Brandon Sanderson
Mist hugged the shadows.
Cars zipping overhead made the sunlight strobe like an short-circuiting lightbulb, the shadows flickering over Ayven as she stopped on the groundwalk, looking into the alleyway. Afternoon crowds flowed around her with the efficient annoyance of city people, as quick to dodge around her sudden halt as they were to lob a curse her direction. She heard little of it, with Terris mountainfunk playing through her headphones, the noise of the city rendered as background beats to a peppy soundtrack.
That mist... surely it was too early in the day for it. Or too late? She couldn’t recall having ever seen it during the lighted hours, not even lurking in an alleyway. She seemed the only to have noticed it; perhaps she was the only one who cared. In fact, as she blocked the flow like a dead rat in a drain, someone moved by in haste and hit her oversized shoulder bag, knocking it to the side. That twisted her headphones by the cords, yanking them free of her ears. She left a world of synth-drum beats and entered Elendel at its most aggressive: the clatter of feet on concrete groundwalk, the shouts of the crowd, the call of distant sirens. The hum of cars overhead kept aloft by the steelfield, each making their own kind of music as they wavelength-shifted past in an auditory bell curve.
She pulled her headphones down around her neck and slipped free of the main flow of foot traffic, pausing by the alleyway to untangle cord, straps of her bag, and her brown corduroy jacket. She hesitated before reaching to the tuft of mist: a cloud perhaps a foot in diameter, hovering in the shadows like a stray. The mist twisted a tendril about her fingers as if a vine growing at speed, curling around the brown skin of her wrist, tickling the cuff of her white blouse as it peeked from the jacket sleeve.
Ayven, on impulse, squeezed her fist closed to watch the mist squish out and make a half-dozen smaller tendrils that wiggled in the air. She’d heard of it acting this playful before, though had never experienced it firsthand.
The body of Harmony, she thought. The essence of a god. Though REDACTED had no direct children, she liked to think of this as her ancestry through the lineage of her great-great-great...well, she didn’t know how many greats. Her greatest grandmother, whose name laced legend, myth, and history with distinguished tenacity.
Ayven glanced back at the flow of traffic, many of whom were enjoying a half-day off from work because of a minor holiday. As always in Elendel, they were joined by tourists, clustering in these first octant streets near the field of rebirth, enjoying the sights of the governmental district and the nearby theater row. The blocky skyscrapers were as if sentinels, guarding older, historical structures with intricate stone faces and regal bearings. There was always something to gawk at in Elendel: buskers had to compete with architecture and neon for attention, so perhaps it wasn’t so odd that nobody noticed the mist. City denizens trained themselves to keep moving along, without distraction, and newcomers had more unique sights to stuff their eyes and consume their attention.
Still, she thought, looking back as the mist slowly evaporated, clinging to her fingers as if in regretful farewell. She lingered, soon touching nothing, before finally remembering her own urgency. By her wristwatch, she had over an hour until the signing, but work had kept her a few hours late even with the holiday, and she’d learned to never underestimate crowds. So, she hurried on her way, rejoining the flow of traffic, turning onto an even larger roadway two blocks further along, until finally the skyscrapers fell away somewhat to reveal the large convention center.
The oblong structure had a domed, almost futuristic shape, which was coincidentally appropriate today, considering the signage out front proclaiming that it was hosting Spacercon. Ayven could remember a time during her teenage years, ten years ago, when the convention had occurred in a run-down hotel where the carpet smelled of dust and the wood veneer blistered on the walls, revealing plywood underneath.
Around fifty people had attended that year. Now, thousands bunched around the doors to get in, in numbers that daunted her. She hadn’t expected it to be this popular.
Guess I still did underestimate the crowds, she thought, watching with growing horror as large groups started to move away from the front of the convention center. She pulled down her headphones again and grabbed the strap of her bag in two hands, nervously shifting from foot to foot as she waited in the entrance line until she reached the ticket booth at the front, to be confronted by the sign: Sold out.
“Sold out?” she murmured, staring. “It’s never sold out before...”
“Should have bought your ticket early,” the woman behind the counter said, putting feet up and shaking a newspaper as she settled back. Headline said: Discordant Kills Three in Fourth Octant.
“I... I didn’t get paid until yesterday...” Ayven said. “I have to get in. Please. The signing is in a half hour, and—”
“Did you read the sign,” the woman said, turning the page.
