"Come the fuck on. Did you see that guy? I'm fucking—" From the second they boarded the bus, Lev had barely been able to contain himself. He'd lit a joint half an hour before this, and it hit fast. Good for them, but not so much for the people running this fucking tour. First thing that had managed to fuck him up was the over-sized, red suit. Pinstriped. Matching fucking hat. Bad Chicago accent. Truly, the gift that would keep fucking giving. Seated at the back of the bus, he's hoping to hide the hysterics. This isn't exactly the kind of history shit he's used to learning about, or has even really studied— except that one thing, that one time, back in February. It'd been a work of art. Head turned, he's tries to hide his quiet hysterics from their host for the fucking ride but fuck. "Why did you talk me into this, man?" That's his story, and he's sticking to it. So when you hear shots— Lev's whisper-talking over him, "Did we bring snacks? Are we placing bets on some theatrics? I’m gonna bet that Paulie Rocco is going to kill Little fucking John in broad fucking daylight.”

If someone told him he'd be getting on a tiny ass fucking plane without a fucking clue how that shit works aside from pure fucking magic, Lev Vasile would tell them to fuck off. Yet here he is, two pills in at Illinois Aviation. It's taken the edge off, but there are too many layers to numb it all away. More than his fear of heights and subsequent fear of death, he is too terrified of loss to be aware. He should know better by now. Rahi is too good to be gone from his life over something so simple and obvious— but fuck, how much does he really know? How much will Lev have to tell him? This plane is a confessional, and his sins are many. "Going to be hard to top a date like this, Sugar Pie." Start with humor. Deflect from the anxiety, ignore the gentle tremor in his hands. These fucking pills were supposed to help with the fucking nerves. He'd been promised cloud nine, and he's at a solid fucking two right now. This plane is fucking tiny. Smaller than he had imagined. Probably going to feel every little bump in the air, gust of wind— will it withstand a bird? Focus, he tells himself. A quiet hum sounds, sights tearing away from the object of his soon-to-be nightmares and instead focusing on one of the few with whom he'd trust his life. Why is there an apology on his tongue? His arms lift slightly, opening in silent offer— perhaps even request— for a hug. Might be the last he ever gets if accepted, all things considered. And before everything changes... "You uh.. you get the job?"

He's stressed, to say the least. Messages sent to those deemed important, Lev stands in the very place he's been escorted. It's a fucking bloodbath. A wary glance is passed around the room as he keeps Leslie carefully by his side, "Just... don't look, don't talk to them..." What the fuck have they gotten into? Another message to Eli; this time, unsure. A step closer to goodbye.