[The scenery looks a little like the 1700 or 1800's, but the building style is the light-coloured stuccoed clay and brick type material you often see in warmer climates.
The streets are uneven cobblestone travelled by a blend of pedestrians, horses, and primitive vehicles. Smoke from the coal-burning furnaces chokes the city and leaves a layer of grime on most things, and the part of town it's set in is a little rougher, signs of poverty everywhere. There's the odd side-of-the-road shanty selling what looks like meat skewers, and the people wear waistcoats, suspenders, paperboy hats and slacks.
Most notable are the machines -- strange, complicated things that move almost as if they have a life of their own, breathing smoke and glowing red with the coals at their core. There aren't a lot, and the ones here are smaller, maybe one or two shining shoes, one that looks startlingly like a real dog, one that's handing out papers in the place of a paperboy. The people move about them like they're a natural part of the scenery.
The focus is on a small group of children, ranging in age from 8 or 9 years old to the oldest being 18 or 19. Among them is Moxie, herself probably 11 or 12 (hard to tell with how tiny she is), and though she's younger and one of the few girls, she's taking the lead, hands on her hips and bellowing at the boys. They're all a little grubby, their clothes patched and worn, but they've got meat on their bones and their spirits are high.
Moxie pipes up and says, "Okay, Bran, you gathered up the goods for today?"
Bran, a pale, gangly mouse-haired boy gestures to his side where there's a stack of wood, some from factory pallets or thin broken branches or refuse.
"I gots it, ████, Totie an' me was running last night."
"Good. Here's our dealins for the day –– Bran'll huck the firewood, 2 cens exceptin' the littler ones, Marley can pitch in. Totie'll take the Bywater Corners, them busyfolk like to pay out 'round now, and me'n––"
She doesn't finish, because at that point two more boys approach, the oldest of the lot.
"Yo, ████, you getting bossy again?" the taller of the two asks, sounding good-natured, but Moxie puffs out her chest and glowers at him.
"I gots it, Olu, and you're late!"
It doesn't phase the boy, he marches right up, gives her a rough noogie and shoves her hard enough she stumbles in the process.
"Alright, here's what's up," he takes over, ignoring her indignant glower and foot stomp. "Bran'n Tess on firewood, Totie begging the Corners, Marley, you go see if you can't run old man Barnabas's papers again today, he likes ya. Take Finny with ya. The rest of ya, relieve the fine young gentlefolk what grace our end of town with their presence of any excess weight, yeah? Tess's got herself a healthy set 'o lungs, she's make for a nice distraction. ████, quit makin' that face."
He claps once, starting some of the kids, and they all start to disperse to their appointed tasks. Moxie is disgruntled, but she offers to run messages for a few folks, using the excuse of travelling the street to pick a few pockets on the way, and she makes a point of frequenting the Corners to keep an eye on the girl begging.
It's not until quite a bit later that the boy who took charge comes to find her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing, friendly.
"I meant it, ████, don't pull such a face. You'll be squawking at the lead in no time. There ain't a lot I'd trust at my back in a scrap but you're one. Just don't tell your brother I said it, y'hear?"
She puffs up at the praise, proud, and promises him she won't tell. She knows her brother doesn't like what she gets up to anyway, the less he knows, the better.
Their haul at the end of the day isn't bad. They've got enough for food, for coal, and something little to bring back to their families. Moxie heads down the darkening streets for home, mostly empty now except the scuttling robotic creatures that are winding down for the night before someone refuels them the next morning. Though she says she's fine, the boy from before insists on walking her.
There's been bodies turning up lately, after all. The streets aren't safe, especially when the shadows grow long.
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The Hustle
The streets are uneven cobblestone travelled by a blend of pedestrians, horses, and primitive vehicles. Smoke from the coal-burning furnaces chokes the city and leaves a layer of grime on most things, and the part of town it's set in is a little rougher, signs of poverty everywhere. There's the odd side-of-the-road shanty selling what looks like meat skewers, and the people wear waistcoats, suspenders, paperboy hats and slacks.
Most notable are the machines -- strange, complicated things that move almost as if they have a life of their own, breathing smoke and glowing red with the coals at their core. There aren't a lot, and the ones here are smaller, maybe one or two shining shoes, one that looks startlingly like a real dog, one that's handing out papers in the place of a paperboy. The people move about them like they're a natural part of the scenery.
The focus is on a small group of children, ranging in age from 8 or 9 years old to the oldest being 18 or 19. Among them is Moxie, herself probably 11 or 12 (hard to tell with how tiny she is), and though she's younger and one of the few girls, she's taking the lead, hands on her hips and bellowing at the boys. They're all a little grubby, their clothes patched and worn, but they've got meat on their bones and their spirits are high.
Moxie pipes up and says, "Okay, Bran, you gathered up the goods for today?"
Bran, a pale, gangly mouse-haired boy gestures to his side where there's a stack of wood, some from factory pallets or thin broken branches or refuse.
"I gots it, ████, Totie an' me was running last night."
"Good. Here's our dealins for the day –– Bran'll huck the firewood, 2 cens exceptin' the littler ones, Marley can pitch in. Totie'll take the Bywater Corners, them busyfolk like to pay out 'round now, and me'n––"
She doesn't finish, because at that point two more boys approach, the oldest of the lot.
"Yo, ████, you getting bossy again?" the taller of the two asks, sounding good-natured, but Moxie puffs out her chest and glowers at him.
"I gots it, Olu, and you're late!"
It doesn't phase the boy, he marches right up, gives her a rough noogie and shoves her hard enough she stumbles in the process.
"Alright, here's what's up," he takes over, ignoring her indignant glower and foot stomp. "Bran'n Tess on firewood, Totie begging the Corners, Marley, you go see if you can't run old man Barnabas's papers again today, he likes ya. Take Finny with ya. The rest of ya, relieve the fine young gentlefolk what grace our end of town with their presence of any excess weight, yeah? Tess's got herself a healthy set 'o lungs, she's make for a nice distraction. ████, quit makin' that face."
He claps once, starting some of the kids, and they all start to disperse to their appointed tasks. Moxie is disgruntled, but she offers to run messages for a few folks, using the excuse of travelling the street to pick a few pockets on the way, and she makes a point of frequenting the Corners to keep an eye on the girl begging.
It's not until quite a bit later that the boy who took charge comes to find her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing, friendly.
"I meant it, ████, don't pull such a face. You'll be squawking at the lead in no time. There ain't a lot I'd trust at my back in a scrap but you're one. Just don't tell your brother I said it, y'hear?"
She puffs up at the praise, proud, and promises him she won't tell. She knows her brother doesn't like what she gets up to anyway, the less he knows, the better.
Their haul at the end of the day isn't bad. They've got enough for food, for coal, and something little to bring back to their families. Moxie heads down the darkening streets for home, mostly empty now except the scuttling robotic creatures that are winding down for the night before someone refuels them the next morning. Though she says she's fine, the boy from before insists on walking her.
There's been bodies turning up lately, after all. The streets aren't safe, especially when the shadows grow long.