- Pronoun
- they or she
Hustle and bustle! Any 'mon not used to a proper city would surely find Novelux blisteringly fast, loud, and confusing. Even the smells blared from all corners. At least the trams were predictable on their fixed paths and fixed timetables, and there were clear lanes for pedestrians of different sizes, or else one would certainly risk being crushed if they took a walk in the street as an undersized species...
Wherever two major streets intersected, there were often plazas and squares with street food vendors, buskers, newsagents, hawkers of petty wares, and various other 'mon trying to make their way in the world. Also – demonstrators. Of the political kind.
"Fermlein Steel is buying out our city!" roared a scruffy-faced Pangoro, his teeth clamped like a vice on a fat Serracan cigar. He pointed and spread his arms from atop a few stacked wooden pallets. "Nobody voted for Lennox Fermlein, but who's making the decisions for the working 'mon in Novelux? Not the mayor, no! He's bought and paid for, by Lennox Fermlein and the rest of the industrialist mob!"
He really could bellow, and he'd gathered something of a crowd, if only because his swinging gestures – backed by a few hundred pounds of muscle – deterred anyone from hanging too close, slowing foot traffic. He wore a flatcap of the kind that was common among the working class of Novelux, and a heavy coat of indeterminate colour, its material obscured by grime, soot, and oil stains. Beneath that, a slightly smarter-looking waistcoat.
"Plumbing in Copperridge is more expensive every year, but does it work? No! We're lucky if our taps run, and luckier still if they run clear! Every year we're told that public services need just a little more investment! Every year, public services go up for auction to the highest bidder! And if you don't like the service, what's the alternative? Ha! Bottled water from your Water-typed neighbours, if you're lucky enough to have them! There's no competition, no free market! People's goods and people's services are chips in the poker games of the well-to-do!"
"Go tell the Vanguard about it!" jeered another 'mon, immediately lost in the crowd.
"Who said that? Wanna stand here and debate me to my face?" growled Pangoro, with a menacing scowl.
The heckler did not reappear.
Further up the street, crowds of 'mon gathered to marvel at some vehicle with a gleaming bronze paintjob – recogniseable to some offworlders as an automobile. In the other direction, a picket line barred entry to a building – a workers strike? Protestors? Either way... Technological extravagance and economic tensions existed within a hundred yards of each other in Novelux, in the year 181...
Wherever two major streets intersected, there were often plazas and squares with street food vendors, buskers, newsagents, hawkers of petty wares, and various other 'mon trying to make their way in the world. Also – demonstrators. Of the political kind.
"Fermlein Steel is buying out our city!" roared a scruffy-faced Pangoro, his teeth clamped like a vice on a fat Serracan cigar. He pointed and spread his arms from atop a few stacked wooden pallets. "Nobody voted for Lennox Fermlein, but who's making the decisions for the working 'mon in Novelux? Not the mayor, no! He's bought and paid for, by Lennox Fermlein and the rest of the industrialist mob!"
He really could bellow, and he'd gathered something of a crowd, if only because his swinging gestures – backed by a few hundred pounds of muscle – deterred anyone from hanging too close, slowing foot traffic. He wore a flatcap of the kind that was common among the working class of Novelux, and a heavy coat of indeterminate colour, its material obscured by grime, soot, and oil stains. Beneath that, a slightly smarter-looking waistcoat.
"Plumbing in Copperridge is more expensive every year, but does it work? No! We're lucky if our taps run, and luckier still if they run clear! Every year we're told that public services need just a little more investment! Every year, public services go up for auction to the highest bidder! And if you don't like the service, what's the alternative? Ha! Bottled water from your Water-typed neighbours, if you're lucky enough to have them! There's no competition, no free market! People's goods and people's services are chips in the poker games of the well-to-do!"
"Go tell the Vanguard about it!" jeered another 'mon, immediately lost in the crowd.
"Who said that? Wanna stand here and debate me to my face?" growled Pangoro, with a menacing scowl.
The heckler did not reappear.
Further up the street, crowds of 'mon gathered to marvel at some vehicle with a gleaming bronze paintjob – recogniseable to some offworlders as an automobile. In the other direction, a picket line barred entry to a building – a workers strike? Protestors? Either way... Technological extravagance and economic tensions existed within a hundred yards of each other in Novelux, in the year 181...
