Over the ever cascading falls a mist would gather, mingling in with the morning fog. Hardly anyone would notice the unusual anomaly, for the earliest hours of day were usually a-shroud. Despite the gloom, the city was beginning to bustle. Abingdol Falls was early to rise, newsies setting up post and cogcycles tick-tocketing to life. On every street something was happening, for it's very true what they mumble about urban places such as Abingdol Falls. They never do slumber.
There went a smartly dressed gentle sir on his way to the bank, pushing pedals and pumping steam on his cogcycle. He had given his ma'am a kiss good-day and good-bye, happily away-ing for a day's pay. He whistled a tune, taking off into Abingdol Falls. On his morning route, there was always the same newsie he bought the morning pape off. Today a thrence, yesterday dos and a half. The price always changed but it didn't matter to he who had money to spare. Pape under arm, he puttered along around a corner, into the the thick smell of bread. Wasn't it delicious, the morning bake? He devoured the scent in passing, pumping around another corner and straight towards the highlight of his morning route.
The bridge. He never payed a care to anything but the view this part of the trip. Eyes glued over the horizon, the man barely noticed the unusual thickening of atmosphere. It wasn't until he couldn't see before him that something seemed amiss. Slowing with a steady clang, he rolled through the cloud and gripped hit hat.
Wasn't he thankful to ticker out alright on the other side, and continue on his route? The fog had obscured most of the view over the Lyles river, as it poured over the cliff. It had also obscured the sudden and random appearance of a young man and a young lady, right there on the bridge. They weren't there, and then they were, bracing themselves against who knew what in the fog.
The maiden, hair like fire, opened her eyes first. Where were they? It was light here, that was for certain. She shook the male's arm, and the fogs began to dissipate. As the mist faded back to the normal morning damp, Genevieve Bird's jaw would drop. She didn't know it now, but the beautiful city before her was called Abingdol falls. Behind her she could hear the waterfalls. Her stomach fell with them. Could this be real?
There went a smartly dressed gentle sir on his way to the bank, pushing pedals and pumping steam on his cogcycle. He had given his ma'am a kiss good-day and good-bye, happily away-ing for a day's pay. He whistled a tune, taking off into Abingdol Falls. On his morning route, there was always the same newsie he bought the morning pape off. Today a thrence, yesterday dos and a half. The price always changed but it didn't matter to he who had money to spare. Pape under arm, he puttered along around a corner, into the the thick smell of bread. Wasn't it delicious, the morning bake? He devoured the scent in passing, pumping around another corner and straight towards the highlight of his morning route.
The bridge. He never payed a care to anything but the view this part of the trip. Eyes glued over the horizon, the man barely noticed the unusual thickening of atmosphere. It wasn't until he couldn't see before him that something seemed amiss. Slowing with a steady clang, he rolled through the cloud and gripped hit hat.
Wasn't he thankful to ticker out alright on the other side, and continue on his route? The fog had obscured most of the view over the Lyles river, as it poured over the cliff. It had also obscured the sudden and random appearance of a young man and a young lady, right there on the bridge. They weren't there, and then they were, bracing themselves against who knew what in the fog.