[b][i]A Bird in her Cage [/i][/b] After a day of preparation and planning and the two companions Abigail and Montag more familiar with one another, the time had come to begin. The potential energy was now becoming kinetic and dynamic. Montag and Abigail had departed from each other, ready to enter the stage to begin their separate operations. The villa house was much more of a sight than a single picture could ever hope to capture. It is brightly lit, like a lighthouse of glamour and electrical wonder in the forgotten scenery of the California shoreline. The opulence and insistence of the expensive home dwarfed the humble greenery that surrounded it. Nature and it’s innate joys are swept aside by the wondrous house meant to delightfully exhibit the progress of human science and architecture. It is placed on its perch, overseeing a cliff with the prestige of a castle, far away from the peons in the busy city of New Haven that glimmered in the distance. Meropis’s location spoke much on its purpose. A secluded lair for it’s master to rule from. The ominous arches of the classical styled pillars and the long and dark railings that stretched on along with the night sky spoke of hidden and ancient power rooted in the designs of that on the surface modern building. There is an odd symmetry here. The powerful and magnificent source electrical lights that radiated from within and outside the building via lamp posts and lanterns, with the shrouded and mysticism of the classical past, harkening back to ancient gods and their divine traditions. One must wonder if this symmetry is at odds or in harmony. The villa is abundant with life. Many cars are parked in a parking area off to the side of the main entrance, with guests in wait at the main entrance for the security to allow them passage. These guests are much different than the patrons of the bar that Montag and Abigail frequented earlier. They are dressed in fine cotton suits, trimmed and groomed hair and moustaches for men, exotic and flaunting displays of jewelry on the women. They keep their noses high, speak in practiced cadences and always have smart one liners or lovely laughs to punctuate their festivities. The carefully groomed and maintained cream of the crop of the New Haven ruling elite. In sharp contrast. Abigail’s mob of the disenfranchised from the shelter are dwarfed in the disparity of splendor. It is a sight that would make any staunch progressive’s heart wrest in a rage of the display of inequity. It is well worn on their faces, and the tension is real. The group get many uncomfortable looks from the passersby, and husbands pull their wives away as if they were about to be grabbed by the group. The preacher’s cohorts were less than a dozen in number, dwarfed by the gathered guests but their presence is strongly felt regardless. Security is gathering up by the main entrance, and it’s clear a move to push the homeless off the property will be made soon already. The hooting, hollering and yelling would start very quickly when one of the homeless would recognize an older gentleman entering the villa. “Hey! I know that bastard! He was the boss of the factory I worked at! He got away scot free while the entire factory was shut down!” The broad shouldered, stubble faced giant of a man launched into a tirade at the man, pointing a finger right at him. The accused quickly pulled a hat over his face to hide his identity, darting through the crowd lest he be put under a court and tried right here and now. Once the big man made his statement, a series of jeers and cries would join his. “Ay, I went through the exact same! What are they doing here, why aren’t they on the streets like us!” And other phrases like: “Bankruptcy only hurts the poor, not the rich!” The crowd was already getting worked up, and security was quick to act. Firm, angular and aggressive looking guardsmen are marching out across the tarmac. One of them is armed with a baton. “This is private property!. Remove yourselves from the premises at once!” A policeman shouts down at the crowd, but it only riles them up further. Lines are drawn as the police spread out in an attempt to intimidate the gathering but they stand their ground. Guests are hurried inside, with a very stressed and anxious Thomas Arnault doing his best to insist everything was under control and those hooligans would not be interfering with the night’s planned events… Montag’s chance is now. Security is in a flux and is completely unprepared for the impromptu protest. Guests are being rushed past the main gate without second thought or even a check on who they are. This chaotic state would be temporary, as Thomas is already ordering his staff to quickly crack down on events. Abigail too is now facing a crisis of a potential engagement. Her distraction may’ve worked too well, and her accomplices are looking to take out years of frustration and failure out on their perceived oppressors. A violent situation would only make it harder to save Marie’s life. A dark thought crosses her mind. Had she started the series of events that would lead to Marie’s death already? In the quiet window of Maropis. A lone woman watched over the events with her hands together in front of her. Her gaze is like that of an alert cat. Her posture is prim and contained, and her lips pursed in thought. Marie Arnault is being forced to attend by her father, to keep his appearance as a loving family man. She has spent many years of her life holding her tongue, and she wonders now if today is the day that the dam finally breaks loose and she may find her freedom yet. It is 6:04pm in the evening. Unbeknownst to the young lady looking out from her cage, she is fated to die in two hours.