FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

(not enough words but whatever i've been very busy lately)

Part 7 of Alexander's Accounts, continuing from some multilingual fun

Onita turned to look at me. “We have the subsidy-paper, the yellow pages, and a vague idea of what we want to do. Can you figure out the nitty gritty?”

I took the things like a fly to honey, to vinegar, maybe. “And what is your vague idea?”, i asked.

“A new floor, just for us… turn some rooms here into catering and make the new floor a house for like 10 people”, she said. “And that'll eat the budget quite well if you can handle it.”

“I can”, i said.

And i grabbed the stuff and their version of the yellow pages, more cream pages, though. To my pleasant surprise, it was bilingual. English and Standard Spanish, something they'd no doubt received flak for.

A hefty book, upwards of 1,000 pages. I considered the similar-sized tomes i'd carried before, like the dictionary for Standard Spanish or two oft he last book of Twilight. This, instead, a directory of businesses.

I saw little note at the front, of course.

The choice to use Standard Spanish over Northern Spanish was not made out of political stance but from a simple demographic fact: human immigrants are more likely to understand English or Spanish. As part of our goal to make this directory as widely useful as possible, we have chosen to use Standard Spanish.

Why “human immigrants”? And then i realised that damn, there were native humans here, people born into families native to here, little outcrops far from the human world.

And they were welcome here. We were all welcome here. All species, races, and ethnicities, everyone.

That's a distraction, is it not? Crap.

So i opened the yellow pages, found my way to a little index, looking for builders and contractors, maybe even guiders.

Ooh, brothels, interesting… would we be in there? Page 127, right? So, i turned there, looked through the entries. These yellow pages are so interesting in their design, the way the adverts kind of push everything away into these tiny little lists and the way they just show the street and phone number

And i found it, the Pekatuf brothel. Interesting book, really, when you consider the bunches of numbers and information; phone number, address, and “rating”.

Wait, shit, i was distracted. Not the Pekatuf brothel, something else, the contractors, right?

So, i had a subsidy to manage and stuff to do… did we have a phone? Well, probably. 6 digits in the numbers, ok for a place of 450,000, and, if counting the 450,000 down south, maybe we'd need 7 digits.

Wait, how did the phone system here work? In the UK it was cool with 7 being for mobiles and 1 for landlines and i forgot the other numbers.

No, wait, i was distracted. So, the phone looked normal, buttons and all. Standard landline, i guess.

And what would we need? Well, i'd probably need paper. Wait, how would i get the ideas down?

Fuck it, i'd just draw and write, a blueprint blueprint, maybe.

So, i took what materials we had, some 3-year old paper and a Bic crystal pen. I'd heard they were quite good, having gained worldwide success as the most popular pen, and now i looked at it, more than simply worldwide success.

A masterpiece of simple design, unlike the human body, a masterpiece of complex design. Where did the werewolf form lie? Even more complex? Less complex? Certainly heftie-

Ok, so i began drawing. I charted out the upstairs space and scribbled out floorplans, places for us to sleep, a kind of stylish dream for us.

I pulled us into perspective view, to show how the whole space would work out. I looked at contractors and builders to find out how they'd work. Muscle Mike, as expected, wasn't to be found, having left the werewolf realm a while back. Maybe he was spreading knowledge of the werewolf world or trying to re-adapt to the human world.

No way to tell, no need to worry… i just kept drawing little plans and figu-

Anista showed her face. “Dinnertime!”, she chimed to us. Traitor chimed to us :p.

We stood up to leave. Like cows to the slaughter, i thought.

Onto the street, sun having went down. Sulfur lights spreading a sickly yellow. Why haven't they been replaced with LED white? Don't werewolves sleep later….? Don't they prefer it?

We walked, us three, a happy trio. But i want a boyfriend, i complained to myself. Hey, maybe that M guy could help… whichMm guy, what was the name? Why do i only remember its colour, magenta?

We put one step after the other, passing through the cold air. Maybe i should have brought coat, something to keep me from the frigid bite. Maybe we could have.

Eh, i'll remember that for next time. Pekatuf street was quite a quiet street, nobody except us for its entire length, shifting lights in the windows of those who watched the TV. The street was, for whatever reason, exceptionally Mediterranean town in texture, from the yellowish walls to their balconies (with little gates) and blackout shutters.

