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Indebted, part 6, a several-day time skip from reading the letter in part 5

I woke up to the low rumbling of the tanks outside.

"They're here", said skinny Joe.

"No shit", said muscle Mike. "We're fucked."

"They'll bomb the hell out of the brothel to paralyse the police, i reckon", he said. "No good deed goes unpunished."

There were screams and some terrific ripped-celery noise, no, bones snapping from the outside. Were they running over the southern military?! 

Through the foggy window, the sun hadn't quite risen yet, casting a reddish glow across this gory scene. Or maybe it was just a squirt of blood against the window. We couldn't tell in our panicked minds.

There were noises of panic from the other werewolves in the room, who had likely come to the same conclusion as Muscle Mike. They hadn't the luxury of the letter's advanced warning.

“i know a safe space upstairs, reserved for category I, cushions and supplies galore.", Skinny Joe said in a hushed tone, as if to hide his voice from the others.

He started dressing as the rumbling only got louder and closer, Muscle Mike and i following his lead.

Skinny Joe made a start for the hallway and to the stairs as i was still pulling my shirt over my head.

"They management don't know yet", said Muscle Mike. "They're probably not even awake, so we're lucky"

Well, no, because as we topped the stairs, we saw the one-eyed brothel manager sleepwalking through the double doors of the staff-only section.

He wasn't sleepwalking for long though. A loud shatter and then a bang as the tank shot a shell through the window of the straight wing's main room. I heard some floor-beams fall alongside the various shelves and filing cabinets upstairs.

Let me just tell you how loud this bang was. It's so loud it hurts, so obnoxious that it deafens you for a hot second, so powerful it shakes you a little, so there you feel a little ill. These aren't human tanks. These were home-grown with the excess of power that was common for these creatures.

"They didn't demolish our route", reassured Skinny Joe.

"But they will soon", predicted muscle Mike.

"What the fuck are you three doing here?!", asked the brothel manager, raising his raspy voice. “It's strictly off limits to anyone who's not the staff and not the unpunished!!"

"No time to talk, we need to get to the preservation room!", urged Muscle Mike. "Or we're fucked!"

The manager didn't understand. That didn't matter. Muscle Mike was pushing through, past him, to get to the little room.

The manager chased him through the staff only area. We simply ran after the two.

We reached the safe-room. The brothel manager was furious at Muscle Mike. "And you think it's ok to play these silly games?"

He was too angry to have sense, yet again. I could almost see drops of anger dripping from his claws as he raised one of his arms to release his anger into Muscle Mike.

"Keep away from Muscle Mike", warned Skinny Joe. “You'll be losing too much."

“You're nothing but a whore and a shitty one at that!", retaliated the screaming manager. “He broke my beauty sleep so i'll break his beauty!"

“Don't you dare attack him", said Skinny Joe, between gritted teeth.

“He's not under your employment", replied the manager. "Keep out of this."

Fingerquoting, Skinny Joe simply replied “ 'employment' ".

I heard a flurry of footsteps from the hall, followed by a "What's all this shouting over?!", screamed by  yellow-hair. “I was having my first wet dream in months!", a TMI from yellow-hair.

Another shatter of glass and a loud bang. The many walls muted it a little. It wasn't onto the brothel, though.

"Ah, i see, sergeant grey is having flashbacks", explained yellow-hair to us. "Pushing the north back in their place, the cold sea, those years back. It takes a toll"

What the actual fuck are you doing? Muscle mike's about to die and you're going on a fucking rant?!

Oh, but the brothel manager had taken a little pause to comprehend yellow-hair's words.

“That's right, take a breath, calm down, and realise these are your peers", chimed black-arms, stepping into the room.

Muscle Mike took the distraction as an opportunity to hide in the now-locked circular metal bubble. "SEATS THREE WEREWOLVES" said a sign near the door. Really…, reserved for category I?

"Look what you've done!", screamed the brothel manager to the two new werewolves. “I guess we'll have to punish these two by association…!"

I was glared at by his ragged eye. It was the kind that constantly twitched, even more so now that he was irate with irritation.

“Leave them alone, too", said black-arms. "They're the… the only reason you can afford that gin! The oil of life, too!"

I saw a scowl erupt onto the manager's face, but he comprehended gin and comprehended blood.

Defused.

"Lets get into the saferoom, quick", said black-arms.

Yellow-hair knocked on the door and announced his name. And again. Only on the third time did he get in.

