices and guitars that soothed his ears. What did Dern care if he had to "work with others?" all he cared about was making money, and nobody else. Do what ye will, and harm none. Jargon didn't really use people either, all he needed was himself...except for one thing...

The black otter saw a fountain outside that marked he was less than a block away from his house. He sat up only to be startled. A fur was sitting next to him. Jargon never even noticed him get on. He was wearing a trench coat and a fedora, like he was from some black and white noir movie. Jargon stared at him, and saw he was also an otter, with silver fur. He must have been twenty years older. Yet, there was this presence about him, of superiority, and....It couldn't have been. Yet the aged otter did appear before him as if like magic. It was the first time in forever Jargon wanted to engage a stranger in the open with a conversation. But he had to learn to make friends right? "Hello." the young otter said. "Nice weather huh?"

The older otter turned to him, with a glare that could peel skin. "Are you talking to me?" he said in a gravelly voice that totally matched his outfit.

"Yea, my name's Jargon, what's yours?" Jargon held out his paw. "Mind your business, kid. And you missed your stop." The bus halted and the older otter got up, along with some other passengers, and hurried to the front of the bus. Jargon failed at pushing his way through the crowd to get to him. He needed to talk him. There was something about that otter...something familiar... "Wait, Hey!" Jargon called out. When he got off the bus the otter was nowhere in sight. "Damn..." he swore. Jargon was a good six blocks away from his home. He swore again. It was raining to boot. But he didn't feel the need to charm it away out in the open. There was no need to use magic like that on such whims. I mean...yeah you can cut vegetables with a sword, but isn't it easier to use a knife?

Jargon walked on, wet and confused. What was that guy's problem anyways? All Jargon said was hello. Then he was reminded of his own cold demeanor towards others. Maybe that was a lesson....or a warning. All Jargon knew was that a matter of coincidence just occurred. It was a destiny to meet that otter, he was sure of it.

Jargon shook his head. What in the world was the matter with him? It was just some old guy whose years of action were behind him. He had absolutely nothing to do with him besides sitting close to him. Yea, his mind was just wandering again. When it was brought back to the present, a strange presence was right behind the otter. Jargon then stopped and turned around. The dark and stormy night all but hid a wisp of shadow that darted into an alley way. "Who are you? I could sense you following me..." He felt an energy of cunning and intellect, sharp as a sword, and just as deadly. "I know you're in there!" he shouted. Jargon rushed to alley way and peered in the space between the bricks. There wasn't a soul in sight. "I'm...I'm going crazy. It's finally happened..." The otter shook his head laughing, and walked away. All the while the dark figure emerged from its hiding place in the trash can, peering at the curious otter.

Jargon was soon upon his apartment building. Hera's Homes on 333 Wisteria Street. Hera was not your ordinary landlady. She was a black cat (now mostly gray) crone, with electric green eyes that showed a hint of her power. She made the apartments so people who knew the mystic ways could live peacefully. However the experiments of some prevented such things. Jargon remembered when his neighbor (who was absolutely bonkers) summoned some demons trying to open a gate to Hael. They were no match for Hera, though.

Hera sat in her rocking chair on the stoop, as she always did, guarding her fortress like a silent gargoyle, wearing a black silken robe and wrapped in shimmering green shawl that was blowing in the wind. She spoke little, but her expressions spoke in volumes, like the endless wisdoms of any elder. She nodded at Jargon as he climbed the steps, and he waved a friendly hello. Hera caught his arm as he did. "Hera?" it was unusual for her move suddenly. Her green cat eyes shimmered like her shawl. "What's the matter?"

"This rain..." she croaked. Her face was dead set like stone. "It aches my bones..."

Maybe Hera was losing her mind too. "Why don't you come inside then? Get warm. You're not fit to be in this weather anyways..."

