Part 3 of La Tramuntana, continuing from hearing “¡help!" in the street

It was easy to break down. Take the Northern Spanish “Fekorrer" and turn it into the Catalan verb “socórrer". Replace the “-er" with “-e", which strangely, produces the same result in both languages. It means two things and was the same regardless of wether you were speaking Catalan or Spanish; “they are doing the verb" or “You must do the verb". I decided the second meaning works best.

Take the “me", the Spanish version of 'm, one of Catalan's “weak pronouns", and append it, making the speaker the subject of the sentence.

Literally, it was “You must help me!", better understood in English as the clipped “help me!", which happened to take the same amount of effort to pronounce, even if it took less syllables.

It is, after all, easy to break down. Take an overstimulating environment and force me into it, for example. And in the end, the effect is the same. Violence. I against my shell, and him against the street.

Fists, heavy werewolvian fists, slamming into the street. Not exactly a breakdown, then, more rage. No, wait, there was a better word. A Northern Spanish one, one of Slavic origin. Iarest. Intense, uncontrollable, deep rage. Iarest was what was in this guy.

And he was still screaming. He hadn't noticed me round the corner to peek. I had experience with this. I'd been through the shame shit. The rage fades, after a while. It leaves an emptiness in its place, a most delicious place to find oneself, a place where one has nothing more to scream, the worst blown out into the winds of time

And i watched, quietly. It was cruel, maybe, but i saw it as the best action. At least here, i was right. He went from scream and swears and all manner of horrific Northern Spanish misuse of lexicon to heavy breathing to quiet.

And that's when i approached. “¿Qué pasó??". What's wrong?

And i saw in those eyes that turned to look at me a wavering shallowness. Something had been lost, behind those eyes. Some faith in humanity had disappeared.

His mouth produced only a little sound. “Kidivifo… Todos." Everything.

And he slowly turned to look away at the sky. Few clouds revealed few stars, hidden by the light pollution. A window had light in it. Beautiful oranges flickering, someone watching a TV.

I turned to look at the end of the street. Another werewolf, an eye missing. And he, no, it saw me.

It turned to look at the werewolf here.

It spoke, from the distance. “If you need a loan, we'll give it you. Si necesitas un préstamo, puedamos lo darte."

A tight potbelly holding an old face. It was here. The nightmare from the south. The nightmare that even the ethnically questionable management had turned against in the end.

And it double-glanced at me. “Fuck, it's the whore."

A police siren rang out, and i surveyed the situation. A heavy smell of burning. The tv-window had actually a too-orange glow. Something stunk in terms of vibes, too. Houses here were designed to be tough. They didn't seem it.

Yellow-arms tapped on my shoulder. “Look at my work", he said. “I was almost killed by fire so i learnt to control it."

Well, no, when i looked at him, he wasn't yellow-arms. He was hairless, in splotches and patches of bare skin, some of it plucked up in goosebumps holding up useless hair against the cold..

“The benifit, of course, is that i don't need to be so scared of fire."

And he laughed, manically. I need to call the police. What number was it? Would 999 work? No, that was a number from before i even moved to Spain. 112 could work. No, something werewolvian. I imagined a phone keypad. WERewolf? 937? HUMano? 486? HOMbre lobo? 466? LOBo? 562?

No, maybe 999'd work out. I needed a phone. Wait, do they even have phones?! I don't remember!

But i remembered an old skill i lost use for. Thumb and index finger together, push back the tounge. Make one of the loudest noises a human can produce.

So, i did so. First try, a hiss. Second try, a barely-audible whistle. Third try, a loud ear-splitting noise. It hurt me a little. And i did it again. And again. “Policia!", i screamed, projecting my voice, keeping my throat relaxed and my breath volumnous. Loudness is a fruit of technique. “personas malas!"

Skin-arms grabbed me. And he held onto my neck. “Shut the actual fuck up. We've just started a new brothel, and you're joining!"

No. I am not.

A red lorry appeared here, at last. Someone had called the fire-guys.

A blue car appeared here, at last. Something had called for the police.

“And i'll give you a choice", said skin-arms. “Either my clients or my claws will send you to heaven. What would you prefer?"

I made a gagging noise. He wasn't pulling on my throat that hard, but i'd gotten good at pretending. Usually it was pretending to be normal. Right now, it was pretending to be abnormal, for my own safety. 

It worked, he loosened his grip. I slipped out and ran, ran towards it. The floor, luckily, had a lighter. So i picked it up and raised it to the hair of the manager.

Click, a small yellow flame, a beacon of light. Hope.

And i stabbed the guy with it. His shirt, stained in some liquid, probably kerosene, going off smell, became a torch.

And i stepped back and smiled. He screamed. His hair caught fire.

The police turned to look at me pointing their big guns. “Fue un criminal", i said. He was a criminal.

“No nos importa", they said. “Todos irán a interrogatorio." 

We don't care. Everyone's going to the questioning.

