hero ➳ h.s.

chapter five

Indigo was no fool. She understood that Lionel and the Empire had definitely undertaken some -- well, shall we say -- religiously inept, in other words, illegal behaviour. But she understood that desperate times called for desperate measure, and so the Code 461 didn't make much of an impact on her. 

She understood that.

It was a Tuesday as she carried Lionel's lunch to him- up the glistening, winding emerald staircases of the Emperor's Palace and into the Chamber of Justice. Lionel, Richard and Maxwell (a weasel-ish sort of man, Indigo thought. He was the secretary.) were having a meeting on the re-building of Kernthaven; the former Capitol that had been burned by the Revolution a decade or so ago. Now it was infested with homeless people who couldn't find work and were forced to live amongst the garbage, decrepidness and overall stinkhole that Kernthaven was currently residing in.

Indigo rapped on the door confidently and was motioned in by Maxwell- greasy wig and all. "C'mon in, deary," Maxwell said in a shaky voice. The man was at least 70, maybe even in his early eighties, but had been a good and dear friend to the Emperor Richard ever since the last Emperor- God rest his soul- was deposed of the throne.

"Indie!" Lionel cried, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead and smiling brightly at the girl. "Whadya bring me?"

"A salad," Indigo retorted. "And don't pretend like you didn't sneak that piece of cake last night, because you did. I saw you."

"I couldn't help it, Indie," he whined. "This whole diet thing has gone too far."

"No, it hasn't," The Emperor mumbled underneath his breath. "Do you want to end up like me?"

Indigo covered a laugh discreetly with her hand. The Emperor was right. He was - with all due respect - the heaviest man in the Emperial familial line; so much so that his bathtub could fit five decent, athletic men with ease.

Lionel muttered under his breath and accepted the salad from his fiance with a murmur of discontent. "Thanks, Indie," he said softly, winking at her and then planting a kiss on her cheek. The girl giggled and then advanced towards the large screen projecting Kernthaven's rebuilding plans into the large expanse of the meeting hall.

"How is the planning going?" she asked Maxwell softly as he scurried about, collecting papers and sorting things while the Emperor and Co-Caesar enjoyed their lunch. 

"Fine, fine," the man responded softly. "It should be done shortly after the Code is put in place; which will be nice, on one hand, because," he paused to hike up his pants to his nipples once more, "Then those blasted Revolutionaries can't ruin Kernthaven once more."

"Where will all the homeless people be put, Lionel?" Indigo asked as she seated herself at the huge table, looking across it's mahogany surface at the Emperor and his son. The men both stopped - midchew- before Lionel shurgged and responded, "They'll be put in a C.C."

Indigo accepted the answer without another thought. "Alright, then, I'll be going now," she announced, picking herself up and patting Lionel's hand goodnaturedly. "Be good. And no more chocolate cake!"

--

The three men watched the young girl leave the huge meeting hall and continued eating in reverent silence before Maxwell said softly, "Sir, if you don't mind me saying so-"

"I probably will mind, but go right ahead," the Emperor responded drily.

"Right, sir, well, as I was saying-"

"Just get on with it!"

"Right. Well. I-I just, well, I-I wanted to point out the, um, I mean-- the r-remarkable similiarites between our C.C.'s and, well, the C-Concentration Camps in the, uh, Second World War."

Emperor Richard paused in his eating and studied Maxwell before bursting into a deep belly laugh. The secretary laughed nervously along with him. "Maxie, you think we didn't know that?" he mocked. "C.C. stands for Concentration Camp, you dimwit. It even has the same purpose in mind."

"A-and what might that be, sir?" Maxwell said shakily, hands qualming in his lap. His grandfather Eric had died in a Concentration Camp during the Second World War, and Maxwell had read the journal entries. Dirty cells, horrible soldiers, taking advantage of women and men alike. If the C.C.'s were like that today -- Maxwell almost didn't want to know what the purpose was.

"Survival of the fittest," Maxwell responded cooly. "Only those who are good enough to be alive will remain out of the C.C.'s."

--

gosh this is a little on the short side but oh whale.

dedicated to @imindenialler for commenting on every. single. chapter!!