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How the other half lives.
Offline 02-06-2019, 02:54 AM
Reply: #1
How the other half lives.
Role playing as Ms. Paint here. Gist of the prompt is that she is living in Midnight City and during this time, the city is pretty new...the city is growing. And when the city grows things happen, lots of change takes place. Basically this is an AU where Midnight city has its own industrial revolution going on.

Characters I am accepting:
> Spades Slick
> Hearts Boxcars
> Clubs Deuce
> Diamonds Droog
> Felt members
> Problem Sleuth
> Pickle Inspector
> Ace Dick
> Hysterical Dame
> Nervous Broad
> Peregrine Mendicant
> Windswept Questant
> The Mayor
> Aimless Renegade


~~~~~~~~~~~ PROMPT BELOW ~~~~~~~~~~~

The desert sands were no comfort to anyone. So, when rumors spread of a city being built for carapace kind this would give the ones roaming aimlessly a bit of hope, even if they had no direction in where to go. Even with the slightest whisper of a proper civilization was enough to get anyone going and enough to make anyone have something to look forward to. A silver lining, if you will.

If only they knew what the city had in store. A new city it was, and newer cities had to grow. Food was a surplus but they couldn't just let it all go to waste, so the population would boom rapidly. This would be a great thing but with the population growing so quick and so fast they needed more clothes in the stores, more furniture items, more...everything. What happens when a population grows so large that it causes everyone to start working so fast? Mills get made, rivers get polluted, smog floods the city, living conditions are no where near safe. That is, unless you're part of the rich, if you are anything else then you are a victim of the system, and there's just nothing you can do about it, or is there?

At first glance just outside the city it looked normal, until you stepped in. Streets were dirty and so were people. There were buildings of tiny apartments where workers were allowed to reside until the time came for them get up bright and early the next day, and head to the mill where they worked, rain or shine, snow or ice, it did not matter. All that matters here is progress, and not progress for helping the workers, progress for getting items on the shelves so the rich could line their pockets in gold and THEN stuff them with the regular currency.
What else is there to talk about? Oh, yes, the smell. The city smells horrible. Smog and fossil fuels pumped into the air made for a thick mixture that if you aren't careful enough, could kill you. This would be why most walked around with their mouths covered and would squint their eyes to protect them from the harmful chemicals. But, what about the mills?

The mills on the outside looked like your regular factories, but as they say "It's what's on the inside that really matters." And that is true. These mills were purely a place of business. Nothing more, nothing less. Carapaces big and small, young and old, male and female were seated at large machines which were definitely far from being deemed as safe. Large blades moving back and forth, no protection, and the only way you would get first aid there if you slipped up was if you brought your own supplies. These places were run by overseers, people who lead with an iron fist. People who used that fist for more evil than they did good. A simple slip up, such as if you fell asleep or if you were not working fast enough could mean that your back gets acquainted with a long wooden rod, hard enough to break your shell, dangerous enough to never heal correctly.

Let's take a look at inside of one of the textile mills, shall we? Ah here's a worker, the tag on her dress says "Paint" so that must be her name. Seems she is in the middle of working. The little prospitian is sending her flying shuttle across it's rod, carrying through the weft threads then bringing the screen down to secure them to her warp threads. She's making a fabric, looming if you will. That's the textile industry, seems simple enough, until you learn more about the machines, and how it is very easy to slip up. One minute you're finishing up your fabric, the next you're missing a finger, or two, or three. That's why she made sure to always be careful but of course everyone makes mistakes, so there's no guarantee that won't happen. The overseer, a large carapacian stomped into the room, wooden rod in hand, and a glare fixed on the workers. Everyone had to be working quick and diligently from the time they workday started, to the time the workday ended. Paint would always find herself day dreaming from to time, thinking that all of this was some bad dream and she'd wake up and the city would turn out to be not so bad after all.

This wasn't good. She was day dreaming, she was off task, and with an overseer in the room, it wasn't surprising when she got whacked. It hurt, a lot, but it did snap her back on track. That's how things are run, fear is the common method in getting everyone to work. One thing is for sure, she couldn't wait for this day to end, and luckily for her she the work day had only a few minutes left. The alarm rang and the workers unthreaded their looms and sewing machines, covering them up, taking their attendance cards and heading off. Nobody made a lot of money but if you were one of the lucky ones who was able to save up enough money over the course of a few weeks, you may be able to purchase something simple. Reading material, maybe some sweets to share with the others in your housing unit, or even something such as art supplies if you're the artsy type, and paint was. She had saved up more than enough money to purchase herself a lovely little art set that she had been eyeballing for the past month.

Making her way out of the mill, hand pressed to her back every now and then to ease the pain from that dreaded wooden rod she made her way down the street. At first she was walking, but then she realized if she didn't hurry up, she would be home in time and workers had a curfew. She started to run and luckily made it to the store in time to make her purchase and then run straight out, down the street...and bump into someone. She fell backwards her brand new art set falling out of her hands, opening up and a few things from it getting strewn onto the side walk. Colored pencils, containers of paint, artist pens, and crayons decorated the pavement in a colorful show. Who did she run into? She doesn't know, she's trying to recover for a second before she can finally see who it is, and then hopefully gather her supplies and make it home on time.

orbitingJupiter, signing out!
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