Treachery. The number of times he’d heard that all evening– and the number of times he wanted to wince– he couldn’t count anymore on one hand. But it was to be expected. Somehow, it became an unspoken rule that they were to refer to each other as their aliases whenever they had to do Arsonist-related tasks, and Daniel had been fine with that for a while. For one year, and a few months, to be a little specific. Maybe it was the nature of the task at hand. He could vandalize walls and procure dead cats to scare students, no problem, but this– to destroy something someone had prepared so carefully and painstakingly, no doubt, just didn’t sit well with him. But any choice he had about the matter was taken when he was roped into the whole Arsonist business. Sometimes, he wondered, if his weakness would actually kill him.
He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the arrival of Maggie Amano. Daniel flashed a smile at her, and was just about to greet her when he saw how… off she was. She wasn’t just looking forward to causing chaos, she was angry. He thought about it for a second, and eventually figured out why: the goddamned play. Maggie must be angry about the play. “Isn’t that what we came here for?” he said, making a mental note to talk to Maggie about what was bothering her later. He gave her a concerned look, then mouthed ‘talk later?’.
He took his jacket off and placed it carefully on the backrest of a nearby chair, clearing his throat to rid himself of the nerves he felt and clapping at what Ophelia had just done. “Bravo, bravo!” he cheered, trying his best to enjoy the whole thing. “Arthur Astor’ll be surprised to find his entree on the ground.”
He grabbed the nearest champagne bottle he could find and began drinking, careful not to let the liquid run down his neck and stain his shirt. He turned to Nastia, and said, “What about you, Heresy? What kind of destruction did you have in mind?”
Nastia chuckled despite herself and gave a caddish little bow to Ophelia; terrifying was a terrific compliment, and the closest thing to praise she could expect from her roommate. She nodded a greeting to Daniel, glancing about the room – it was exquisite, the large hall made intimate by curtains and richly patterned wallpaper. The table was set with lace runners, candelabra, cloth napkins. There was a separate glass for red wine and white; a third for champagne. Butter dishes lay next to diminutive jugs of cream, set out ready for café y postre. Usually, such an opulent setting would’ve made her baulk – the surgical instruments of the rich, in stainless steel and bone – but having spent the last half hour listening to the painstaking arrangement, she was washed over again by guilt.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Margaret – again, Nastia nodded in greeting: she picked up on Maggie’s frenetic energy like the others, but said nothing, only eyed her observantly as she gripped the magnum by its neck. Ophelia smashed a plate; Maggie teed up a glass and used her bottle as a baseball bat; Daniel turned straight to drink. Nastia’s fingers moved to her jacket, touching the book of the play she’d just slipped into the inner pocket, and steeled herself.
“Great bat, DiMaggio. Three laps around the table and it’s a home run.” She turned to Daniel with a disarming smile. “You know me, T. I’ll be doing something constructive tonight: a reminder of the Bard’s words, for those who might have dozed off by the end. ‘If we shadows have offended…’” Nastia winked, taking note of Ophelia heading left, and skirted along the other side of the table to the right-hand wall, whisking a bottle of red and a glass from the table. She glanced back over her shoulder to Daniel, and – allowing her cloak of boldness to slip just a little, just for a second – flashed him the briefest of reassuring smiles.
It was a split second look, a momentary flash that broke the anger that graced her features with that of grief towards Daniel, one that she was sure he’d be able to pick up on. A sigh of relief left her mouth at Ophelia breaking the plate, following her lead shortly after. The bottle of wine in her hand like a bat, shattering glasses and plates running a chill down her body, Nastia’s words pulling her attention off the table. Maggie attempted to give her a shaky smile, “If you need help with the wall let me know.”
Deep down she knew the kitchen staff didn’t deserve this, they had done nothing wrong, but it was the feeling like she was being targeted and made fun of. Half of the higher up staff had been at the showcase, they had seen her downfall. The rational part of her knew she was just a dot on their radar, but every other half felt this personally. She was a permanent fixture in the dance studio for the entire time she had been at Astor, the teachers knew her by name. To plan a ballet of all things, she could reason with herself saying they deserved it, that she could make it up to the ones who didn’t.
She glanced around, looking at the damage they had just started and actually felt a little bit better. Her hand reached out for Ophelia’s for a second, giving it a quick squeeze and a wink. “Look’s like you know how to get a party started.” The words are partnered with a spin of her wrist, gearing up to take another table again. There was an involuntary wince as the glass went flying, Maggie turned to Daniel, “So what’s your game plan?”