We all shoved ourselves into the little bubble of safety, save for the manager, who we locked out in caution, his rapid fists trying to pull open the locked door in vain. We were not three werewolves. We were two werewolves and three humans. And two humans are the size of one and a quarter werewolves. (1.25/2)*3 is 1.88 werewolves, roughly 2. We were equivalent to four werewolves. One werewolf too much.

It wasn't too comfortable. I was squashed between yellow-hair and black-arms, jostled by their little comfort-seeking movements. I realised it felt nice though, so i decided to accept it.

In order from the door to the other side, sat yellow-hair, me, black-arms, Skinny Joe, and Muscle Mike.

It was a weird space. A long bench sat around the circumference of the the bubble, some kind of thin foam padding covering every inch of the exposed surface. There sat three lap-belts, like those seen on some buses. We didn't bother with them. In the middle lay some bare metal floor. It was cramped so we ended up touching the sides of our feet. Black-arms wiggled his toes. Skinny Joe gently stomped on them. A little brown electric light sat in the center, up above us, lighting us all up in some grim shadow. It flickered wickedly, almost as tired and stressed as the two units i was stuck between.

"What now?", asked Muscle Mike.

"We'll camp here for a few hours", said Skinny Joe. "The coup will pass us soon. You did make the brothel fire resistant, didn't you, Muscle Mike?"

"Only the two homosexual wings", said Muscle Mike. "This place is too big."

"Ugh", said Skinny Joe. “Well, there goes the straight wing."

We heard banging outside again. The raspy muted voice of the one-eyed brothel asshole was somehow penetrating the soundproof bubble. “Let me in!"

Erm, no thanks. You'll kill us all, we're sure.

We heard a muted boom. The tanks had shot a building across the street. Through the many walls and soundproof cage, it was almost inaudible, but the tanks were incredibly loud. The raspy voice stopped in shock.

“Where's the food?", asked black-arms.

“In the cabinets above you", said Skinny Joe. “Not that you'll need it."

“Don't mind if i do!", said black-arms.

“We will", said Muscle Mike and Skinny Joe, in an out-of-sync unison.

“Fine", said black-arms, a certain almost-faux-disappointment in his voice.

This place was relatively boring. We had to talk to pass the time, i guess. 

“Where's straight-ears?", i asked.

"He's probably gone to a different saferoom", said black-arms. “The others have their own saferooms. They're way more comfortable."

“Let's go there", i said.

“Well, that's too dangerous", said Skinny Joe. “Do that and you'll likely end up killing yourse-"

A boom. Some floor collapsed beneath us. A fleshy noise. The brothel manger had likely fallen. Or maybe not.

We camped out for the next few hours, talking. It was comfortable here, i found.

"We're from the north!" shouted a voice with a foreign accent through the muffling. “Your liberation is here!"

“I thought they wanted to destroy the police through us…?", i said. “Are we not getting bombs?"

“Raw speculation", said Skinny Joe. "No bomb."

Skinny Joe leaned over to slide open a shutter in the door. I hadn't seen that window under the light. “Looks legit", he said. He cautiously unlocked the door.

He was the first to step out. He shook hands with the wiry werewolf standing there, wearing a wide cheesy smile to improve first impressions. Muscle Mike followed soon after. I was pinned between the two hunks, neither of which were awake enough to be willing to leave. I elected to sit here for a little while longer instead.

I watched as they discussed the new polices to be brought here. I wasn't really listening.

After a little while, black-arms rose from his slumber.

The wiry, grey-haired guy standing there continued discussions. "So, most of the money is flowing to the police, right?"

"About 40%, i think, but we'll need the accountant to be sure", said Skinny Joe. "Get straight-ears", he said, directed at Muscle Mike.

The little builder trotted down the hall to grab the accountant, who was likely in a slumber. Black-arms got up and had a look at the two in conversation. "What's been going on?"

"We've just been discussing the decriminalisation of prostitution", said Skinny Joe. "You get to keep your workers and you just need to redirect the bribe into 'taxes'."

"Ah, so we'll be financially better off?", asked black-arms. "Gosh, that'll be helpful"

"Very much so", said Skinny Joe. "Just don't tell anyone... We don't need another, let's say, industrial action happening again."

A wink, referring back to part 3, no doubt.

