(no subject)

It isn't the heat that catches Bill's attention first: it's the lights. Everywhere they look, there are lights. Blinking, stagnating, moving, forming patterns, forming designs, and he knows deserts: this is not any Egyptian desert he's ever had the privilege to visit. Holding Fleur tightly by the hand, they step out into the bright-light-blinking-darkness and the hot hot hot that tells him this town being built where it is has to be some miracle of modern technology.

Up and down the street he looks, and then something catches his eye. Well, something beyond the crowds and the noise and the heat and the lights. He nods. "Look, love. Is that supposed to be the Eiffel Tower?"

Were they to turn around, they would see a pyramid with a jet of blue cascading up into the night sky.

"What is this place?"