Fantasy City of Darkness

[Fortunate Son]

Collin straightened the collar on his patrol uniform before slipping on the gloves over his hands. He hadn't started off as a guardsman for the city, but, after loosing his arm in the steel mill, this was the price for getting a replacement. He took a moment to stare at the mechanical replacement where his right arm and hand had once been. What was once flesh and bone was now a mix of leather, copper, brass, and steel, along with whatever technical magic made it work. Now, he had to patrol the same streets that he'd once walked trying to avoid the guard. It wasn't something he particularly enjoyed, being a city guard for the Blackwatch Patrol, but, he kept his head down and did it, knowing that otherwise he'd have starved to death on the streets, unable to work. Making sure his sword and revolver were secured to his belt, he stepped out into the streets. Here in the lower levels, the factory district, everything smelled of industrial smog and smoke from the factories. Coal dust created a fine layer over everything, there was always the distant sound of some work whistle or train whistle, the sound of the massive steel presses hammering away, and just the general bustle of the city. The smell of unwashed bodies quickly mixed with the smell of industry as he entered the populated city streets.

The buildings were a mix of brick and wood, and a majority of the people either lived in small company owned housing or in overcrowded tenant buildings that were constant health hazards. That, of all things, had been the one saving grace of growing up in the orphanage. It was crowded there, but still nothing compared to the average low end tenant building.

He was given a wide birth as he walked, forest green eyes scanning for any trouble. So far, he'd managed to avoid angering too many people. He didn't act as many of the other guards did, extorting, beating people, effectively doing whatever they wanted. When he could, he tried to help by keeping the gangs from fighting or by, if he had the spare cash, donating to the same orphanage that had raised him. Father Skylar, bless that man, did the best he could and Collin knew how far even a little extra Coppers could be stretched. With a breath, Collin reminded himself that this was just a job, and got to work. Things were heating up at one of the factories, the Fontaine Cannery down by the wharf, had just laid off a fair number of workers, and the charge in the air screamed that a riot could brew at any time.

aisling_beag

 

[aisling_beag]

You're only given a spark of madness. Don't lose it.

The Sun shone brightly down on the busy streets of May and Drexel. If one were walking along the usually dim lit sidewalks, they would be able to feel the curtain of disdain that haunted the streets - along with the coal that continually fell like snow to the ground, courtesy of the many coal plants that made their home in the lowest district. That was what Fallon McMerrell hated most about the intersection of May and Drexel; the melancholic distain of every resident. Her mechanic's shop. though, wouldn't be what it was today if it wasn't for these factors.

The shop in question went by the name of "Bots and Cranny's", a name she had cooked up on the spot when the man selling the building enquired about it. The young woman had saved for years for a place to call her own, and now at the age of 23 she had that. The building sat snuggly between two others; a diner called "Sunnyside" to the left and a bookstore to the right simply called "Enlightenment". Fallon guessed the owners were religious to some degree, or at least enjoyed the aesthetic of being 'spiritual'. The outside of the shop was nothing too impressive. The building was composed of a light brown brick with some new trimmings of white lining the windows and doors. Atop the shop would be Ms. McMerrell's apartment, though she never seemed to use it.

There were two sides to the shop; to the right side there was a wooden door that led into what she referred to as her office. This was where orders were made and transactions were taken. Her office consisted of two cushioned chairs in front of a counter. To the left of the door was the garage where the orders and repairs were taken care of. The garage door was left open during work hours, and most who walked by could always seen the young Irish woman working along side her roommate Butterscotch, whom she adopted as a guard dog (and it was a total failure). The garage was big enough to hold a lift for a car to the left, among other things. Her work bench was set in the back left corner. It's surface was cluttered with patters littered with sketches and measurements and hand tools; a lamp set on the right edge of the desk. Fallon kept a small black rolling chair in the garage to move back and forth from the desk to whatever else she may be working on in the moment. The floor of the garage was no better than her desk. It's concrete held black marks and papers as well as a few toys Scotch had managed to drag in undetected.

On this specific day, Fallon sat in her rolling chair, her back leaning against her desk as she watch pedestrians walk by. This was her habit when she wasn't busy; people watching. She found it interesting that everyone had their own mindset and their own thoughts. She would often find herself making stories up in her head about couple's conversations or phone calls she overheard. It was riveting, and she would never get tired of this. Her freckled arms sat crossed along her stomach, her wavy brown hair settling uncomfortably across her pale features. She was slouched, grumbling about the dust she continuously needed to sweep out of her shop. Fallon kept a few masks in her desk for days like these when the dust was especially terrible.

As she swept the coal out onto the street, she looked up, listening to the distant echos of rally cries that she assumed were coming from the nearby factory. This was also when she noticed a guard walking close by. Her small nosed scrunched under the mask she had dawned for cleaning, and she let out a few curses towards the man.

"Feckin' Jaysus, will you people ever cop on and bleedin' take care of the people?"

 

[Fortunate Son]

Collin walked along, focusing on finishing his patrol route when he heard the words that had been spat at him. For a moment, his eyes flared with a look, before he registered what she was saying. He'd been much the same a short time ago. He sent her a glare, but his heart wasn't in it. "I don't like doing this shite you know." He said. "But it was take this job, or starve m'self on the streets." He told her as he took in the protests at the factory, even he knew it was dangerous to get too close.

It was then that a shot rang out, and Collin's eyes widened as a firebomb in a bottle was tossed at the factory gates. The crowd whipped up into a frenzy, and started breaking into the factory itself. More shots began to ring out.

"Hey you, gobshite!" A man yelled to Collin. He turned, and was faced down by three far larger men. One was carrying a heavy wrench, another brandished a pipe, and hte third a knife. "Everyone's tired of yer shit, Black shirt!" He barked. "We're gonna teach you a lesson."

Collin backed off some, hand going to his sword. "Disperse!" He ordered. "Return to your homes or places of business!" He added, backing off some. "I'm not looking to fight or hurt anyone."

"Ah, well, the better for us then lad! Cause we're looking ta kill!"