Culture Shock

Their world had been one of sharp beauty and ingenious craftsmanship. The markets were crowded with merchants hawking wares from all over the world, exchanging money, forging weapons. Their technology was advanced, but it wasn't enough to keep them from falling to the darkness, world breaking apart, families separated.

Mog was lucky. He'd woken up alone but alive, clutching his little pouch of tools, on a cobbled street running through empty buildings. He'd wandered around, avoiding the pools of darkness wavering around him, until he ran into a group of strange creatures.

They were tall and lanky, with long bones protruding from the ends of their arms, tiny noses, heads covered by stringy things, and large, round, eyes. They were easily three times his height. Mog calculated his odds – darkness? Or monsters? – and decided to risk his chances.

"Oh man," said the monster closest to his height. "Are you the cutest thing or what! Can we keep 'im?" It danced around him in a circle, leaning in close, and poked his belly.

"You speak my language?" Mog said, trying to ignore the smallest creature, who had begun to admire his pouch.

"Seems like it," said the tallest, pulling the smallest one away, keeping the other hand on his weapon.

"Don't be rude," scolded another, in a soft, strange voice. Her nose was a healthy red. She scrunched up her eyes into a nice shape and leaned closer to him, but the effect was ruined by her too-wide mouth. Mog could see most of her teeth.

"My name is Aerith," she said, pausing to sneeze into a handkerchief. "You're in Traverse Town. Everyone here lost their world to the Heartless."

"What are you, anyway?" the smallest creature interrupted, staring with even rounder eyes.

Mog looked down at his pouch. "I'm a Moogle."

The small creature nodded gravely. "I'm a ninja."

"Yuffie," Aerith said through her handkerchief. Her nose kept getting redder.

"We have room if you want to stay and look for any others from your world," the tallest said grudgingly. "Uh. Moogles, I mean. But we should get going. There are more Heartless around here."

As if on cue the darkness rippled away behind him. Mog shivered, right up through his pompom, and made his decision.

"My name's Mog," he said. "Do you have a forge?"

-

words: 385
challenge: before
notes: backstory is always fun. I'm not sure who Mog is, but he's one of the ones running around Traverse Town.