Never Let You Set Set Set Your Fire (closed)

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh had been raised on protests and revolutions, tagging along with his mother from an early age. Charlie Bernstein had done an near irreversible job convincing her youngest son that the best way to see change was to be very loud and very dramatic about society's need for it, and thus when he'd gone off to college and found a group of like-minded radicals he'd easily slipped from merely being a nuisance with signs to being an illegal nuisance. And despite the fact that he had gone into law and did his best to engender revolution legally, when it came to demonstrations whatever common sense and distaste for vigilantism he normally had went straight out the window.

It didn't help that he associated demonstration with copious amounts of drinking before hand, though he had at least not smoked any marijuana since he'd graduated college. Before that, really; avoiding weed had been part of his frantic attempt to graduate, right along with breaking off his suffocating relationship with Sean. Not that he'd done a very good job of that.

He had noticed that there was a disconnect between his friends in New York -- his fellow revolutionaries, ready to march with him about anything, many of whom he'd gone to school with -- and his friends in Pilot Ridge, who generally reacted to his schemes as if he were out of his mind. Sometimes he regretted moving, or wished that perhaps some of his New York friends would come up to Vermont. He certainly wished that Greg were no longer in jail; they'd fallen out of touch but discovering that the man who had introduced him to Sean was accused of murder was depressing, to say the least. Besides, Greg had similar opinions about revolution, or he had when they were in college.

And so he had been delighted to meet Mitya Makarov. It wasn't every day that he found someone else willing to rise up and declare that they wouldn't take the tyranny against America's meta-human citizens anymore.

Granted, Josh still thought that Hammel's monopoly constituted a tyranny in and of itself, but at least Mitya was out here in the middle of town square with him, waving signs and bellowing to the passers-by that the horse-riding statue they were standing before had been meta and that they shouldn't only pay respect to metas who had, through war time efforts, earned statues.

"Even ordinary citizens deserve respect!" Josh yelled at a pale blonde woman, who grabbed her young son's hand and hurried him by without even looking at the two protesters. "If William Maycott hadn't died in combat would he be respected, or would he have been reviled? Look around you at how you treat your sons and daughters! Don't force them to earn your love, love them regardless of their meta status!"

[Mitya Makarov]

It was an entirely new experience for Mitya, all this shouting and waving signs and generally being a nuisance. But a good nuisance; the sort of nuisance people would notice and maybe think about. Do something about. If they were really lucky effective, join in with. The shouting part he had good practice in, considering his military history, but Joshua was so... eloquent. Clearly he had done this many, many times before, and he certainly seemed to know what he was doing. So he found himself letting the other man do most of the talking while he waved multiple signs and kept looking back at the statue. Their protest... it was missing something. And he was almost certain it had something to do with the rather boring statue. Well, maybe not boring, as such. Just... it needed to be more involved.

And they hadn't even asked permission to hold their random two-man protest, not that they would have been granted it. Especially in such short notice. That knowledge just made Mitya all the more excited to be out there. The fact that police hadn't already descended on them in a burst of violence? That was even better. It was very, very different to Russia, he thought. There was no way he would have been protesting there for this long. He hadn't dared to make a fuss while he served in the military. It wasn't like he hadn't wanted to, either. He had thought about it, and was very good at convincing himself that it was a spectacular idea... but even if he had tried, no-one else would have joined in, too afraid of the consequences. He couldn't say that he blamed them, when they were treated so harshly by their (mostly non-meta) commanding officers.

So it was refreshing - no, exhilarating - that Joshua had helped him to talk himself into going out there and trying to make a difference. Even if people were very obviously shielding their faces with makeshift blinkers - "And how is that any different to how you normally go about your lives; blinded, ignorant?" - as though it would make the pair disappear. As though it would stop them waving their signs and shouting the truth! Well they had no intentions of going anywhere. The truth was not easy to swallow, but they were here, nonetheless, to administer it. Or something like that.

Though it was definitely a worthy cause, though they (Josh especially) were definitely giving people something to think about in their confidently bellowed speeches, people did not seem to be quite as excited about this as he was.