"The great thing about our prostitution bill is that you don't need to adjust to horrific standards", The wiry man said with a raspy voice. Not the dark and angry voice of the manager (rest in peace, i think), but a softer, more gentle voice. "As your little... lawyer said, right?"

"We all know just how helpful that'd be, right?", said Skinny Joe.

"Yeah, i guess", said Black-Arms, a little wave of tiredness washing over him. It was early for him, i guess.

Straight-ears came into the room and ran a running glance across us. Yellow-hair was also coming to be and the two werewolves locked eyes.

"What the fuck is happening?", they asked, barely in sync.

"We're going to have an easier time", said Skinny Joe. "No need to pay the bribe, just a small coup tax. No investigations. Simplicity and an easy time for everyone."

"How much?", asked Skinny Joe. "Remember that bribes were about 40% of our money"

“30% of ¤300, actually", said straight-ears.

"we request 20%", said the wiry gentleman in his gentle and raspy voice, as if to negotiate. He seemed old. "All you need to pay. For our troubles in bringing you freedom. Viva el feptentrio!"

Spanish...? Wouldn't "norte" fit better?

I shoved that little worry aside.

"Oh, time, we need to continue towards the center", he said, checking his wristwatch. "We'll come back and if we don't get the money you won't have a brothel."

"Deal", said yellow-arms. Not quite confident though.

"Viva el feptentrio", said the departing gentleman.

“viva", the sloozy yellow-arms repeated, blinking his eyes like the glitchy light just outside the brothel.

And just like that, we were alone together under the forced control of a new country. A small thinking-pause.

“And there come the north again, with their silly little independence movement", said Muscle Mike. “Things'd better if they could just surrender to the south. Useless war, useless language, useless everything."

“Woah, slow down", said Skinny Joe. “Don't forget which side you're on! They're the ones that are fighting for your rights. You wanted this, right?"

“What, so i could go work on some mile-high scaffolding doing some ass-boring masonry for some shitty government building?!", retaliated muscle mike. “I hate it here with all my heart. I want to leave, damn you and your libido!"

“I'm not saying you should go work in the shitty places; the portal is in the grand fields of the mid-country. It'd be so easy to go back", said Skinny Joe. “Just take a bus to the nearby village"

“You're too optimistic. Did you forget just how hard it is to get back?!", said the increasingly agitated Muscle Mike. “I'll spend years waiting for my visa, and they'll still say no, you'll tell, you'll snitch, you'll fuck us all up. That fucking sucks!"

“I see your point, but", started Slim Joe. “There are weak spots. There are the carriers. You've got the brothel's money to pay for the trip, and you're back in the human world. Sure, a psych ward, but still in the human world!"

Muscle Mike struggled to reply.

“Just ¤1,000 per person, ¤500 for the transfer from south city. We can make it happen", said Skinny Joe. 

“Absolutely fucking not", said yellow-hair. “You're the perfect fit for the brothel and i'm not letting you go."

“It was in the fucking contract", said Skinny Joe.

“The contract you said was written by a snail", said yellow-hair.

“But we can still try to guess what it meant", argued Skinny Joe. “And Muscle Mike is free to go once he pays the loan."

“Snails can't write terms and conditions"

“But when they do, it's on us, lawyers, to understand. And it's in your best interest to keep Muscle Mike happy".

“Or what?"

“Let's just say that the plaster we used was… not quite up to stretch."

Muscle mike gave a pained expression. Skinny Joe winked. 

“Without him, you're fucked", said Skinny Joe. “We're fucked, as he would say, if he chooses to splash some alcohol onto the plaster."

“Can confirm", said Muscle Mike. Was he lying?

“We'll just keep the gin away from him, then", replied black-arms. "It'd be better in the long run

“Good luck", said Skinny Joe with a smirk.

“Now then, where the fuck is the brothel manager?", i asked, half to distract us from Skinny Joe's little trick and half to get info.

"How would we know?!", asked black-arms “Just a bang and mush, he's gone!"

“He might've died", said Muscle Mike. “One of the times we wouldn't be fucked."

“Wait, fuck, he might not've…" said Slim Joe. “He's a little trickster sometimes."

“Fuck! Check the money!", screamed yellow-arms to Muscle Mike, the fittest of the group. “Here's they key; unlock the money-room and look for the cash!"

The clientele were different. Military men in fancy costumes, fancy costumes i had a thing for, fancy costumes with the words “viva la tramuntana y fin a laf doloref!" stitched onto the shoulder. From my limited Spanish knowledge, it seemed that “s" was replaced with “f" in this dialect, such that the final phase was “long live the north and end to the pains!".

