“When does a township become tinder, you ask? It’s when the vaporous flame of intrigue ignites its corners. It scalds its edges before billowing into an immense inferno, visible for as far as an article or tabloid will take it.” -MN “Many a megalopolis on Hirth has a buffer of resuscitated conurbations with an eerie heritage, but none as peculiar as the secluded preservation; West Taffeta. In its past life, it acted as the site for dozens of cult-inspired mass suicides, making the supposition that the land was scourged simple, if not natural. Following each collective self-slaughter, the land was left desolate for decades at a time – only attracting foolhardy adolescence wishing to make a name for their selves by treading where others refuse to – until an old entrepreneur by the name Edwin Nihil stepped forth from the sunset to claim its multitudinous acres. Thanks in part to its reputation, the land sold for an itinerant’s salary and was christened in honor of Edwin’s approach and the first batch of items he had available for purchase. From there, the newly inaugurated settlement’s history begins to diminish in plausibility. Edwin was ancient, decrepit even – kept alive by an elaborate array of medicinal achievement. With his ostentatious wardrobe and mannerisms indicative of a bygone era, local estimations hover around two centuries old. He was by no means the oldest person on the planet, but certainly in no condition to be performing anything other than menial tasks. Yet, despite all the evidence that pointed against this, fifteen different construction projects were erected within the month! From economy-class dwellings and convenience stores to municipal buildings and a single decadent manor bordering on the city limits, West Taffeta was inundated with production horses and caution tape. There were no contractors or planning committees, no tenders and not a single quote. In fact, the land was so thoroughly ostracized that even the most philanthropic organization would decline aid. Before year’s end, the suburb had enough amenities and domiciles to rival newly gentrified districts…” “You know, when I applied for this course – I expect Suburban Study, not Sensationalized Journalism. Mind not trying to sound like some shoddy Steve Czar novel?” An interjection most insensitive held a foundation equally as morose. Quaffed, gelled coiffure acted as ebony curtains for a mask of a visage, mangled into a rough smirk – broken by a tapered tongue draped off to the side. Piercings wreathed his striated countenance and spilled over into his ostentatious outfit; a jacket fraught with chrome protrusions and jeans holding twice their weight in chains. Frantic sectioned-off fingers strummed the desk’s surface afore steel-toe trims took their spot, “I can’t stand professors like you. Grad School conflagrates your income and this is the staff we get,” he spat, ringtail jabbing accusingly in the proctor’s general direction. “I’m sorry; do you have a personal vendetta against how I introduce a chapter, Maximilian?” “Of course not Dr. Tazo, but I do have this powerful loathing for the uninitiated and the ill-placed. Think of it as a…War on Idiocy.” What was one a stifled assortment of chuckles bloomed into a flowerbed of guffaws amongst the instigator’s contemporaries. The introverted fashioned a shroud from the uproar, burrowing their heads down to toy with their cellphones whilst others began to converse amongst themselves – that is, until the instructor called for order. “If you wish to treat this like secondary school, so be it. Anderson, out in the hall. I’ll talk to you at the end of the period.” “Oooooh, an edifying tirade?! My FAVORITE!” Heralded by a chorus of jangling metal, the calignious delinquent spun around to give the class a wry grin and made his way out of the auditorium, slamming the doors behind him with a reinforced heel. Recurrence of punishment is the progenitor destined to breed apathy, and Maximilian is this truism's quintessence. Overcome with lethargy after rattling the professor’s mettle, he adopted a somewhat lackadaisical lean against the lecture hall’s door – tossing one leg over the other as he periodically crocked his wrist to check the time. Dreary eyes were cast from one end of the hallway to the other before settling on a nearby window, sliding around its frame before drifting out onto the adjacent building, adorned with ornate buttresses that kept his mind busy and warded off the rapidly encroaching boredom. Maybe I should just go home. There’s nothing worth staying here for. In one fluid motion, the ebony-hewn raccoon slid a cigarette up and out of his breast pocket – spiraling it up into the air and catching it with his teeth on the third rotation, averting his scrutiny for an instant so he could fetch his lighter from his thigh pocket and bring it up to his mouth. Ennui brought rise to petty concerns, each of which were driven to oblivion with a prolonged drag and exhale: ‘Maybe I should have done that later in the class. At least then I would have had the chance of being saved by the bell.’, ‘It’s not like this guy is a nobody on the staff. I hope he doesn’t get any bright ideas and tries contacting my family.’ Puff. Puff. ‘Wonder if this guy is going to make me late for my next class with whatever bullshit pop psychology he has planned.’, ‘I do hope he has the common courtesy to blow his nose before he comes out here. Half the reason I couldn’t stand that story was that congested dubbing on every fifth word.’ Puff. Puff. As if pressed on cue to interrupt him the second he began drifting off, the double doors to the auditorium swung open once again as another disgruntled adult slovenly traipsed out, chased by an irate instructor bellowing his name. He mimicked Max’s swagger to the letter, right down to the satisfied hind kick that nearly tore the door from its hinges. Amid a smoky guffaw, Max turned to his fellow ne’er-do-well, brimming with barely contained astonishment, “You’re HOW old and you don’t realize the strength behind your own cloven feet?! Donovan, you delightful moron!” Still recoiling from his accidental quake, the cervine simply swung a dirty look in the coon’s direction, not realizing that the door was back with a vengeance, only to have his antlers slice into the mahogany. Chuckle-puffs turned into repressed gags and the occasional delirious hic. “Real talk? I’m getting this fucking fanned down tomorrow,” rolled an ashy baritone as Donovan pried himself off the door, the sound of which caused another burst of merriment and chatter, much to the professor’s unrelenting chagrin. Max, drawing in on his countenance with a single hand, glanced back at the ochre buck between his fingers – biting back tears with sheer willpower, “I must be friends with a pastry because I have never seen someone this BAKED before!” Blunders after blunder brought a warm rosy tint to a fairly dark muzzle as Donovan soundlessly closed the door, insured it wouldn’t swing again, and sat down in a bundle of pure discomfiture, mocha-tipped fingers digging into the sides of his head before letting it slide through and hand, dejected. “Girls love sharp antlers, he said. Points are all the rage for hood bucks, he said. That is the absolute last time I go to that tattoo parlor with you, Max. Understand? I should have known something was fishy when offered to do it free of charge. Now look at me? I’ve basically got a cluster of mangled swords growing out of my skull. MANGLED. SWORDS.” “Oooh, it’s not that bad…” “MANGLED SWORDS!” he snapped as he pointed towards Max without so much as flinching his head, whipping his hand with such velocity that the displaced air managed to sweep the ringtail’s bang from his eye, “Dude, I’m like a shiv kiosk. You could snap any of this shit off an’ free an entire prison in a fortnight.” That was close. I had almost forgot about this numbskull. Max snuffed a saliva-drenched cigarette into his palm and lit himself a new open as he slid back into his previous position, desperately trying to abate wayward chuckles, “Still incredibly idiotic, I see! You’d think consecutive run-ins with the provosts would sedate you a little bit. So! How did you spike the teacher’s ire naught five minutes after I had to come out here?” “Five minutes? Do you not have a watch? It’s been, like, fifteen!” While the buck might have been right about the time, it did little to offer any substantial justification. “Anyway, uh, after you totally got the teacher TOLD, I… Well, you know that thing where you kinda thrust your neck forward and snap it back? Well, I started doing that and then everyone in my row did it to and it spread like a damn virus. Once Tazo turned around, there was basically a sea of students just undulatin’ at him. Iunno how he knew I ignited the whole thing, but he did and I here I am!” “Apparently MALE civets have periods, too! Fascinating. Doesn’t really make what you did any less stupid, though – but thanks for verifying my earlier hypothesis.” “Yeah, but c’mon! The way you tore him to bits was TOP! I swear he popped at least two veins in his face!” Having lost interest in the conversation seconds ago, Max took to giving his nails a once before jamming both hand back into their respective pockets. “Mm-hmm. Hey, before you came out here and made an ass of yourself – I was borderline Zen,” his brow gradually fell as he pursed his lips, “Mind shutting the drivel down?” But Don continued, much to the raccoon chagrin, frothing at the mouth with congratulatory fluff that faded into white noise. His gazed rekindled its dalliance with the scenery he could just barely glimpse out of the opposite window. Foliage, now attuned to the warmer spectrum, quivered in restless wind before being severed and carried off. And all the while, the only thing Max could think was that if something as base as that was holding his interest better than the running soliloquy being reciting by his friend – then this period would be much longer than advertised.