We reached a turning point as Anista guided us towards where we'd out, where we'd be hated. I didn't bother raising complaint, though, intrigued to watch how this'd turn out. And anyways, my consciousness would never disappear. Not today.

We continued, gently, happily, down paths of increasing amounts of people. A stray thought. “Have we the money?”, i asked.

They both froze in place, looked at each other and said in unison “I thought you had it, right?”

And i could feel the sight of the blood leaving their faces.

“I'll get it”, volunteered Onita, running back. Come to think of it, i hadn't seen her run. But she took step after step, striding, making great speed through the cold.

That left me and Anista to break some ice with each other.

“So… what've you been doing?”, i asked.

“Working with the prostitutes, doing some human resources”, said Anista. “How's been your work?”

“Well… i just sat up there and stared at the yellow pages then did some drawing”, i said.

I didn't bounce back a question. Whoops.

“Perfectly normal”, shrugged Anista. “As long as you get shit done, i'm fine.”

Hmm, i still don't like you.

Wait, crap, what do i add?

“So, how are the prostitutes?”, i asked.

“They're going swimmingly”, said Anista.

“Ooh”, i mused, egging her on.

“And they're getting happier now, excited for the new accommodation”, Anista said with gesticulation.

“Nice”, i said.

Onita came back, running. She had a purse and a fat smile and a red face. “I don't even need a coat”, she said between breaths. “I've warmed myself up aready.”

“Well you haven't warmed up and you'd done a big run”, i witted. “So you'll probably be suffering.”

She shrugged and we continued with the task of putting one foot in front of another, passing lamppost and cold tree-trunk.

And we reached the edifice, the building.

It was an… interesting restaurant, to say the least. The menu standing outside on a metal pedestal didn't feature the classic famous French dishes. They featured weird ones like, for some reason, Bratwurst (spelt as “Bratuèwurstqué”…?) and Churros (spelt as “Churroé”…?). Plenty local food, too.

Appropiated, tailored for the Northern taste.

Anista, seeing the menu, chuckled. “Didn't know they'd have that, but epic… oh, how much i miss it!”

Onista also chuckled. “These dishes are from the USA… what the hell, they have funnel cake?! Epic!”

So, i led them in, to meet the waiter. Anista did the talking in French. A friendly chuckle.

So, we're not killing each other?

And we entered, into the interior, a mockery of earthenly design norms, modern yet old in some weird mix, the tables dressed in ornate laced tablecloths yet the chairs cubist forms, the walls of black wallpaper laced elegantly covered in both vintage and modern posters advertising various European countries.

I almost felt lightheaded from the mix, but carried on, found a place to sit, opposite Onita. I looked at the menu, the graphic design being so weird to me.

Weird options galore, stuff from the UK. Not so much French as just earthenly, the cooks getting away with what they could.

When is the discrimination going to take place?

The waiter saw us, took our drink orders, i taking a rather special kind of mentofruit cocktail, the waitress complimenting Anista's French, and us sitting together at the table.

“Aren't there others we're eating with?”, i asked.

“They're coming a little later, three of them”, she said.

I nodded in curt reply.

The waiter came back with the drinks. Mine looked the best.

Onita sipped on a glass of water and Anista some wine. Posh, i thought. Stuck-up.

We continued paging through the main menu. It wasn't too big.

So, i found a dish i liked, something Catalan…?

“Hey, the ‘French’ restaurant took not only the language but the dishes from Catalonia!”, i joked.

Anista glared at me, almost bearing her teeth in the most unladylike way. Onista chuckled. “And they even took stuff from the US of A!”

Anista looked like she might bark, stopped by the waiter glaring at us. Their glare said more than Anista could; “you're in hot water like the lobsters in the back”, maybe.

Onista excused herself to use the toilets, leaving me with Anista. She glared at me. “A joke once is funny, twice is mean.”

I realised just how damned i was, surrounded by Frenchies. They glared, unable to act off it. “Sorry”, i said, out of strategy and not genuinity. It will happen again :p.

I was careful not to make expressions based off the potential conversations running in my head, not to emote the slightest.

Onita came back, smiling. “They have bidets everywhere here! I love it!”

“Not at dinner”, i grumbled. Anista just sat there fuming a little.

“But it works so well… i guess it's because they have so much more butt fluff”, said Onita.

“Let's leave the butt talk to the brothel”, i said.

