The wind seemed keen to hurry Quinn along. It whistled playfully by her, pushing at her back when she slowed, or carrying up myriad scents to entice her. Normally Hovvi smelled like the lake, like boat and brine and fish. But in the afternoon sun, with the impromptu market bustling and the legions of foodcarts and vendors hard at work, the air had new things to bring her—things that were new even to the Hovvi folk themselves. Saffron, grilled onion, caramelized bananas and apples, garlic, honeyed ham, the tongue-sweet smells of chocolate, of dusted sugar and fresh maple. The wind made promises to her ears as well. Beneath the heavy current of thousands of voices were the waves of music, the cheering, the thumping that seemed to touch her all the way to the bone. The sights of the world had enwrapped her, now the rest of it rushed to bring her in. Her road was unbarricaded, and delivered her to the bright alleys behind a row of restaurants and trinketeers. Beyond them the street was teeming with bodies, all moving past or across one another seamlessly. Everyone seemed to be going somewhere, but no one seemed to actually get to where they were going. Navigating was difficult without the experience one gets from being literally anywhere but their own room for sixteen years straight. The excitement made people pushy, made them impatient, intolerant for clumsiness. Along the sides, carts blocked in the road like barricades themselves. Vendors barked louder than the shouting and the music, waving their food and wares out at anyone who looked like they could afford it. As such, most didn’t give Quinn much more than a glance. The lake was close, the boardwalk wall of screens would only get brighter as the day waned. Plenty still screened the empty quarry, but now, with speakers rolled out beside them, many displayed what must have been the stage further into town, packed so densely with people that even the ants couldn’t get closer. A young man stood on the stage, accompanied by a backing band, but the lights were on him. He sang and played guitar, and did both exceptionally, though it seems clear that even if he didn’t, the crowd would be just as excited. Further down were the docks for lake-tours, with big ferries chugging in, vomiting out people before more piled on. Past that was the local marina, which was decidedly less crowded, and anchored there were a few dozen smaller boats. A few were scattered out across the lake, likely townsfolk who would rather fish than deal with the mass of tourists. On the opposite side of the street, signs were erected pointing further into town. [b][u]COMMUNITY CENTER[/u][/b] [b][u]RISC PILOT INTERVIEWS[/u][/b] [b][u]COMPATIBLE APPLICANTS ONLY[/u][/b] Earlier there would have been a line to the Community Center reaching this far back, but by now many of the applicants had either been seen, or decided they didn’t want to miss the party waiting for a job they probably weren’t going to get anyway. So, with a world of choices now open to her, Quinn was suddenly faced with another. What to do?