Thanks Nick! I know Spain might not seem like the most exciting locale, but trust me there's a whole host of new troubles in store for our unlucky protagonists
Santa Camila was far, far smaller than Lanthae, or indeed any city Aimee had ever seen. There were only a few blocks of houses and a tiny commercial district with a few shops and restaurants. Just like last time they were in a city, a few streetwalkers looked at them funny but nobody openly treated them with distrust.
“They can tell we’re not from around here, but they aren’t calling the cops,” Shakila muttered under her breath. “So that’s a good sign. Hopefully we haven’t committed any crimes against humanity here.”
“We might not have even come here before.” Aimee smiled awkwardly when the driver of a food cart made prolonged eye contact while driving down the main road. “It’s a bit out of the way, and if we had supplies I doubt we’d risk it.”
“Why
are we risking it anyway?” Shakila asked. “We don’t have any money, so we can’t exactly--where did you get that??”
Aimee flashed her a gold coin. “They gave it to me at the Lanthae Goodwill, it unlocked the changing rooms. In the late 2020s, someone figures out how to cheaply create gold, and its value crashes to around bronze or copper. But in the 1980s, this coin is worth a pretty penny.”
The point was driven home when the clerk at the bank’s eyes widened in surprise when they showed it to him. “Where on earth did you get this?” he stammered.
“She found it in the ocean. While pearl diving,” Aimee grinned when Shakila rolled her eyes at the cover story.
The clerk tested it and found it pure. “This is solid, 24 karat. I’ll need to clear it with the manager, but I’d imagine we can easily offer 46,000 pesetas for this.”
“Forty-six
thousand?” Shakila gasped. “What’s that in American dollars?”
“About four-hundred,” the clerk informed before leaving.
“What!? That’s it?” Shakila’s fur stood on end in outrage.
Aimee elbowed her. “Remember, we’re in 1989!” she whispered urgently. “That’s a lot of money back then.”
“Those assholes are lowballing us, I know it,” Shakila glared at the ‘Employees Only’ door the clerk had exited through.
“So what? It’s more than enough to pay for supplies until we leave. I’m gonna handle the talking if you can’t behave!”
Eventually the clerk returned and reiterated his price, and a few minutes later the two girls were leaving the bank with a week’s wages in their pockets.
“All right, where should our first stop be?” Aimee glanced down the main street of the commercial district. “The farmer’s market looks like the closest thing to, like, a general store. We might want blankets, no way to know how cold the beach gets at night.”
Shakila’s stomach growled. “Can we sit down and eat something?” she asked, pointing at a seafood place at the far end of town. “We’ve been militantly focused on getting home since this whole ordeal started. I want to just sit down for a bit and eat some fish.”
Aimee agreed, mostly to keep her friend in high spirits. The chef, a vulpine girl of around fifteen, flashed them a warm smile when they walked into her restaurant,
La Barracuda. “
Buenos dias,” she smiled, preparing the massive frier behind the countertop. “
Siéntate donde quieras. ¿Qué puedo conseguirte, amigas?”
Shakila glanced pointedly at Aimee, who shakily explained in broken Spanish that the two of them only spoke English. The chef found this hilarious, and couldn’t stop herself from laughing mirthfully before switching languages. “You’re lucky,” she wiped a tear from her eye. “Not many people speak English out here. My name’s Lúcia. What can I get you?”
“I’m not picky,” Aimee shrugged, secretly unable to read the menu. “Whatever’s your favorite meal to cook works for me,”
“I want something with lots of fish,” Shakila chimed in.
The child’s eyes lit up. “Ooh in that case, I bet you’ll both love my
paella de mariscos. Everything in it was caught by me earlier this morning!”
“Paella de mariscos?” Shakila asked.
“It’s a classic dish made with Spanish rice and shellfish!” Lúcia lined a row of prawns and began peeling them with an expert’s speed. “It’s super famous Spanish cuisine. You’ve really never had it? How long you been in Spain?”
“We honestly just got here,” Aimee answered, grabbing two glasses of water from the pitcher on the counter. “You’re our first stop. We’ve heard good things.”
“Of course you have!” Lúcia beamed, frying the prawns in a mixture of olive oil, onion, and various spices. “My store is super famous. As soon as I turn eighteen, I’m gonna add my name to it and go global. There’ll be a
Lúcia’s Barracuda on every street corner!”
“Do your parents own the store right now, or what?” Shakila asked, unable to tear her eyes away from the simmering seafood.
“Sí,
mis padres.” Lúcia added the rice. “Actually, mom will be home with groceries in just a few minutes, I think I’ll make some for her too.”
“Look forward to meeting her,” Aimee smiled politely. She looked around the store and noticed the stairs upstairs; Lúcia’s family must live on the second floor.
Fifteen minutes of smalltalk later, their host delivered two steaming bowls of paella and an extra ramekin of olive oil. Shakila immediately tucked in, ravenously scarfing hers down before Aimee had barely started. “Oh my god…” Shakila breathed, spraying rice everywhere. “This is
incredible. You need to give us some for the road!”
“Aw, leaving already?” Lúcia chuckled. “You’re such good company. And look, mom just arrived!
¡Hola, madre!”
Aimee glanced at the woman in the doorway, a red-haired and much younger Vulpine than she expected. She raised her hand in greeting, but Lúcia's mother dropped the groceries on the floor with a thud, staggering backwards with a look of pure horror on her face.
“Madre, this is Aimee and Shakila!” Lúcia introduced them, completely missing her mom’s demeanor. "Aimee, Shakila, this is Emi!"
“
¡Lúcia, vete ahora!” Emi hissed, crossing the room while giving their guests a wide berth. After a startled pause, the young chef wasted no time bolting up the stairs as her mother grabbed a large knife from behind the counter and brandished it threateningly. “I don’t know why you came back,” she snarled in a low voice, “but you’ll never take me alive!”
