"So, what do we have now?" Sequoia asked herself, standing in the middle of cavern and staring at the screens, composing in the presentation of summary of the radical ideology. Under the spreading chestnut tree Sequoia somehow felt herself more comfortable while listening to the rumbling Banger's voice. Examining faces of Gaian everymen, listening to it, watching to the rather savage picture with a whole rainbow of hate, fear, disdain, embrassment, the feeling of unity, the feeling of moral superiority and wilingness to bite someone's head off.
And here they were - the heroes of youthful romantic students, of sensecent housekeepers that felt an urge for beauty, of gilded youth on London, where parcels with plants from Gaia had replaced synthetic products under the tables of night clubs. Here they were, the people drawn as ones with faith in bright future for Bretonia by the Green Front boys and girls on streets, and as the radical protectors of the beauty and nature's rights as they were called by those politicans in Parlament.
Here they were, listening to the two minutes of hate.
Sequoia wrinkled, imagining the certain degree of dissapointment somewhere in the part of her brain, responsible for the romantic ideals. They claimed that they were founded on love or justice, but what she saw was hatred - well, while she always accused Grim in radicalizing, mixing everything in the same pot, she somehow agreed with the fact that such an inspiration may be useful for someone in a deep despair. But not with her.
"Idea of doing somethin truly is an amusing concept. You agree with someone and only then you do something 'truly'. And what we have in the end? Dying while hating them that we tend to call "freedom", Sequoia sighed, breaking the quiet of the cube meters around her that had came to a standstill after the loudspeakers lapsed into silence. She never was good in wording her philosophical approaches to life.