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It's a night for celebration, and it's happening on top of the world. On top of London.
The sky is clouding up for another onslaught of rain, but there are strings of light all along the Thames to make the view more than worthwhile. London doesn't sleep, but it's a whole different world at night. Their world.
The buildings across the black-water river seem to be carved out of gold, brass, and copper, lit seemingly from within. A snake slips free of the ivory-carved Charing Cross station and begins a lazy slither toward Waterloo. Barges make their way through the highway of the Thames, bobbing with a few tiny lights of their own. The London Eye watches.
The cabin is slick and untainted glass, a bubble of light that bobs up and up in slow intervals. The people within mingle and laugh, clinking champagne glasses, smiling with white teeth or a cut of rogue lips. This has been going on for some hours or so now, and after the ride is done, the party will vacate to another venue to continue on through until the dawn touches the rain-washed streets. A storm is coming, but it's possible they'll beat the downpour. No one seems too concerned over it.
A young man surveys the city from his seat on one of the benches, glancing up as a hand falls upon his shoulder. His attention is turned to the older man who has come to greet and shake his hand. He stands. A flash of teeth, the start of a conversation, and now no one in the cabin is paying particularly close attention to the world below. No one in the cabin sees the indigo lights of the trees lining the path to the London Eye shutter out in startling rows. But then the cabin lights go down and plunges the party into nothingness.
---
In the world below, there are people pulling out walkies and one college drop-out beating upon a control panel. A power outage in a place like London, which caters to a diverse nightlife, would put many asses into a sling.
But on the second smack, the aforementioned hope-of-tomorrow gawks as the system hums back to life. The calls for running a swift kick to the ass to the power company cease before they even start. The wheel turns again.
Sinking back into his chair to continue enjoying his soda, our conductor for the evening turns his eyes back to the video monitors of the cabin and taps at the dark screens, perhaps hoping that his newfound powers of slapping things back to life will work in this instance. A minute or so later, they prove positive results. Just as the emergency light goes off for one of the passenger cabins.
The boy gapes a moment, then scrambles for the phone to call his supervisor.
When the cabin in question is finally brought down from its height, the police are on their way. Maintenance isn't sure what to do until then aside from watch the man inside the glass cage beat and throw himself against the door that might let him out into the docks, free from the bodies that cluster around his feet.
The sky is clouding up for another onslaught of rain, but there are strings of light all along the Thames to make the view more than worthwhile. London doesn't sleep, but it's a whole different world at night. Their world.
The buildings across the black-water river seem to be carved out of gold, brass, and copper, lit seemingly from within. A snake slips free of the ivory-carved Charing Cross station and begins a lazy slither toward Waterloo. Barges make their way through the highway of the Thames, bobbing with a few tiny lights of their own. The London Eye watches.
The cabin is slick and untainted glass, a bubble of light that bobs up and up in slow intervals. The people within mingle and laugh, clinking champagne glasses, smiling with white teeth or a cut of rogue lips. This has been going on for some hours or so now, and after the ride is done, the party will vacate to another venue to continue on through until the dawn touches the rain-washed streets. A storm is coming, but it's possible they'll beat the downpour. No one seems too concerned over it.
A young man surveys the city from his seat on one of the benches, glancing up as a hand falls upon his shoulder. His attention is turned to the older man who has come to greet and shake his hand. He stands. A flash of teeth, the start of a conversation, and now no one in the cabin is paying particularly close attention to the world below. No one in the cabin sees the indigo lights of the trees lining the path to the London Eye shutter out in startling rows. But then the cabin lights go down and plunges the party into nothingness.
---
In the world below, there are people pulling out walkies and one college drop-out beating upon a control panel. A power outage in a place like London, which caters to a diverse nightlife, would put many asses into a sling.
But on the second smack, the aforementioned hope-of-tomorrow gawks as the system hums back to life. The calls for running a swift kick to the ass to the power company cease before they even start. The wheel turns again.
Sinking back into his chair to continue enjoying his soda, our conductor for the evening turns his eyes back to the video monitors of the cabin and taps at the dark screens, perhaps hoping that his newfound powers of slapping things back to life will work in this instance. A minute or so later, they prove positive results. Just as the emergency light goes off for one of the passenger cabins.
The boy gapes a moment, then scrambles for the phone to call his supervisor.
When the cabin in question is finally brought down from its height, the police are on their way. Maintenance isn't sure what to do until then aside from watch the man inside the glass cage beat and throw himself against the door that might let him out into the docks, free from the bodies that cluster around his feet.
