Wise Men

Chapter 9

This is pretty much a transition chapter which annoys me because nothing fun happens >.> sorry peoples

-Napoleon

“Arson.”

Revelin paced fanatically across the dorm, a grey and black newspaper crumpled in the claw-like grip of his hand. A prominent scowl etched across his face, his eyes glowed with hatred. As I watched him, I still could not help but think of how silly the idea had been. I lay back in my bed, my feet crossed at the ankles like I had nowhere important to be and nothing important to do. All the while my mind spun with how idiotic the idea had been. Red cloaks, I thought to myself, of all the things. Shame colored by cheeks and made my eyes flicker.

“The wealthy are burning this city to the ground,” he snarled as he his other hand was so tightly clenched that blood could be seen beneath his fingernails. Vi sat at a desk chair, her own anger hidden by a pall of apathy unbecoming of her. Her painted nails drummed the black arm of the chair mindlessly. “Just look at this!” Revelin held the paper before him as though he didn't believe the dark print before his eyes. “They think this is a result of the growing crime rate.” His eyes grew wide. “They got a statement from the governor himself that he was going help stop crime—God! Maybe he should stop burning buildings down--”

“It was a stupid idea in the first place,” I grumbled. I crossed my arms over my chest wanting more to disappear as I blew a lock of hair from my eyes. If Revelin got any more hysterical I was about ready to shake him by the shoulders with the force of a category one hurricane. “You can hardly think the people are going to go on the zero evidence we left behind and deduce that the governor's hitman did this.”

There were few points when his fervor got the better of his logic, and he hated to admit it. Turning away from me and consequentially throwing the newspaper onto his face, he said, “I think people need to stop falling for their fake smiles and cheap promises.”

“And throwing fliers and wearing red cloaks will show them?” I snorted in derision. “It looks like a rich boy is too out of touch with the common people.”

I must have struck a nerve because a brawl would have broken up if Vi did not stand between us.

She shouted at me first.

“Shut the fuck up, Chris. You don't believe a word coming out of that mouth.”

She turned around to Revelin with the same quick fire she had summoned. “And you, stop whining like a baby born with a silver spoon in his mouth and tell us if this is still happening.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You're the leader; fix this.”

Revelin looked at her with anger unique to being proven wrong, like that of a scolded child or scorned husband. His jaw set, but he didn't argue with the fiery girl who saw no fear in standing against him.

“Are you still with us, Christian?” he asked, but his eyes did not make contact with me.

Perhaps I could stand apart from Revelin, but that was near impossible when Vi stood beside him as well. Damn his good looks. “I'm in,” I replied, rolling my eyes and biting at the inside of my lip.

“Good. Vi get the costumes. We're leaving in an hour.”

~*~*~

Tapered off by a collection of neon yellow tape with “police line, do not cross,” typed across the length in black, block letters. Against the burnt orange and indigo sky, peppered with sparse white stars, the yellow tape made headache inducing contrast to the disappearing stars.

The theater itself was a skeleton with blackened bones and torn flesh. The walls unevenly torn apart and dark with heavy soot looked like the carcass of a monstrous beast, rendered to ash and cinders, some that still hissed with flame. Somehow, the stage still stood, only a large gash at the center where part of the ceiling had fallen on to it. The fallen roof sank deep into the wood, but the rest of the stage didn't collapse.