Maris Fero
Riff-raff, Street Rat.
[The Arrivoca Auditorium, Efavan, Vorzyd V]
It had been an interesting month for the youth from Lower-L. At first, she had roamed the various Casinos and the upper world with the spirit of exploration and the excitement of seeing a million new things.
She had visited the aquarium tunnels in the heart of the MezNez. She had sat in the stalls of the Arcologos fathier racing course suspended between four great tower shards and watched the crowds sweat and roar as the beasts ran themselves ragged for their amusement. She had toured the spires and shards in a luxury sky yacht, and bathed in jacuzzi pools as she marvelled at the architecture of each new edifice cast in praise of greed and avarice.
Each of the experiences had glittered with the prospect of luxury, but eventually, the Shrike’s enjoyment soured as time had passed and the facile shroud of power or importance had faded.
Only when the raven-haired youth had stood amongst the baying crowds of fight fans watching pugilists thunder blows into each other had she truly felt enlivened, feeling the unrest of the maddened crowd flood through her like a soothing tonic.
Sickened by her experiences above Maris had roamed below the pollution line more and more often again, stalking the hunting ground of her youth and living amongst ‘her own kind’. There too she saw the failing, the illusion of normality as petty despots and crooks tried to recreate the world above the crowd, and the experience of the rich in the ruins of the Lower-L.
The more time the Shrike spent with Enyo Typhos, the surer she became that Maris Fero no longer belonged to Efavan, and eventually she returned to the mysteries of the world above. Perhaps Enyo would help her leave the place soon, she hoped.
That night the Shrike had chosen to make an attempt to “broaden her experiences,” one more. Tickets to a show, she had lifted them from the luggage of a wealthy trader staying in the MezNez. Although she had no idea of what the show might be about the Shrike had chosen to enter the experience blindly, and so made no great effort to dress for the occasion.
As she took her seat, alone for the moment, Maris was surrounded by jewel-encrusted masses of what passed for the social elite of Efavan, the youth sighed and looked around at the smug faces waiting in hushed silence for the show to begin. If this sucked, at least she had a fair chance of profiting from the endeavour.