"Joshua?" he spoke tentatively, allowing his signs to droop a little. "Are you sure this is working?" Though at first they had certainly drawn a small crowd, people now seemed more intent on ignoring them.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh had to admit that it could be disheartening to be so blatantly ignored. While he was daily confronted with apathy he still, even at 51, held out hope that other people would listen to reason and join in the outrage. And they should be outraged, should wonder why a woman would disown her meta daughter or why a man would beat another man for turning into a turkey.

He furrowed his brow grimly at the people hurrying by, the only ones showing any interest regarding them more like a circus sideshow than two men on a serious crusade for meta rights and awareness. At least Mitya was getting into the spirit of their demonstration, chastising people for trying to pretend these problems didn't exist despite the anxiety he was now expressing.

"Hmm. You're right." Josh thrust his hand into his pocket, rubbing his thumb over his ever present box of cigarettes. "We need something that will force them to notice us, to acknowledge that there's a problem that needs fixing..." He mused, pulling the cigarettes out of his pocket and drawing one out thoughtfully. He deftly pulled his lighter from the other pocket, flicking it at the end of his cigarette before offering the box to Mitya. He maintained that smoking cleared his mind and calmed his nerves, despite Sean's not so subtle desires for him to stop.

"If General Maycott over here weren't a statue he could help us. Wasn't he supposed to be a pyrokinetic or somethinng? That would get some attention."

[Mitya Makarov]

Looking at Josh, Mitya could see that the ignorant nature of the general public was beginning to wear him down a little bit. Though it had to be said that he didn't seem anywhere near as worn out as the Russian felt. It almost felt like battling a brick wall. With a balloon. Indeed, he may have simply given up and walked away had he been all alone. Of course, he wouldn't have been there at all if Joshua hadn't asked, but he wasn't yet wishing to be back at his apartment, fixing the rickety bed. No, this was far more important than that. Really, it was. Even if it was just the two of them, they could cause someone to change their mind and that was more important than all the comfortable beds in the world.

Still, it disheartened Mitya to hear the words you're right, when he didn't exactly want to be in this case. Sighing, he watched as Josh took out a cigarette, still trying to figure out exactly what it was that their protest was missing, politely refusing a cig himself. It was watching this simple act, however, that caused a well-meaning, but likely misguided idea to form in Mitya's head. It didn't matter, though, the misguided part, for it was such a wonderful idea.

And only justified by Joshua pointing out that the statue behind them was supposedly, in life and in the flesh, pyrokinetic.

"Is that so?" he asked, looking back at it like someone in a trance. "Then perhaps we need to make that more readily apparent." Stepping closer to the monument, he inspected it carefully as though he might find some stray paper on it or even a giant marking outright stating "flammable" somewhere on it. "It needs fire, sort of like a torch, I'm thinking." Looking back at his fellow protester with a smile on his face that indicated that he was very happy with this idea and likely wouldn't be swayed, he propped his signs up against the statue.

"It's symbolic, yes? And it would be, if nothing else, noticeable."

It would surely we an awesome testament to the man's power. And pretty.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh didn't follow Mitya's line of thinking at first, though he agreed with an emphatic, "Exactly! They couldn't even be bothered to make Maycott's meta status prominent."

He peered up at the statue, mentally cursing them and whatever decision making process had lead to the lack of a torch. It would have been the obvious way to symbolize his pyrokinesis, after all.

But then something else Mitya had said filtered through. Noticeable. It would be noticeable. His gaze shifted from the top of the statue to the nice pile of signs the younger man had leaned against the base of the statue.

"That is an exceptional point." He conceded, narrowing his eyes at the signs before dropping his own beside them. "Possibly even more noticeable than our signs, though I did think the neon pink would grab attention." Apparenty not, though. "Lucky us that we had these nice, flammable signs. They'll be useful after all."

It was possible that he was a bit buzzed from the several bottles of Yuengling he had imbibed before meeting the telekinetic. It was also possible that his feverish desire to be noticed and make a difference influenced his decision making skills. And so, instead of rejecting Mitya's idea as illegal arson, his face morphed from despondancy to delight.

"Come on, then, General Maycott," He kneeled down beside the signs, pressing his lighter against the edge of the closest. "Let's see if you and your fire abilities can't help us help the meta community."

Flames licked across the edge of the sign and Josh took a step back to admire his handiwork. There was no way the public could ignore this.