Without permission or protest, Jargon lifted Hera from her chair and carried her inside the lobby. It was like any other lobby, with a front desk for checking in, some chairs and couches with nearby magazines on tables to pass waiting time, and the elevator that took you up floors. This building didn't have stairs. Jargon sat her down on comfy looking red velvet couch. She still had a thousand yard stare..."Hera?" He snapped his fingers, but she was unresponsive. "This. Rain...it's so cold..." Jargon was beginning to get worried. Then a thought came into his head. The mirror! "Hold on Hera..." Jargon dashed behind the counter, searching frantically. It had a golden handle, she used it all the time, so it had to be...Jargon couldn't find the enchanted mirror anywhere. Then as if it was mocking him, it was suddenly on a coffee table next to the issues. He ran over to snatch it, and looked into it.

He wasn't sure how this thing worked, Jargon only saw Hera use it on herself, when she was unsure or unclear about something, mainly visions. It was her main channel of magic. It showed her truth and clarity in uncertain times. And Jargon wasn't certain of what was going on. None the less, he had to snap Hera out of whatever trance she was in.

Jargon gathered his energy in breath, and then chanted: "Mirror of sight, show thee the way. Your seer is lost, far and away." The mirror then rippled Jargon's reflection, and turned dark. A flash of lightning from the storm illuminated the windows, and then the lights went out, and the mirror grew so cold, that it began to burn the paw that clutched it. Jargon dropped the mirror in surprise. He looked down at the black reflection, and saw a great pair of sea green eyes stare out at him. "Jargon...." _ It hissed, not just in the room, but in Jargon's own head, as if he was hearing several voices at once. It sent paralyzing chills down his spine. "I've been looking for you...can you help me...? I'm lost...hehehe...."__ Jargon covered his ears in vain. What kind of magic was this? It felt as if it came from a void, that transcended all darkness, where things without hope came to die into miserable heap of nothingness. _ "Don't be afraid...I want to help you...but you must release me..."_ _the windows flew upon, letting in the chaos of the element of storm. "Leave me alone!" was all Jargon managed to shout, he curled into a ball, hands still on his ears, trying to block the inscessive cackling that came from whatever was in the mirror. _"Release me, now!" _

Another voice then shouted against the howling winds. "Spiritus Ducentia Protego Me!" _ She chanted the ancient words with a forceful tone. _"You bitch! You should be dead you old hag!!"_ _the eyes in the mirror screamed. The chanting continued. Then the mirror screamed, and the pair of eyes were gone. The windows shut, and the candles that nonchalantly lined the walls lit automagically.

Jargon opened his eyes, and saw that Hera was the one who sent whatever that was away. He slowly stood, feeling like a child who just got caught with something he was instructed to never touch. He just didn't know what to do..."My deepest apologies, Priestess. I was trying to help you..."

She stood solemn, showing neither mercy nor contempt. "I am beyond help, child. My years of practices have aged me greatly..." She walked away in a dreamlike state. Jargon was about to question her about the mirror, but he was not getting the chance. "Go...I need to rest..." Hera groaned into one of the soft couches, and said not another word. Jargon was in the elevator before she even sat down.

He pushed frantically on the seventh floor button his apartment was on. What in the hell just happened? He thought. He messed up, that's what happened. Hera was just having a vision. It was a stupid vision...she wasn't in danger. He was worried for nothing. And then he messed with her mirror not even knowing how to use it! He should have known better than that. What if that thing in the mirror escaped? The elevator dinged, now running on magic since the power was out, and opened to his floor, which was still dark. "Ugh..." Jargon groaned. He clapped his hands and the candles in the hall lit. The caretaker needed to redo some spells that wore off, Jargon thought bitterly. He came to his apartment, marked not by a letter or number, but by a rune that glowed when he approached. It said, "To sleep." Jargon then drew runes in the air over it, answering "a chance of dreams" and heard his door lock click and the extra warding spell upon it disperse energy. Jargon opened the door, and shut it behind him, reactivating the warding spell.

Jargon clapped his hands to light the many candles in his own apartment. It was very neat and tidy for belonging to mystic, who usually left things strung about in their studies. But Jargon was an organized person, and kept himself together well. And yet he couldn't handle some stupid mirror genie or demon or whatever that thing was, let alone people. Jargon chuckled and walked into the kitchen.