I shrugged. “Un advocat, por favor.", no, “Sodes, si te lo gusta más"

Wait, fuck, that was Catalan creeping in again. “Una abogada, sodes."

A lawyer, please.

“Todos serán dados una abogada", said the policeman. Everyone gets a lawyer.

And i shrugged, and smiled. The fireman were spraying down the former brothel manager. He screamed louder.

“Y donde está el fuego de casa?", one asked. Where's the house-fire?

It's there, i pointed. There, at that specific window. The fireman nodded.

A door opened. A suited guy, quite smart. A human, i noted. “La persona inglés es aquí, sí?"

A voice from deeper within. “Sí."

“Slept well?", asked the well-dressed guy. "I'm your lawyer."

“As well as i could on those 'mattresses', felt more like slate.", i said. 

He chuckled. “Yeah, everyone hates them."

“It's going to reflect very badly on you", he said as the door closed behind him.

I shrugged. “Wait until you hear what he did to me."

“I mean, turning a werewolf into literal charcoal is a really shitty idea. He didn't even go to the hospital, just dying there on the street."

I shrugged. “I was there. Meh, he mistreated all of us."

“Hmm", said the lawyer.

“Did you hear about the southern brothel-burning? He disappeared just as we needed him most, and the brothel fell apart."

A look of realisation swept him. “That made national news! They discovered that a criminal loan shark ring and a brothel were the same and were looking for the escaped management!"

A smile washed into my face. Involuntary.

“Seriously, this is massive! There's been a hunt ever since the brothel collapsed!"

And i leant back. “So… we're going to use it?"

“You bet your five arseholes we're going to fucking use it and get those assholes where they belong!"

“I bet 10", i said.

“Fine", said the lawyer. “So, let's setup the defense; you came to the werewolf world how?"

“Car crash, insurance wouldn't pay. Took a loan from these loan sharks, got taken to the brothel, forced to work. I enjoyed it. Only a few did, turns out. Then the war happened and the brothel was burnt down. Thought it was over with them until now."

“And the house?", asked the lawyer. “There was suspected arson… Any ideas?"

“That guy… i called him yellow-arms, i think… he was burnt in the arson of the southern brothel, lost most of his hair, probably caused the arson."

“That feels weak", said the lawyer. “Let's go say 'yellow-arms', as… Jinner, right…?… As Jinner here calls him,  was motivated by the horrific injuries sustained in the arson into causing the same suffering for others."

I nodded.

And the lawyer leant back to let his hands gesticulate away. “So, then, resorting to familiar means, he became a loan shark again and used the arson in conspiracy to create clientele by using the artificalness to make a government subsidy impossible through the same machanism of fraud insurance fraud."

“Clever", i noted.

“And then, as per a logical cause of events, you went to help someone in need and were put under threat. Good Samaritan laws'd've'd protected you for causing that… werewolf-torch incident."

That was a dense contraction. Eh, it's a common dialectical feature here, i'd heard.

And a knock on the door.

“Well, time to go to the court", he said.

“Wait, aren't we supposed to have more preparation time?", i asked.

“What do you think? You're in some magical realm 'filled' with werewolves and you expect realistic procedures?"

I protested, “Yeah…!", but we were yet still ushered into the room.

And at the court, the jury voted in my favour. To respect court-rules, i won't transcribe what happened, but just understand that my two antagonists were now behind bars. And i had a new friend.

“Paid by the government, you needn't give me a penny!", he clarified to no cue.

“So… could you work with us in helping our… 'legally registed business catering to natural human and werewolf desires'?", i asked.

He furrowed his brow. “Maybe… i'd have to go contact my boss who'll contact his boss and then her boss, but then i might become a 'shared business lawyer' so i can roll by more often." he shrugged. “And then i could manipulate them to draw me closer to you, but eh."

We sat in silence for a few thinking seconds. " Oh, and also, no need to use euphemism, i can see right through, former prostitute!"

I chuckled a little at that. “Eh, i like it."

He shrugged and smiled. “You seem like the kind of guy to like too many things."

And we walked out of the courtroom. "It's the brothel on platea de pekatus, the one Mr Wire jamp out from"

“Street of former sin", said the lawyer. “How damn fitting :p."

“Yeah", i nodded. 

“Well, i've got places to be, good travels!", he said.

And i found my way back, somehow. Signs, maps, tourist boards showing the lay of the land. It was both difficult and all-too-easy to get lost in a city of 450,000.

And i met Onita again. She had a pill in her hand. “Hi, Jinner! Where'd you go?"

“I got into an altercation and had the old managers jailed."

Her hand dropped. The pill was caught by the fingers. “What?!"

“There was a burning house and screaming guy, turns out there was arson and straight-ears came in and offered a loan. The Spanish wasn't too bad"

She leant back and stepped back to catch herself. “So, we've finally got them in prison?!"

“Yeah, the lawyer seemed nice, too."

And a smile spread onto her face. “Fuck yeah!"

