Violetta took a moment to steady herself, and sat in the nook of a tree while her companion tried to play interlabyrinthine snooker with the nine-ball somewhere far below. No need for her to get her hands dirty when there were dirty hands to do it for her. She snuggled into the warmth of her coat, and bit down on a lump of leftover tobacco. With any luck, all she'd have to do was wait, and the lilac revolutionary would come around this way. And then the two girls would fight. And then, either one of them would die, and their friends would get all pissy and revengey, or they'd back away, letting their views of the othet side fester and sour. Hell. maybe this would finally be the spark that sets the powder keg alight.

Even though, Violetta privately observed, this was probably not the best choice of firestarters. Between the two of them, she judged, they had about as much malice as the dalai lama, and almost as much polititcal sway. A silent bodyguard who let nothing slip and a revolutionary who probably thought Gavroche was a kind of broccoli. Hardly the spitting fire to start a neverending inferno with. But you made do with what you had. The girl snuggled down undee the tree, jaw bobbing up and down, rhythmically, and pretty thoughts of wanton cruelty running through her head.