This is a ramble, this is just random jibberish. If you can make any point of the below story I truly commend you because I started writing at 11:00 PM and finished at 1:26 AM with a barely sensical story. I really should start on these earlier in the day.

Attempt to enjoy!

Tick, tick, tick

The sound came from everywhere, emanating out from an immense source and echoing into the world; it resounded through streets and up tall towers, it boomed around deep valleys and water-filled ravines.

It was a clock. Or rather, it wasn’t a clock.

You see, those of you reading this think of a clock as a small little (sometimes rounded) object which fits snuggly on a wall or desk, and ticks away quietly in a corner. Essentially it’s a something almost always forgettable.

This wasn’t any of those things. In fact if anything it was a city in the corner of a clock—in fact it was a city on the corner of a clock. The city was called Tenolck and it was a bustling hive of industry, with all sorts of people constantly bustling around doing their assorted tasks; their gears whirring and clicking smoothly as they went about their days.

…What? Oh, my apologies. I had so forgotten that for the people reading this, the concept of people with gears is a strange and foreign one. Oh yes, the people of Tenolck had gears, as did all the people who resided in the various cities across the massive clock: Elevetia, Twelston, and all the rest were filled to the brim with various different shapes and sizes of geared occupants.

I see that some further information is required. There are four different ‘brands’ of the people of Clox, and of those are brands they are divided into the standard male/female pairing.

The first brand is the most common, they’re the Copparst: as their name implies they are coated in a brilliant copper sheen all across their bodies. Their faces are, on average, the most dented of the people of Clox and they are second-to-none in terms of being warriors for the Clox kingdoms. Unfortunately their gears are also the most exposed of all the brands, leading to the rather common and unfortunate fate of a jammed gear.

The second brand is the Steelde: Shining a bright silver they are the second most common brand on Clox. While on average shorter than the Bronzst, they are also skilled craftsmen and a highly intelligent people. Steelde’s are also, unfortunately very xenophobic when left to their own devices and tend to cluster around the cities of Sixten and Forson, only occasionally leaving their cities for any other. Only the best materials on Clox are made by Steelde hands.

Next is the Ironen, a proud and strong brand. Whilst they eschewed most major cities on Clox for quite some time they have gradually moved out of their primitive ways and developed into the best farmhands in all the land. The Ironen are a squat and, some would say, ugly race; their features being roughly carved out of the harsh metal that makes up their bodies. However due to decreasing iron levels in the planet, the Ironen are in far shorter supply than either the Steelde or the Copparst. Luckily the Ironen also live the longest, having the most solid coating over their intricate gears.

Lastly are the most mysterious brand: The Quartzot. Very little is known about the Quartzot except that they reside only within the central continent of Clox. Unlike the rest of the brands who tend to stick to the outer cities of Onel, through Twelston; the Quartzot refuse to set foot outside of the central spite of Clox…given that few explorers have returned from this spire, it remains unnamed. However it is said that the Quartzot are summoning a particular city to dine with them when one of the massive bridges swing from the central spire. The Quartzot are also practical jokers and enjoy giving a large celebration, and announcing their plans to bridge to a certain city—and then releasing a special bridge that only stretches halfway to said city. Due to this nature the cities of Twole and Fivate have refused to allow any Quartzot ambassadors within their walls. The Quartzot are also the strangest brand in terms of appearance, it is unknown if they have gears or not, but their outer shell contains no metallic sheen, instead they are almost translucent, with light seeming to shine through their pale white bodies.

And now, with that background information out of the way, let us get on with our story. Where were we?

Ah yes!

Tick, tick, tick

The sound came from everywhere, emanating out from an immense source and echoing into the world; it resounded through streets and up tall towers, it boomed around deep valleys and water-filled ravines.

It was a clock. Or rather, it wasn’t a clock.

You see, those of you reading this think of a clock as a small little (sometimes rounded) object which fits snuggly on a wall or desk, and ticks away quietly in a corner. Essentially it’s a something almost always forgettable.

This wasn’t any of those things. In fact if anything it was a city in the corner of a clock—in fact it was a city on the corner of a clock. The city was called Tenolck and it was a bustling hive of industry, with all sorts of people constantly bustling around doing their assorted tasks; their gears whirring and clicking smoothly as they went about their days.

It was in one of the lesser traveled streets of Tenolck where a young male lay quietly. He was an Ironen by the look of him, the coarse, rusted metal of his form giving him away almost immediately. He lay shading his eyes with one hand, listening carefully to the tick that boomed all around the city. Even his gears were silenced in the face of that incredible sound.

After the last tick had sounded, the young male stood up, his metal form screaming in protest as his gears whirred madly, pushing his body upwards. When at last his body had ceased its remonstration he began to move from the street and into a darkened alley, his face firmly facing downwards.

“You hear that, Crass?” came a mocking voice. Looking up the young male saw a Steelde female leaning up against a wall, her silver joints shining faintly in the darkness and her eyes vaguely beckoning.

“’course I heard it, Fel” came the mumbled reply from the male called Crass. “ain’t nobody who din’t hear somethin’ like that.” He continued, walking slowly into the shadows where Fel was waiting.

“Yes, but do you know what it means?” Fel asked, her eyes glinting sharply.

“Na” Crass replied slowly, gently lowering himself to sit cross legged on the smooth ground.

“It means that the bridge is going to be extended to Twelston. The Quartzot are coming out of their self-induced seclusion and are willing to make contact with the world again” Fel responded with a smile, her eyes passionate.

“An’ if s’ajoke?” Crass grunted, not bothering to look upwards. Fel sighed and made a small ‘tsk’ing sound before offering a gleaming arm to the sitting Ironen.

