She hated shopping. It was a thankless task; she would trudge home, her arms laden with a week's worth of groceries, and set them down, before relaxing, for three milliseconds. Then, her mother would send her off onto some other chore: Washing the dishes, cleaning her room, or doing her seemingly endless amount of homework.
But of all her hated tasks, shopping was the one she hated the most.
She hated it because it meant going outside. It meant leaving her safe, warm, room. It meant opening the door, climbing out of her house, which was carved into the terra, and making her way up a precariously thin set of stairs. It meant shaking and stumbling her way through uncaring crowds, arguing with stubborn shopkeepers, and trotting through crystal fuel.
But most of all, it meant seeing that red, forbidding, sky. It meant the swarms of Talons and their skimmers, dipping in endless lines, swooping through the gray clouds that clung to the terras with a stubborn existence.
She marched past the corner, noticing for a few minutes the crazy girl that sat there, empty bowl in her hands, stupid smile on her face. She was timeless. The world walked by, and she was blissfully invisible.
She found the vegetable stand. Everything was imported. Nothing grew in Cyclonia, save crystals and metal.
"Three silver pieces," the shopkeeper grunted, when she pointed at the cabbages.
"I'll give you two silver pieces and one copper." She raised an eyebrow.
"Three or nothing."
"Two silver and two copper," she offered, holding out the money.
"Make that two silver and four copper, and it's done." The shopkeeper glared. "I got children of me own, you know."
"Fine." She handed the money over, before picking out the freshest cabbage of the lot. "Where was this grown?"
"Gale. Good ol' Cyclonian sweat, and what not, eh?" The man grinned.
She allowed a small grin to grace her tired face, before the shopkeeper shooed her away. She headed back to the corner, where the crazy girl sat, smiling her timeless smile.
In the distance, dark terras loomed, and the highest of them all carried steel walls and metal runways. The palace's tined ceiling carved into the red sky.
She turned towards home.
She was late.
OOO
A/N: Long, long, long, very long, but it was fun to write. Cyclonian civilians intrigue me.
And right now, we've got a tie on my poll between "Stand Firm" and "Closing Doors". Who shall be the tiebreaker?!