"Blood is the seal of our devotion"

gwen comes to mind. so does lanslod. for a heartbeat, he wonders what an odd thing to think of when none of them talked about forever as a trio. he and gwen did when the subject of marriage came up. at the same time, he and his best friend always assumed they'd be together in some shape or form. forever, the three of them. like the three musketeers. in another life, maybe they could've been together forever. if any one of them learned to communicate differently or even better. or, if arthur wasn't such an overthinking asshole.

then again, he'd been in several gun fights that felt like forever. when one breath stretches time in ways that should defy science. when it feels like you have an eternity to hurt and bleed and fear the end is just a blink away.

clenching his jaw, arthur distracts himself by taking a sip from the bottle of beer in front of them. despite the seemingly relaxed position in the bar stool, he's ready to reach for the fixed blade in a sheath at his ankle. more than that tended to make people jumpy in a lot of places so the guns that belonged in his shoulder holsters were locked in the car.

" it's a word of hope. " one shoulder shrugs up. when the bartender walks by, the blonde motions for a water. " it's a word you use when you think you have more time than you do. to me, anyway. "

He thought about the guy’s words. A word you use when you have more time than you do. How true that was. When he had been with Lyanna in that penthouse apartment, Arthur had thought that they had had all the time in the world. However, time was running out faster than either of them realized. One morning, Arthur had been awoken by the sound of gunfire and that had been the end.

Being the daughter of a diplomat, Angélique frequently went wherever her father did. Tagging along like an otherwise lost duckling attached to its mother, or in this case father, duck, she habitually made the acquaintance of many a politician. However, it infrequent to see them outside of the typical events.

Outgoing but not necessarily extroverted, what had only meant into being a simple acknowledgement and greeting had turned into a long-winded discussion about family and the typical affairs of life. It would have gone on much longer, if not for the time.

Arthur had been so busy wrangling Lyanna that he hadn’t really had any time to follow the news.

the truth is that i'm a bad person. but that's gonna change. i'm going to change.

now i'm cleaning up and i'm moving on, going straight and choosing life.

the streets are awash with drugs you can have for unhappiness and pain, and we took them all.

choose life. choose a job. choose a career. choose a family.

why would i want to do a thing like that?

i chose not to choose life. i chose something else.

the reasons? there are no reasons.

doesn't it make you proud to be scottish?

i've justified this to myself in all sorts of ways.

it wasn't a big deal, just a minor betrayal.

why did i do it? i could offer a million answers, all false.

i'm looking forward to it already.

i'm gonna be just like you.

excuse me. i don't mean to harass you, but i was very impressed with the capable and stylish manner in which you dealt with that situation.

i was thinking to myself, now this girl's special.

what's your name?

i'm going home.

i'll come back with you if you like, but like, i'm not promising anything, you know.

do you find that this approach usually works?

let me guess, you've never tried it before.

you don't normally approach girls, am i right?

personality, i mean that's what counts, right?

sounds great to me.

our only response was to keep on going and "fuck everything."

no matter how often you go out and rob and fuck people over, you always need to get up and do it all over again.

what are you two talking about?

no more. i'm finished with that shite.

gonna get it right this time. gonna get it sorted out.

i sure have heard that one before.

people think it's all about misery and desperation and death and all that shit which is not to be ignored, but what they forget is the pleasure of it. otherwise we wouldn't do it.

we're not fucking stupid. at least, we're not that fucking stupid.

now i'm ready.

what's on the menu this evening?

who the fuck are you?

did you bring the cards?

you're not getting any younger. the world's changing. music's changing

the guy's dead anyway.

the point is, you've got to find something new.

what do you mean?

at one time, you've got it, and then you lose it, and it's gone forever.

what's the point you're trying to make?

that means fuck all.

so we all get old and then we can't hack it anymore. is that it?

what attracts you to the leisure industry?

do you mean that you lied on your application?

i paid for the tickets!

it's all about aesthetics and it's fuck all to do with morality.

it seems, however, i really am the luckiest guy in the world.

what the fuck are these?

that's all i've got. take it or leave it.

i want a fucking hit.

i quite enjoyed the sound of it all.

for all the good they've done me, i might as well have stuck them up my arse.

for the first time in my adult life i was almost content.

useless motherfucker, that's what she called me.

i'm sorry, but these things happen. let's put it behind us.

you were quite happy to do a lot more last night.

calm down. you're not going to jail.

if you don't see me again, i'll tell the police.

The Chicago Christmas Tree in Millennium Park. Last night in downtown.

Frankly, while she appreciated H'ghar's faith in her and had built up her own arsenal of skills over the past few years, there was a creeping anixety in the back of her mind. He was going to clock her. Something in her gut nagged at her to abort but her request was immediately shot down for reasons above her paygrade.

That was the way of the HBW. As corny as the name House of Black and White was, a remanent from an older time, it was a subdivision of the CIA that specialized in clandestine operations with deep covers. There were many things she had anticipated from the inebriated man... the words that came out of his mouth, though, not in her predictions, which made her all the more nervous.

As he glanced at the woman’s face in the bar mirror, Arthur could see that he had been wrong. She didn’t look exactly like Lyanna, but the resemblance was there in her long face as well as her grey eyes.

Looking at her, however, he could still see himself standing on top of a roof in New York. His gun was in his right hand. He was standing on top of a ledge wondering what to do next. He could hear Ned and Howland Reed’s footsteps. For a moment, he thought that he would fight them to the death, but he moved away, ran, and jumped d onto another rooftop while his gun, Dawn, fell down into the street below.

Had that been the right thing to do? Arthur wondered now as he took another sip of his drink in silence. To abandon a young girl to whom he was a friend and to dishonor his best friend? Or was it the honorable thing to save one’s life even at the cost of a friendship and a career?