And we paused for a second. 

“What's that pill?", i asked, breaking the silence.

“A chemical condom", she said. “I like this brand. It keeps the cramps away."

And i realised. I'd forgotten that women were more then just some societally-imposed group of people, that they did have something that set them apart from men.

“Oh fuck, i remember the cramps. That pimp was absolute shit but the pill he gave me changed my life."

I nodded to egg her on.

“So, he was kinda ok at the start, gave me a fair wage and everything"

She tensed a little, almost imperceptibly. “And then it all went south."

“But you liked the pill?"

She detensed again. “Yeah, it keeps my body working. Like, it changed everything. I went from PMS to normalcy."

I can relate. The mist around me… it became so clear. And i could choose what i wanted to do. Eh, resist the urge.

No, i wont. “When i got my pills, my life changed too! Like, i could think clearly, all the little threads my brain did… gone! I could choose what to focus on!"

“I'm telling my story", she said. “Save yours for later."

Wasn't this a relation strategy… to share your story to show you're listening? Fuck. Neurotypicals.

“But after a year or so i had to leave, it was difficult, but i managed. And then i took out this loan through an advert on this role-play website i had to spend the mornings working on when i was deleting my accounts."

“So you were on furry websites?", i asked.

“Not really… to be honest, they were relatively normal. We were joking when we said werewolves ran the furry internet."

“For my morale?"

“Yeah, we thought it'd be good for your health. You're naive. You got in debt, after all… from the insurance, right? We knew where most of the humans came from."

I shrugged. I did see myself as naïve sometimes. “Yeah. Can you not lie to me about society's occupations again?"

“Fine", she said with a shrug. “So, then, i got into the loan shark's brothel. Woohoo, werewolves!, i first thought. And then that went away and became 'the management here is draconian'. I was looking for ways out and then the gang came over."

“The vigilantes?", i asked. I remember hearing about them before. Taken down through a housing crisis the north paid to cause last Winter.

“The 'true' ones", she said. “Yeah, they scared me. So then i went to 'management are important even if i hate them'."

“And then i came in", i said.

“Yep, and then we let the war happen."

“Yeah- yeah, i was indebted to the loan sharks until we destroyed the business…!"

I chuckled at the reference to my little autobiography. Onita simply frowned.

“What's for lunch?" i asked.

“I'm saying we go treat ourselves at a restaurant."

And we took a wad of cash. Cheques wouldn't work, we didn't have the signature of Mr Wire.

And we went onto the street, again, with Anista.

And we walked. The streets were nice in daylight, beautiful. Tarmac with brick paths, a thin lane for the odd car that wanted to pass, demarked by bollards.

No garages. The few parking spaces were empty. “And where are the cars?", i asked.

“Unneeded with the density", said Onita.

We passed several streets, enjoying the autumn temperature. It was bordering on chilly.

And we found a restaurant. “Looks nice", said Onita.

And we walked in. 

“Una mesa por tres", i said.

And we sat at a table. Anista excused herself to the loo.

A glass broke. Somebody didn't stop in enough time. “¡Koions!", they screamed.

Did they seriously take Catalan “collons"?!

And a different voice. A scream. “¡vidostorubero! ¡hay vidostorubero! ¡pon-vidostorubero!"

What the fuck does that mean?!

And i stood and leant to look at the glass.

Blood. Vidostorubero, then, probably means blood.

Stay tuned for part 4, in which we see how emergencies are handled.

Some notes:

• This beggining is one of the more powerful ones i've written; a juxtaposition between Jinner's linguistic-obsessed insides and the chaotic outside. It becomes more prevalent during intense moments for me.
• So there, i might not be a good writer, but i'm a good excuse-maker. Sure, i went on massive rants about Catalan but i linked it back to Northern Spanish and offering a view of the world.
• I never expect my plot twists. They appear as i keep making writing choices. I did not expect yellow-arms to survive either.
• “lawyer". This is what i mean when i say American English yet still infects my English dialect. The Englisher term would be “solicitor"… i think.
• I'm going to make the lawyer quite an important character in the future, if i'm so inclined; he might fiddle with the legal system's inputs to give our main characters some space, which allows them the time for everything else.
• I'm leaning a lot onto lampshading here; everything that makes no sense becomes “oh, no, you're just in some magical realm". Eh, it's a bit comedic and that kind of pushes the tone forth. Because i like the dark grime bits but i also like the fun and fluffy bits and slightly squishy bits and very linguistically minded bits.
• Never did i think that writing gay m/m werewolf erotica would lead me to learning about female birth control and some discussion with various women about how they'd feel if their period was stopped. 
• Eh, learning is learning
• Note how Onita spells Naïve; this is an intentional choice to show differences in languages learnt. 
• Editing note: i got whiplash from just how quick this story jumps between tones. Can't be arsed to fix that now that the hobby cycle is making learning languages, making music, and other crap more fun then werewolves having it.