[Thomas Lajoie]

He was a little drunk. Maybe tipsy. He wasn’t ready to lose his balance, but a triple pirouette would be out of the question at this point in the game. He met up for a meal with some friends in the city, and they ended up splitting several pitchers of beer. His head throbbed slightly as the draft beer began to take it’s toll, but aside from that, he was feeling pretty good. Instead of hailing a cab, he decided he’d walk around for a bit downtown before heading back to the school. If he were there, he’d feel guilty for sitting around doing nothing. If he stayed downtown, however, he could write it off as a... necessary moment of relaxation. Yes. Stress release, becoming zen, and all that stuff.

As he turned the corner, a large statue of a horse rearing it’s front hooves came into sight - and on top of it - a man. That meant he died fighting, a tidbit he remembered from a history class once. Had it been just one hoof in the air, he would have died of natural causes. Thomas had seen this statue quite a few times before, and generally used it as a meeting place if he and friends were going to go downtown for the night. He could also see two men with bright poster board shouting at passerbys. Maybe it was an animal rights group, he thought, trying to gain recognition for horses efforts defending America. As he moved closer, and was just about to be able to make out what the signs read, the men threw them below the horse and set them on fire.

Needless to say, this was not an expected turn of events for Thomas, and he picked up his pace to a near jog to catch up. His parents were parts of political protest all the time, and he knew from experience how much trouble the cops could manage to get you in if you managed to destroy public property. Once he got close enough to make out the faces, he noticed one of the men worked at his school - as a power trainer. His last name was Russian, something like Markalov, Thomas remembered. He wasn’t sure who the other man was, but he figured out by this point this had nothing to do with horse rights.

“Is everything ok ‘ere? I go to Hammel. I just... what’s ‘appening?!” he asked, not sure how to phrase his inquiry without pissing off a pair of arsonists.

[Mitya Makarov]

He couldn't help but smile as he watched the signs burn illuminating the statue, although there was another problem. The statue itself wasn't quite as ready to catch light as the wonderfully flammable signs had been, something they really should have expected.

"I think we need fuel," he lamented, noticing that the flames weren't reaching very far. Lifting a sign using telekinesis so as not to burn himself in the process, he attempted to lodge it in between the rider and his horse. No such luck; it fell just inches away from them. "I'm not sure it's quite as eye-catching as I had expected..."

The new arrival, quite clearly drunk, caught his attention. He seemed familiar, but Mitya couldn't quite place him. From the school, perhaps. Nearly everyone he even vaguely knew was from the school. "Welcome, comrade!" he said quite cheerfully, then immediately cursed in Russian under his breath for allowing himself to fall into a stereotype. "Would you like to join our protest, perhaps?" Three was a better number than two. Though they still needed more firepower. Alcohol caught fire relatively well, didn't it...?

Maybe they could set him on --

Wait. No, that was a terrible, morbid, disturbing idea that he would probably lose sleep over. Not to mention massively ineffective. They could always hope that he could provide some sort of fuel. And support for their cause, of course. That hadn't been forgotten.

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh's thoughts were similar to Mitya's -- the statue was definitely not catching on fire. How disappointing that statues couldn't easily be set on fire by lighters! Who made these things, anyway?

"Fuel would definitely help." He agreed, taking a step backward as the sign dropped in front of them, sparks flying. If he'd had any inkling that they might be setting fires while out demonstrating then he would have provided some, but as arson was rarely included in his protests (there had been some flag burning in his college days, but nothing recent until now) he hadn't thought about it.

His own face lit up at the approach of another person, and he turned to Mitya. "Not eye-catching? It got someone's attention." He pointed out before giving the newcomer his attention.

"We're protesting the lack of meta rights awareness." He explained, as if waving signs around and setting statues on fire would be effective at all. "Would you even know that General Maycott here was a pyrokinetic if we didn't help to ahhh illustrate that point?" He waved meaningfully at their pitiful attempts at a fire.

"If you go to Hammel then surely this is a cause near and dear to your heart." By which he meant the newcomer ought to join them. It was true that he was only one person, but he was willing to accept baby steps over zero recognition at all.

[Thomas Lajoie]

Comrade? Protest?

So this was some sort of demonstration. Thomas let out a sigh of relief at the thought that he had not just run into two grown men committing arson for laughs. They had an agenda. This realization came with it’s own set of worries however. What if they were protesting non-meta people’s? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time a group of supremacists took the city by storm, but Thomas was a student the last time it happened. They were kept in the dark - something he still held onto as a point of resentment for the authorities in place. They could have helped, the seniors. People didn’t have to die...