“How many times have I told you not to blend words like that? You’re a perfectly educated citizen of Tenolck” she said, somewhat harshly.

“Yes’m” Crass responded dully. Fel shook her head and grasped his hand, slowly heaving him to his feet.

“Come on, Crass. If we leave today we can catch transport to Twelston. We can be there for the bridge!” Crass’ response was an unintelligible mumble, his eyes cast towards the ground as he spoke.

“…What?” Fel responded, displaying all the beauty and frustration of a Steelde female.

Crass mumbled again, refusing to avert his eyes from the smooth plastic street of Tenolck. Luckily Fel’s keen hearing barely managed to catch it this time “N’money”

Fel smiled a gentle smile and stroked the top of Crass’s rough head.

“Silly Crass, I know you have no money. But you live with me now, and I do!” Crass looked hesitantly into Fel’s silvery eyes, his own dark eyes filled with doubt.

“You…mean it?” He said slowly, clearly enunciating every word as it came out, moving his mouth oddly in order to get out the unfamiliar sounds. Fel grinned brightly at the smaller Ironen

“O’course I do!” Crass smiled brightly and wrapped his strong arms around Fel in a tight hug.

It was a few short hours later that Crass and Fel found themselves in the transit station from Tenolck to Twelston…along with just about every other resident of Twelston—and Fel could have sworn there were even a few from Elevetia. The narrow building was crammed with gleaming shades of various different metals and filled with the noise of thousands of gears all whirring at various different speeds. After ten minutes Fel put a hand on Crass’ shoulder and they both left the incredibly crowded building.

It was Crass who suggested that in lieu of attempting to board the transit line, or make any other attempt to get to Twelston, they simply go to the beach instead. Fel became amicable to this after seeing the growing quantities of people who were rapidly moving to every available source of transit to the city of Twelston.

From the central transit center it was but a short jaunt to the water’s edge, its empty whiteness lapping up onto the black plastic shore. On the other side of Tenolck bay they could see the industrial sector of Tenolck, large black plumes of smoke dotting the sky from all the heavy machinery.

Fel lightly took Crass’ hand and together they walked onto the rounded dock which offered a nearly unparalleled view. Looking straight forward Fel could dimly see the large spire that jutted into the sky, the centre of all of Clox and the Quartzot homeland—and just south of that was the enormous bridge: Previously linked to Eighre, it was now slowly being pushed towards the bustling city of Twelston

Fel and crass walked along the rounded dock for some time, simply enjoying the view of the expansive white ocean, and the hazy views of the other cities, all of them divided by the white waves. Fel smiled at the view and lightly patted Crass on the back, he grinned weakly back at her and sat down cross-legged on the hard metal of the dock.

“Fel, why do you let me live with you?” He murmured quietly. “Ironen aren’t well-liked in this region.” Fel crouched down, her silvery faces mere inches from his own.

“Because, Crass. You’re like a brother to me.” She sighed softly and sat down completely, her bright eyes fixed to the dark metal beneath her. “I admit, when I first found you I was looking for a skilled laborer, a hired hand. But you’re so much more than that, Crass. You’re family.”

They sat there, comfortably quiet for the space of an hour before a loud blaring sound shook them from their stillness. Jumping to her feet, Fel glanced around warily and saw nothing. Crass also stood, slowly, and walked to the very edge of the rounded pier, laying his thick arms on the guard rail silently. Fel glared around her at the unseen threat, but turned gracefully on her heel and walked to where Crass was leaning.

In the distance they could see the enormous bridge landing at the entrance at Twelson.

“The alarm must have been because the Quartzot arrived ahead of schedule” Fel said quietly. Crass said nothing in return, his dark eyes peering intently at the large black bridge that stretched from the Quartzot spire to Twelson.

Fel also watched interestedly as a dim procession of lights made their way onto the bridge. Then, with a sudden movement the bridge swung directly in front of her and Crass, the wind from its arrival blowing over them powerfully and kicking up waves. Squinting her eyes Fel could see that the bridge to Twelson was in fact the half bridge, and the procession from Twelson (including, she assumed, the ambassador from Quartzot) were splashing around in the water. Luckily the Quartzot joke was an old one, and water rescuers were standing by. Even Fel was aware of that.

Then it boomed out again, that incredible cacophony of sound.

Tick, tick, tick.

Crass paused and looked up at the sky, his previously blank expression dissolving into laughter, the metal of his face crinkling as he laughed merrily. Fel watched him and laughed herself, not knowing why.

At last Crass’ mirth had faded away, leaving his gears sputtering slightly and his metal warped only the tiniest bit around his mouth. Fel, experiencing similar effects simply sat next to him and breathlessly asked.

“What was so funny?” Crass looked ready to laugh again as she spoke

“It’s an old Iron’n joke, I ne’r thought it wa’ true.” He said, slipping into his old speech pattern. Fel gazed at him intently through hooded eyes

“What was the joke?” He paused and thought a moment before looking skyward again.

“That sound, it ain’t letting us know they’re ready to bridge a new city.” He said slowly, carefully picking his words and speaking properly. “It’s their laughter. They’re laughin’ at us. Isn’t it hilarious?”

Fel paused a moment and allowed this to sink in, the Quartzot were not some mysterious force who would occasionally allow other cities to access their promised land. They were a bunch of practical jokers who had managed to present the veneer of sophistication to the rest of the world.

She had to admit, it was pretty funny.

With their energy spent Fel and Crass slowly picked themselves up and walked home in the darkness, laughing the whole way, as the Quartzot had laughed at them.

Word Count: 2,272