Turns out the manager had left with quite a hefty sum of the money. Straight-ears was stressed, knowing that the 20% couldn't be paid.

Skinny Joe was here. He told me all about the way the north had their own dialect of Spanish and made it a point to use it instead of English. I've heard of the way the motorway signs try to communicate to people a basic concept like “no tirar bafura", followed by the translation below saying “don't litter". The problem was that the English part would be scratched off or covered by some spray-paint screaming “¡hablar efpañol!", possibly even “¡hablar efpañol Ð feptentrio!" if there was space.

I forgot how much i liked being an amateur linguist. It's one of the main things that influenced my decision to move to Barcelona; to get a fresh start in a place with a fresh language. 

I watched one match up with a local werewolf. “viva el norte", he said before they walked off.

It was a good night, w'all decided, eating lunch in the cafeteria. I made a hefty sum that night. Northen cash!

It was nice seeing that the brothel was still holding together; none of the other humans had been lost in the tank blasts. They loved it there, in their spacious safe-rooms.

But Onita had a little bit of insight to offer. Turns out she'd been to the north on a little client-sponsored tour, an escort for a faux-honeymoon. For such an economically productive region, it didn't quite seem like the most organised place. Street planning was as brilliant as the shine of a muddy car, their official governmental signs lacking a common asthetic, heck, even a common orthography; some, particularly the more south-sympathetic ones went for preserving the “s" and “z" letters. The others made no such effort, also eradicating the “q" and “c" letters. Whilst one went for “la nuevo ley por las proceduras de la tribunal", another would simply say “La konfilum nufu por tafmin tirafiku". It presented quite the confusion for foreiginers, as was intended by the northenists.

Turns out there was a little bit of political charge behind your choice of subdialect; go for the official, English-y words and you voice your pro-south opinion. Go for the dialect-specific, foreign words, and you voice your pro-north opinion. Orthography too; use the standard one and you're pro-south, the weird one and you're pro-north. It was a rule of thumb with as many exceptions as the verb “tirar" has; none.

Remember my client, the one who said “viva el norte"? What opinion do the soldiers themselves have? Did the all have the same opinion? Are they really a unified force? And, importantly, are the north really as organised and well-put-together as we have come to believe?

Stay tuned for part 7, where the humans yet again need to find a saferoom

Some notes:

• “…," after really isn't a typo; it indicates double-hesitation and new clause; English is my native tongue and i will do with it what i will.
• Gosh, I'm such a linguist and I've made a dialect of Spanish just for worldbuilding.
• New words:
  • "Feptentrio" comes from Latin “septentrio", meaning “northerly", appropiated to “north"
  • “tramuntana", comes from Catalan “tramuntana", meaning “north".
  • “knofilum" comes from Latin “consilum", meaning “plan"
  • “nufu" comes from Arabic “?????", almost similar to “nuevo", meaning “new"
  • "tafmin tirafiku" comes from Arabic “??????? ?????????", meaning “graphic design" (i chose Arabic because quite a few Spanish words already have Arabic roots and my dictionary wouldn't come up with Latin for “graphic design")
• I'm planning for the character of a different series to go on a honeymoon to the north and see all the interesting things there. Spoiler: English isn't seen in such a positive light there.
• Yes, i am using the word “sloozy" for a mix between “woozy", “sleepy", and “drowsy". Go use this word please! I'd love to coin new English words!
• Little notes from today's editing session:
  • “Muscle Mike took the distraction as an opportunity to hide in the now-locked safe-room"
    • I like this little quote because it implies that in the course of reading the sentence, Muscle Mike's already locked himself in.
    • Expect yet more of this kind of note
  • “A wink, referring back to part 3, no doubt." 
    • (i also refer you to part 3, and part 1, too)
• The brothel does have showers and razors.
• I'm basing the protagonist's stubble off mine. I only shaved a few days ago and the annoying little hairs are coming back! I'm too dumb for a unixbeard and too young to look like a wise stylish old man of the hill.
• Sometimes i suprise myself when i write; plenty of details here just suddenly appeared from my inner monolouge going “here's a great idea". That's why this general plot and story arc has meandered and bounced around so much from a simple brothel soap opera to a "change society" plot. Same for the handcuffs and having black-arms sleep on the protagonist.