 |
| Between jutting scrapers & smoggy skies, day or night was impossible to discern. |
Obscured by the construction zone around the
opening, the party emerged from an unused man-hole cover and up to the
street. Neon lights buzzed and flickered
like a motel in a bad “b” movie. Between
jutting scrapers and smoggy skies, day or night was impossible to discern.
Gwydd rubbed her arms as if trying to brush off
the pollution that clung to her skin. It
was like trying to rinse off the film from cheap, detergent shower-soap. No wonder everyone covered as much skin as
possible.
Nickel
gave her a sympathetic side-nod as if to confirm that yes, the air was
suffocating. “Come on, we have people to
meet at the market.”
Willow kept her breaths shallow, looking for
Gwydd for guidance. This adventuring thing was all new to her, and she was
quite sure she was not cut out for it.
“Market?” She asked, thinking for a moment she
might have found something she was familiar with in this nightmarish landscape.
“Like where you sell fruits and vegetables and things?"
Nickel and Xan shook their heads sadly. “Nothing
fresh is ever sold here, I'm afraid.” Xan replied.
 |
| "...that's what makes us so lucrative.” Nickel's eyes gleamed under electric billboards. |
“At
least not currently – that's what makes us so lucrative.” Nickel's eyes gleamed
under electric billboards. “Right now,
we trade with underground colonies similar to ours.”
Kif
nodded, “Usually things like seeds, parts, vitamins, supplies – news and
gossip…you get the idea.”
Gwydd
stayed close to Willow, trying hard to be as strong as she was fierce. They
followed the rag tag crew into the depths of the Market. It was crowded,
sweltering, and quite frankly, smelled worse than a Goblin Horde a day before
bath time.
Nickel looked at the Fae and smiled.
"Don't eat it if it's offered to you, and don't eat it if you don't know
what it is. Nothing is safe. Unless, of course, ya grew up eatin' it." She
chuckled and moved to a booth, trading something for a bowl of what Willow
could only describe as filth and garbage. Even Kif made a face as Nickel popped
a large spoonful of the stuff into her mouth. Xan shook his head. "That's
just gross."
Nickel just laughed as they made their way back
to a booth, nearly hidden among the others.
The old refrain passed through Gwydd’s mind, an
eerie track on whispering repeat:
“We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?"
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?"
 |
| We must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits |
Commerce in this unearthly market was foreign. Stalls were packed with
prattling teeth and bartering hands.
Goggles, gloves, ultra-violet body make-up, artificial fruits injected
with “nutrients”, rodent-skull trinkets, and liquid meal vacuum pouches.
People jostled shoulder-to-shoulder everywhere. No matter where she looked, one item was ubiquitous. Vendors had racks of white packets with multi-colored labeling that were reminiscent of
dead-sea salts. An army of kids seemed
impossibly busy trying to keep the racks from going empty as the baggies
constantly churned in sales.
“Snowdust.” Kif read the question on
Willow’s face, puffed out his chest and adopted his mock commercial-voice.
“Pharmaceutical powders that you dissolve your drink! Flavors for every ache, pain and pleasure
that you can imagine. Fizzy candy for your fix - excellent for parties,
pick-me-ups, relaxing, recreation and medicinally – brought to you from
Biovael, YOUR drugstore.”
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