Across the Island, The Wee Hours of Saturday Morning

[furnaceface]

When the residents of the island went to sleep the night before, all was as it should be. Ducks and flamingos were nestled in for the night by the pond. Rickshaw runners put in their extra hours, bringing the Friday evening crowd home from late nights at the bars. The streetlamps blinked on, one by one, and, deep below, the island's machinery ticked away, odd angles and detours of the island's interior architecture surrounding strange, unrecognizable components, bits and pieces that impossibly managed to fit and work together, and, among all the rest, clockwork.

All as it should be. Until, late into the night, the clockwork shuddered, and then stopped.

It didn't happen for terribly long. Barely a minute passed before something deep within the system realized the problem and compensated, nudging the clockwork back to life with a wave of encouragement and a good, solid kick. Slowly, the clockwork below groaned and resumed its tireless work, and nothing was the wiser as the night wore on, all as it should be.

Ducks and flamingos were nestled in for the night by the pond. Rickshaws were finishing their late night shifts, their spider-like mechanical legs clattering against the cobblestones as they strode down the streets. The gaslamps were flickering, illuminating the town throughout the night, airships drifting almost lazily across the sky above.

Just a normal night on Fandom Island. Though it could have stood to be a little bit more normal, perhaps.

[OOC: And so kicks off Steampunk Weekend! Have fun, folks!]