The other man was right, they certainly had his attention, although Thomas was scared he’d have to speak up against these clearly experienced men if they explained their protests. As if on cue, the second man spoke up, and explained the man behind them was pyrokenetic. He was a meta, and the whole town had no idea. He died fighting for these people, and no one had the decency to acknowledge who he truly was. Whether or not it was the lawyer’s smooth tongue, the alcohol running through his veins, or his insatiable desire for justice he would never know. All he did know that was in about a minutes time, he had managed to leap onto the back of the horse, and stand on the back of the saddle, behind the man the statue commemorated.

“‘Dis man used ‘is abilities to win you all your rights!” he shouted, pointing to a group of equally inebriated teens walking by. “And you actively ‘arass and antagonize those who can do the same?!” he shouted, his eyes smoldering with passion. In response, the tallest boy of the group threw a beer bottle his way, and they ran from the statue. Thomas ducked just in time to have it soar past him.

“SERIOUSLY?! FOR REAL?! he shouted after them, unable to think of anything more eloquent.

[Mitya Makarov]

For a moment, Mitya was feeling slightly disappointed. The entirely flammable vaguely familiar gentleman seemed none too pleased with the prospect of joining their little demonstration. Although, had it been himself, he might have been wary, too. After all, the only demonstration of the evening they had managed that was convincing so far was that wooden signs = flammable.

Josh thankfully came to the rescue, explaining that their impromptu fire was to illustrate Maycott's abilities. Not just a pretty campfire. "We thought it would help... whoever commissioned the statue rather conveniently forgot to add some form of indication." With a far-too-toothy smile, he nodded as though to point out the lack of torch or lantern. Josh's words seemed to be enough, however, and the stranger quickly hopped up onto the statue. Of course! That could certainly help attract a good amount of attention!

"That's the spirit, comrade!" he called up to the third member of... of whatever this group was as he mounted the horse and began singing - or rather, shouting - General Maycott's praises. He was so emboldened by this turn of events that he didn't even mind falling into the stereotype for the moment. All he needed was a canteen of vodka to make the illusion complete, right? If only he had the foresight to bring even a half bottle of such a flammable liquid. Oh well. Couldn't be helped.

A bottle was thrown, and Mitya wasn't quite quick enough to even try to stop it. Luckily, their inebriated new friend ducked just in time, eliciting a barely disguised sigh of relief from the Russian. "Attacking the issue, trying to repress us, it won't make the problem disappear!" he managed, thankful for a second rush of adrenaline.

[Charlie Davis]

When Charlie got the call that a group of people were setting fire to a statue, he expected to see a group of bored teenagers making trouble. Or even some young adults trying to resurrect the sixties. He did not expect to drive up to the site and see a trio of grown adults yelling at passersbys. Granted, the youngest of this looked young enough to be involved in this, but good lord. The other two looked way to old to be doing weird shit like this. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Great. He contemplated calling for backup-- there was only one of him and three of them-- but fire aside, they didn't look like they deserved to have Sloane or Renee inflicted upon them. Maybe he could talk some sense into them.

Charlie got out of the car, adjusting the badge on his belt, but otherwise looking unthreatening in jeans and a grey shirt. Hopefully he wouldn't have to put up with any anti-police crap from these guys. He was a nice guy, but he wasn't a fool.

"What are you fellas doing?" He asked when he approached them, his earnest face more disappointed and baffled than irritated, "You do realize that this falls under vandalism and destruction of public property, right? Not to mention disturbing the peace? Why don't you three settle it down and put this out before I have to arrest you guys." He didn't actually want to arrest these guys. But he would, if he had to. Hopefully they would listen. He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and looked at them, "So what's it gonna be?"

[Joshua Bernstein]

Josh was cheered by Thomas' immediate enthusiasm, giving out a vague yell of appreciation when the younger man jumped up onto the statue, helping draw attention to their little demonstration.

Granted, the attention wasn't particularly good attention, and he frowned at the young punk who dared toss bottles and jeer at their righteous display of anger.

