[attr="class","spiral"]There's something electric about Slateport once the sun starts setting. Like slowly dimming the lights in a theatre, it fills the air with anticipation. The city itself seems to know about the shift about to take place as people scurry home. As some lights go out, as some flip on, as sights and smells are interchanged. As doors once closed open up.

At least that's how Evangeline feels every time she walks through the streets at sunset. She watches the sun slowly drop from its peak, to behind the buildings' rooftops, to the skyline, and finally to dip beneath it. It's barely peeking out (like an overeager child gone too deep into the river, struggling just to be seen) as she nears one of those aforementioned doors. The sky is mostly black -- stars snuffed out by smog -- with only the faintest splash of reds and yellows and purples at the edge of the world.

The night market is springing to life as the day dies and like always a quiet part of her marvels at the way the place transforms. The scent of sweet meats hits her nose as she adjusts her clothes once more -- makes sure her hair is all tucked into her cap, that her scarf is tickling the underside of her nose, and that her sunglasses are properly in place. She tugs at her sweater and jeans one more time before making a proper entry. Not that it matters. She's one of dozens beginning to trickle into the street.

Though she's just about the only one who winds up at an out-of-the-way stall.

"Business booming as always Eli?" she asks playfully from behind her scarf, her tone brighter than her mood out of habit.


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