"Opp stairs, sure," the Leader said dully. "Who vants to see?"
"Come on," Toffee said. "This is going to be worth seeing, all that advanced gun powder going up in smoke."
"Hokay," the Leader agreed brokenly. "Who cares now?"
Toffee watched him carefully as he opened a drawer in the desk and slid his hand inside. It was a moment before he extracted a large bottle of vodka.
"For the medicinal purposes only," he explained ruefully. "And I am the sick buckeroo of them all."
Toffee smiled. "Let's get to the top, pop," she said amiably. "Let's tie one on."
Though it occurred miles away, the explosion shook even the solid foundations of the capitol building. Toffee and the leader watched with awe as the whole world, it seemed, suddenly screamed with white fire. The Leader was forced to cling to Toffee for support, and Toffee clung to the bottle strictly as a precaution.
"Beautiful," Toffee breathed as the building ceased to shudder. "It's beautiful to see all that death and destruction destroying itself. Makes you think of those scorpions who sting themselves in the neck when they're mad."
And if the explosions constituted an item of beauty for Toffee, the night was filled to overflowing with the gaudy stuff. The explosions, near and far, continued through the night. Toffee and the despairing Leader sat on the edge of a functional parapet and toasted each new blast with vodka and conflicting emotions.