In the dark, inexplicably leaning against a granite wall, was a translucent figure. Jargon froze. But when he checked again it was gone. "What in the...?" Jargon began, but was then cut short but a "Boo!" that was so loud it made the candles in the kitchen go out. Jargon screamed, and grabbed a kitchen knife, stumbling to floor as he did so. A human boy-ghost loomed over him, with a playful expression. "Scared you..." he whispered, and then giggled.

"Goddammit Josh!" Jargon tossed the knife aside. "Tonight really wasn't the night..." "But I still scared you!" Josh stuck out a childish tongue. "The storm got you all jumpy?" "NO...." Jargon replied sourly, opening the fridge, "I've had a long and weird day...plug in my phone will you? I left it on the table."

"The power is out, smart one" Josh mocked.

"Then put it on the friggin roof and let the lightning charge it! Geez...I had to get the ghost..." Jargon grumbled

"I don't do magic, you know that." Josh crossed his arms, hanging upside down. "What was all that noise downstairs?" the ghost said inquisitively.

"It was the storm." Jargon said as he pulled an apple from fridge, taking a bite. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm not stupid, Jargon. I heard that voice, and I heard Hera. She banished it. What was it? I wanna know!" He floated right at Jargon's face.

"I don't know what the eff it was, ok? I don't see why Hera hasn't banished you..."

"She says I'm great company, and I'll move on when I feel like it."

Jargon turned away and mumbled in response.

"Excuse me, what?" Josh said tersely.

"Then get the hell on then! I don't know why you would waste your eternity as a ghost anyways..."

Jargon was interrupted by a knife that flew right next to his head. Josh's anger was present on his transparent face. Jargon wasn't sure if ghosts could cry, but Josh might have been trying to. "You are a class A asshole, you know that? If I even knew how died, I wouldn't be your problem. I would remember who I used to be and make peace with it. But until then I'm stuck in this stupid soul-shell. Nobody likes ghosts really, they just think we're nothing but trouble, but you actually let me float around the house. I thought you were nice Jargon. And now lately you're just nothing but a downer, and I'm the one who's dead! When you want to talk when you aren't in a shit mood, I'll be in my closet." Josh melded into the wall leaving a ghostly wisp of a chill in his wake.

Jargon had done it. He had become the most unlikeable person on the planet. He sighed and went to the living room, sitting on his couch. He managed to disappoint a coworker, piss off a stranger, put a poor old lady through a stressful séance, and upset his ghost roommate. Jargon leaned forward and put his head in his hands. That's when the miraculous tone came from the almost dead phone on Jargon's table. He snatched and unlocked it, and saw he got message from a certain app. It read "Hey stud, was wondering If we're still hanging out tonight? Haven't messaged me all day. Did you even notice me at the bus stop? Was coughing to get your attention. Anyways, message me back, I still want to hang out ;) Frankie"

The message was from his MaleHail app, It found other guys who are available for "dates" with other guys. It must have been a month since he invited anyone over. And all his frustration was suddenly turning sexual. Frankie's profile showed an attractive red fox with a strong build, at least that's what his picture looked like. Jargon didn't remember seeing him at the bus stop, or ever. They had been talking for about a week now.

"Hey, are you still there?" he sent back

"Yeah."

_"_You can still come over tonight. I'm bored"

"Ok ;)"

"333 Wisteria Street. come alone, wait outside. I'll come down and get you just message me when you're here."

"Ok stud, can't wait."

Jargon set the phone down. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Hera was probablly still cleaning up the mess in the lobby. But he could explain to her.

Or maybe...

She could explain to him why on earth such a dark and evil thing was under her control, in this apartment building? Being a tenant, did he have a right to know what on earth could she possibly do with something like that? No, he thought. Those answers can wait. Right now, I need some release. The thought excited him. The fox wanted to come over the first night they messaged each other. But Jargon called the shots when it came to sex. It was the one great power that he had that wasn't magic. Or maybe it was his magic that made it powerful. Either way, Jargon loved the control he put over someone just by looking into their eyes. It was a spell that got Jargon high everytime he cast it. He knew he could bend people to whatever he wanted. Maybe that's why poor Clair was always all over him. But all Jargon wanted right now was to fufill his carnal desires.

Jargon rushed out the door to wait for the equally eager fox outside.