"You think it's funny now, but how would you feel if that were your son or daughter or brother or sister who gave their life for your freedom, and yet people called them monsters, called them mutants and freaks. What if that were you, discovering as a child that you could control fire or talk to owls, and your family shunned you and the government came in the middle of the night to take you away, to force you to live isolated from the rest of civilization. Does nobody care about the plight of the metas among us?"

His speech would have gone on, but for the arrival of a patrol car.

Josh noted the car, and noted the badge, and gave a very obvious sigh of frustration. He did not want the police involved in this. He didn't really like fighting them, as they took poorly to that and tended to spout off things like obstruction of justice. On the other hand, this was really squashing his little demonstration.

"Officer," He swayed, the alcohol still having some effect on his balance, "We were simply bringing attention to General Maycott's pyrokinetic abilities." He gestured toward the statue, where Thomas sat aloft. "There's no harm in educating people, now, is there?"

[Thomas Lajoie]

Sitting atop the statue helped solidify just how drunk he really was. The ground seemed really far away, and Thomas was struggling to make out details that he was sure weren't blurry when sober. His balance was quite off, at least for a ballet dancer, and he could feel his weight shifting as his body attempted to give in to the relaxing influence of the alcohol. His heart was in the right place, but it was growing clearer and clearer that his stomach was not.

"Yah!" he shouted out to no one in particular as his ears filled with the words of his company. He really did want to continue the fight, raise awareness, and hold whoever made this statue accountable for their ignorance - but how can you do any of these things if the world is spinning considerably fast? I mean, come on world, get with the program.

He was not too drunk, however, to notice the patrol car and cop now before them. Thomas' stomach dropped to about the foot of the statue, realizing what this meant. If he got in trouble, he could be deported. If he got deported, he'd lose his job. If he lost his job, his entire life would be useless! This did not help with the feelings of nausea the boy was already subject to, and he tried to keep a cool, calm, and collected air around the official. However, Josh's words brought something up in him, and he was force to shout out a supportive cheer. Soon after, however, a considerable amount of what the young man had ingested came with it. And all over the statue before him.

"Tabernac."

[Mitya Makarov]

The telekinetic man smiled in spite of himself as Josh started on another brief rant. Goodness, it was almost like music to his ears. Not quite a lullaby, but he wouldn't have complained if the other man were to rant by his bed all night. There was something about the way he spoke that stopped Mitya being quite so paranoid and nervous. He was surely some kind of sorcerer.

The enchantment abruptly ended when the police arrived. Ah. That was a problem. As though struck by some sudden lucidity, he surreptitiously looked over his two companions, both quite drunk. While he stood there foolishly sober. There wasn't really an excuse for this, was there?

"Vandalism?" he hazarded, folding his arms awkwardly as he gazed over at the still burning signs. "I would like to point out that this is quite an improvement, as my friend here pointed out."

His words were punctuated by the third member behind them cheering, and shortly afterwards concluded by a lovely shower of vomit. Well. This was going swimmingly so far.

"And destruction is such a harsh word... especially when... we haven't really done much to the statue itself..."

He wasn't quite sure his protests were having an effect. They were really only digging themselves deeper, weren't they?

[Charlie Davis]

Charlie regarded all three men with a raised eyebrow. This was…a little ridiculous. No, it was more than a little ridiculous. This was ludicrous. He watched the scruffy, bespectacled man weave his way up to him. And they were drunk too? Christ. Well, probably not drunk, but tipsy at least. He listened to the first man’s explanation of everything.

…He didn’t even know where to begin with this.

“So…the only way that you could think to educate people about General Maycott’s pyrokinesis was to set something on fire.” Somehow, he didn’t think General Maycott would appreciate the fuss. He was about to chastise him further when the younger man in the back vomited everywhere. So maybe they were drunk. Charlie sighed, pressing a knuckle to the bridge of his nose, “…Tabernac. Right.”

“Yes, vandalism.” Charlie said, exasperated patience in his voice, “Setting something on fire is not an improvement, guys. It’s dangerous. There’s, like, kids and stuff.”

Finally, he sighed heavily, “All right. Everyone into the car. We’re gonna go to the precinct and sort this all out. Just be glad that you’re dealing with me and not the other two police officers we’ve got.” He rolled his eyes slightly before ushering them towards the car, “C’mon guys. And please don’t make me handcuff you. It will be terrible and I don’t think anyone wants that.”