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Dorman was known for its grayness. The weather was infamous for being a myriad of grays. The people weren't much better, with their gray faces and morals, particularly on this side of town between the cracks of the tall buildings and in the slits of light that reminded the people of the sky behind the gray clouds and concrete trees. The people weren't more colorful as a result. Their language could be described as colorful, their characters could. Their clothes, however, were mainly as a washed-out gray as the world surrounding them. This made any color stand out even more dramatically against the range of grays, including a periwinkle trench coat. The wearer of the periwinkle coat was named Arali, and she was in a hurry. She wasn't a woman who liked to waste time, nor a woman who could afford to at the moment. The bell would strike eleven at any moment, and she needed to be five blocks further east. There was another woman waiting there, five blocks east. She fell into step beside the woman in the periwinkle coat, tossing confusingly wavy hair over her shoulder. “Arali, you're late.” Arali glanced over her shoulder. The clock had just stopped ringing moments ago. “No later than the clock. Do you have them?” ‘Them’ could mean anything in their line of work. ‘Them’ could be anything from a goldfish to a poison to a group of people. Maeve managed to keep all of the various ‘thems’ in order. If Arali was feeling particularly soft that day, she might tell Maeve that. She certainly suffered enough by Arali's hand. I might not be doing nanowrimo this year, but I am editing a bunch of old work and welcome feedback.