Well, if I'd known I was going to be left isolated in a dancing dystopia, I would have just stayed at home.
Kuati sang his annoyance to the wind, which blew his emotions away with each breath.
The storm was already battering much of his town. The mess it had created was evident along his journey: Rubbish blew in the breeze, bins tipped over and scratching their way on a journey of their own. Fallen branches scattered, with leaves still clinging on.
It had only been about 30 minutes since it began, but she knew it was going to last a while. Could it go on throughout the next day? Potentially.
Besk was a world synonymous with storms, in the few years she had been here she witnessed no less than 10 major storms, which were considered little more than a minor annoyance to the natives. "Work must still be done," her supervisor told her during her first major storm. All she wanted to do was clock off a little bit earlier than usual.
Everything on Besk was built with the weather in mind. Everything was heavy, essentially bolted down. Due to weight requirements, all of the buildings were big, grey and ugly. Huge cubes dot the landscape. Barely any windows, and the ones that were there had huge stansion-steel shutters that would drop every time another storm approached. Some businesses would keep theirs shut permanently citing, "it is a good deodorant for thieves." Or, "it's to protect our employees from the Degs."
Degs, denfreaks, mentally sick aggressive things that haunted every corner, and stalked in the nightmare realm of everyone's minds. She had to laugh at these horror stories they'd tell each other. It wasn't to deter thieves or chancers, and it wasn't because of the "Degs." It was because certain businesses realised how much they'd be able to save on their electricity by not constantly raising and lowering the shutters.
Another large gust came along and caused her to stand still, bracing against it. Her hood fell down, and her ears began to burn with the cold. As she struggled with her head she could feel her hair whipping at her forehead, stray strands going as far as to strike her eyelashes. Eyes watering at this point, she managed to pull her hood up, but at had to hold it in place for the remainder of her walk.
She'd buy a transport if she could afford one. Funny, most of the new ones are built on Besk, but they're all packed up and shipped off-world. The shortage only adds to the value, making the ones sold her some of the most expensive on the market.
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