“But—”
“What does the sign say?”
Ayven swallowed, holding to her bag straps as several people behind her sighed and flowed away. She didn’t want to impose, but also... A quote surfaced in her mind. I know my orders were to stand down, but I choose to stand up instead.
“Please,” Ayven repeated. “Is there a standby line? Or a place where people sell tickets they’re not going to use? Maybe I could—”
The woman finally lowered her newspaper and turned toward Ayven, looking at her over yellow-tinted glasses of a fashionable variety. Ayven didn’t know her; the woman was probably building staff, not convention staff.
“You going to be trouble?” the woman asked.
“Trouble?” someone else asked, stopping as he passed by behind the counter. A security guard with buzzed hair and drooping jowls. He leaned down and looked through the ticket booth window at Ayven, his eyes noting the colorful patterned “v” shapes on her oversized bag, matched by the patterns on her belt, looped into dark brown corduroy trousers.
You couldn’t tell if someone was Terris by the skin tone, though browner skin like hers was more common to those with the ancestry. A person’s features weren’t completely an indication either, though she did have both the longer face and taller height as markers. Even the symbols on her strap and belt weren’t a 100% giveaway, as they’d been somewhat claimed by pop culture. However, all three together?
“Terris,” the guard guessed correctly. “Never seen one of you make trouble here before. Aren’t you people supposed to be accommodating and calm?”
“I mean, I’m not making trouble,” Ayven said. “But that’s also a misunderstanding. People are people, Terris no different. Harmony himself made trouble for--”
“Sold out,” the woman said, “means sold out, kid.”
Twenty-seven is a kid? Ayven couldn’t tell if that was just a common address from the woman, if it was in response to Ayven’s youthful features, or if it was some sideways slur. Either way, they turned from her, clearly indicated the conversation was over. Heart sinking, Ayven left the counter. Next, a Survivorist priest—with glittering earrings and a black suit marked by a necklace bearing the spear--presented his ticket and was let in.
She watched him with envy, cursing herself for staying at work those extra hours. She could have left, but she’d been close to the end of a project, and her impulse had been to finish it... so she’d lost track of time...
Maybe next year, she thought. He could be back next year. Even if he rarely comes to these, because of the distance he has to travel...
She hovered about the entrance, hoping something would change, but more and more people were turned away. Overhead, cars pulled up at the elongated front of the structure. Most buildings were at least two stories in Elendel, even the oldest ones having landings constructed up on the driving level--which was roughly twenty-five feet above the ground level. All cars—except emergency vehicles—were locked into that plane, unable to move vertically up or down. They hovered, rather than flew, by virtue of their propolsors.
It seemed that up on the driving level, people weren’t being turned away as frequently. Could she get up there and try again?
They’re not being turned away as much, she thought, because they likely all bought VIP tickets at the higher price. She doubted walk-ups were allowed even up there. She considered, almost just walked away, but...something inside her wouldn’t let her move. I have to be at that signing, she thought with unusual force. He wouldn’t give up. I won’t give up.
With growing determination, she turned and walked around to the side of the building, back to the worker entrance. There, she watched through a barred gate, where people came in and out on break to get some fresh air, convention staff badges around their necks. She knew so few of them these days. However...
She perked up and waved as, by luck, she recognized someone. “Les!” she called to him. “Hey, Les!”
A shorter man wearing an old-style roughs hat turned from a group who were lounging and chewing caffeine gum around a trash bin. He saw her behind the gate, and perked up.
“Ayvendril?” he called, then trotted over. “Hey, Ayven, aren’t you going to miss the signing? I thought you’d be first in line!”
She hunched down, holding her bag straps, and gave him a chagrined half-grimace. “I didn’t buy a ticket early. They’re sold out.”
“Sold out?” Hey, we’re sold out!” he called to the others on break.
They cheered. The convention had come a long way from the days when they’d had to ask for donations to pay their hotel bill after Vivenne had thrown up on the carpet of the party suite. Les glanced to her, then opened the gate, waving her through. “Don’t tell anyone. I’m technically not important enough to comp someone a badge.”
Brandon Sanderson
I did a lot of those descriptions based on my home con in Lincoln, Nebraska, one of the first conventions that I ever attended. That was actually the very first. You'll see some choice descriptions of things there, mixed with the Star Trek conventions that I went to, which were my second convention ever, to one up in Omaha, Nebraska.