A frown from a waiter.

Onita opened her mouth again. “So, do y'all know what you're getting?”

“Yeah”, i said. “Just waiting for you.”

“Ok”, she said. “I've decided.”

And Anista whistled for the waiter, who came to collect our order. I expressed mine, the others doing so too.

An altercation. Again, whilst eating out. I and Onita were just trying to have our weird dishes but Anista was locked in. “Hey, they're swearing….! Big swear words!!!”

I watched a waiter and a cook push and shove, gaining ground against each other. French could be so sharp of a language at times. “Ooh, betrayal!”, shouted Anista.

I took a bite of the pa watching the two. A match struck. He was being fired, literally.

And he ran out, screaming, his hair on fire. He was, of course, a werewolf on fire. “Drop and roll!” i screamed, Anista translating.

He did it, falling to the floor and rolling across it like some dropped glass, shards of fire licking him around.

And he escaped, fireless yet singed. The smell of burning keratin made its way to us, a repulsive smell. “Fuck, now there'll be a police investigation”, muttered Onista. “And we haven't the bribe money.”

And the restaurant was quiet again.

“I should probably come clean, before the police arrive”, said Anista. “I mistranslated on purpose.”

“What?”, i asked. “But weren't they fighting over hating each other?!”

“No, just the 10-year storm having hurt the finances", said Anista. “Not too big.”

I grumbled.

“And anyways, i wanted a reason to make me seem the best, what with French people hating Quebec and shit”, said Anista.

“You're shitty”, i said. “Kind of a bad person.”

“Most of one”, chimed in Onista.

I decided, at last, to change the topic. “So… which part of the north would you like to go to next?”

I am not good at changing the topic. I was ignored, the noise of the door openinh behind me providing a more welcome distraction.

Anista said her “hi” in French and invited them to sit and gaggle around her. Three people.

We were eating out, together, even if these people were a bit late. Was it French to be late?

I forgot. Not that i minded, happy to have an excuse to run way earlier. This place was quickly becoming awkward, i thought.

And i felt tension, between me and Onista and the francophones.

We're surrounded, i realised. If only there was someone to save me.

Stay tuned for part 8, in which another big argument happens.

---

Some notes:

• It was a massive fight to get the story done and i finished it on the same day it was published… maybe i should take a break from writing. Eh, i won't.

• Jinner works in the same way i do; sometimes has a rocky start but gets stuck in, other times just gets stuck in, and other times just can't. Same with writing… i got distracted by chatting on Discord and recieving “wow i like this” validation from sending little extracts.

• I've been told to use longer sentences from literally the three people to have something bad to say about my writing, so here.

• Some service for the furries with Anista being anthropormorphised, and some service for Marcwolf with the reference to bidets (they said in their user info they wanted the reader to “think about that one” over how a “furry toilet” works).

• (a demonstration of me going from somewhere to elsewhere through a series of topic changes)

• When i was younger i learnt Welsh in primary school and i reached the state both the Welsh and English sides of that little book with the cat that ran into the road and got injured because it didn't follow road safety rules was easy to read. Like, literally, same amount of effort for both sides. Newbie's so good with Spanish it's the same for him.

• Not for me lol because when i read Spanish there's a lot more effort going on… i can understand it but if it's not shallow cardboard content like “Angeline Joelie's new eylashes suck” i won't understand every word. Eh, i should expose myself more.

• Maybe i should listen to podcasts whilst drawing… or not, my mind can only focus on one thing and concurrency is how i multitask. It's actually how i do basically everything, i've found, because it's stimulating enough that momentum is kept up and boring activities can be done.

• Just realised that synesthesia makes this section feel like dessert-popcorn, short little bites to have after the main meal and that normal people don't really have secondary thoughts bouncing off perception. I've had the suspicion that phrases like “green with envy” are really just synesthesites expressing how they see the world and being treated as gospel.

• What's funny is that when i read stuff like Worm things just aren't that vivid for me and rooms are barely detailed, just the knowledge that there is “thing” in the room that the characters work around (like furniture and stuff). The characters don't really appear to me. Some basic things, like Taylor's goggles and stuff might appear, but other than that they're basically just silhouettes. And then i go look at other stuff and weird me-specific minds eye things appear. Guess that's why i don't like fight scenes. barely anything happens in my minds eye and if it does that's becuse of a bunch of effort.