"Well, that's what I call an explosion!"
"Julian, would you please just shut up!" Scarlet exclaimed as her eyes rolled to the back of her head before she turned her attention back to West. "So, what have you been waiting for all this time, West?"
West was silent as he sat on a worn-out chair that Scarlet doubted had been in this warehouse even before they arrived. Actually, the whole place looked worn out; she wouldn't be surprised if she found herself buried underneath rubble at any moment.
She shifted her attention back to West, who was either really lost in thought or straight-out ignoring her. She thought it was a little bit of both. It wasn't done to offend her—she knew that West was a little… abnormal. But was that even important right now?
Weren't they all a little crazy in the head? For them to be doing what they were doing, to allow their lives to dangle down a clumsily tied knot—was that a normal thing to do?
No. But… it was the right thing to do. She knew that deep in her bones.
West shifted in the corner of her vision; her eyes were aching from the dimness of the whole place. It was always like this when there wasn't moonlight to brighten their nights. West insisted that they keep the lights to a bare minimum. West wasn't an idiot; he knew that there were desperate commoners who would sell any sort of information to the Nobles for a couple of bucks.
Better to be safe than sorry, she thought.
"Don't you see how cool that is!" Julian called out as he wrapped an arm around Scarlet's neck as if he were asking to die tonight. "The building—one second it was sound, and the next it was… BOOSH! On fire!" He made sure to demonstrate with both hands the second that Scarlet pushed his hands away.
"Do you even know who did that?" Scarlet questioned in disgust at the overwhelming enthusiasm. "It might have been one of their own plots against each other. Don't you know how far they can go?"
Somehow, this had been their talk since the day of the tower burning down. West ordered all operations to a halt till he got a good grasp of what the hell was going on—especially if that incident was really something they should be happy and not wary about.
"We don't know yet," West spoke in a low voice, but it was enough to silence the two of them. "But if that really was something directed to catch their attention, then they are going to make a move soon."
West only had a hunch and a gut feeling. He ceased all operations; if this was done to the Gothams by an inside job, then he wanted to be no part of it. Not in the media—he had not one care toward it. What he loathed were the rumors of him holding hands with other Nobles. He was a Rebel with the sole purpose of making this world a better place.
Not to mention that he wouldn't want to risk his men on assignments that would only lead to their deaths. He needed every man he could get. Their numbers were decreasing.
With all the tightened security, it was only normal for half of his men to step down in order to protect their families. What he was doing was suicide, and he knew that he had no one to mourn over his name, so he couldn't care less. However, most of these men had mouths to feed; the responsibility was just too great to risk it all on his curiosity to figure out who the new guy in town was.
"Prepare for the job," West stated as he got to his feet. Both Scarlet and Julian shared the same dumbfounded look.
"What job?" they said in unison.
"Casablanca Grand Royal Hotel," West said it in a way that made them look like complete idiots for not being aware of what he had just said.
Scarlet and Julian looked at each other in complete ignorance, communicating with their gaze instead of making complete fools of themselves in front of West.
Scarlet turned her gaze to West, who seemed to have already gotten over the subject. Her eyes dilated as her memories started to resurface from deep within. "West," she breathed out. "You are not seriously talking about that job."
She hated to state it obviously, so she hoped that by calling it that… he wouldn't understand what she meant. He was Nicholas West; he would know when they were talking about the same thing. Why? Was he perhaps a psychic? Maybe. But that was just the way he was—or more precisely, the way that she came to find him to be.
From the silence and the way he avoided her eyes, she figured that her gut feeling was right.
"You said it yourself, West," she narrowed her eyes, hoping that she would look more deadly, but her wide blue eyes failed her miserably. "You said it yourself that we can't do anything right now. There is too much heat on us, and you know better than me that Casablanca wasn't an easy job to begin with."
"Am I the only one that has no idea what this Casablanca thing is?" Julian popped up in between the tension that was intoxicating the air. Scarlet just knew that he did that on purpose to lighten up the mood. It was his way, really—of brightening up the mood.
"I don't think you will need to know what it is, Julian," she hissed. "Since West is going to cancel it right now." She chose her words carefully.
West pushed back the old chair that he had been sitting on to get to his feet. Scarlet watched as he left them there standing with no logical understanding about anything.
Before she could say something, she saw the way he looked over his back. She was getting sick of the way he kept all the important things to himself and left them in the dark.
But something as big as this job… it would be suicide to just get in blind like this. She didn't even know what the Rebellion would get from it!
"Scarlet," he called over his shoulder. "We are going to do the job."