“Hmph,” Charlie grunted. The bronze figure, impassive, said nothing; he continued leaning on his tiny Greek column with a sheaf of bronze papers in an outstretched hand, as if he’d just been interrupted by a bronze dip halfway through the morning mail.

“Gaius Cassius Longinus Maddox: soldier, Senator, Southron.” The Margrave read from the impressively green plaque. “Served his state as an able soldier during the War of Northern Aggression and as an able statesman during the Restoration.”

“Always thought he looked kinda like Col. Sanders,” Charlie said, looking at the carefully manicured green goatee and ‘stache that the statue sported.

“The Margrave smiled at the reference, and then, turning to Charlie, asked what else this statue made her feel.” Inscrutable behind her veil, her words came out almost sounding as if they’d been condensed from the very air. “She knew that Charlie was not always confident in her words, but bid her try anyway.”

Charlie squinted at the statue. “Awfully nice things on there,” she said. “Not what you’d think for a traitor.”

“The Margrave continued, gently: what about the words they use, the words they chose? What did the statue-makers think?”

“They were on his side. They thought old GCL here was a good guy. A hero. Even though his mustache is telling a different story.”

The Margrave moved closer. “And, the Margrave wondered aloud, did that make Charlie feel like doing anything?”

Charlie looked at the statue again. “Well,” she said. “I’d like to throw it up in the air. Then, I’d jump up there and do the 1000 Fists of Shattered Jewels attack. I don’t know if you’ve seen that movie, but it would knock the statue really far. Then I’d find the crater and pound it in. Do you think the statue is hollow?”

“Everything about this town is hollow.”

“Then I’d crumple it into a ball and drop-kick it into the sun,” Charlie finished with a satisfied nod.

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