You going to try the rest of your gear on?" he asked on an exhale. "Or you want to whine about your pants a little more?" "Don't make me flip you off." "Why would I deprive you of a favorite hobby?" [Vishous to Butch]

I'm an angel not a frickin' saint.

I could take you down on this sidewalk and be up that skirt of yours in a heartbeat. And you wouldn't fight me, would you? No, she probably wouldn't. Wrath and Beth

Moments later a huge male with a cropped mohawk came out. Rehvenge was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and had a black cane in his right hand. As he came slowly over to the Brotherhood's table, his patrons parted before him, partly out of respect for his size, partly out of fear from his reputation. Everyone knew who he was and what he was capable of: Rehv was the kind of drug lord who took a personal interest in his livelihood. You crossed him and you turned up diced like something off the Food Channel.

Butch didn't live in his own place. He didn't spend his own money. He had no job, no future. He was a well-kept pet, not a man.

Sometimes in life, from out of a myriad of prosaic decisions like what to eat and where to sleep and how to dress, a true crossroads is revealed. In these moments, when the fog of relative irrelevancy lifts and fate rolls out a demand for free will, there is only left or right – no option of four-by-fouring into the underbrush between two paths, no negotiating with the choice that has been presented. You must answer the call and pick your way. And there is no reverse.

Qhuinn: "What is wrong with you, that you care so much about me?" Blay: "What is wrong with you, that you can't see why I would?