Back in the ever so gleeful and joyous time that is the present, Arryn, yawning is laid spread out on Dr. Marx's couch, staring up at the ceiling and completely ignoring anything about the small room that just so happened to also be his office. Meanwhile, Marx was busy scribbling away at the clipboard in his hand, diagnosing her with every disorder in the book though at the moment she didn't know that nor would she really care once she found out. A silence wafts over the once promising conversation, as Arryn continues her prolonged eye contact with the ceiling.

"So, what happened next?"

"What happened next with what?"

"The guy you kidnapped?"

"Oh yeah! Him! Well, let me remember..."

Her voice trailed off without finishing her thought and after a few seconds of silence sans the long held out last syllable of remember, Dr. Marx clears his throat which is just what manages to catch her attention once more. Her eyes dart away from the ceiling and focus on his face; a much rougher than she remembered, though she hadn't had really paid attention any other time until now. Dr. Marx was a peculiar looking man in his mid to late 20's, with a wiry frame, a bowl cut, and stubble that appeared uneven, like he spent too much time with the razor on one side but not the other. Anyone could see that he was a sight for sore eyes and could possibly benefit from some treatment of his own but he was too proud of a man to admit that truth to anyone. And so, painfully oblivious to his own mental defects, Arryn goes back through her head, hoping to find out the next part of the story she was telling.

"So, you said about a guy I kidnapped?"

"Yes..."

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Revolutionary group?"

"Oh right! Now I remember!"

And with that, the tale faded back in.


The sun was just starting to peak out from the buildings by the time the car had pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building Arryn and Joshua lived in and though there was no one outside the idea of dragging a presumed to be uncooperative man through the halls was enough to let their neighbors know something fishy was going down in their place of residence was one they wanted to avoid at all costs. So, the pair sat in the car with their seatbelts on attempting to figure out a solution to the potential problem before it became one.

"I don't get the big deal here. Knock him out and carry him inside. Simple."

"Right and if someone sees me carrying some dude's dead weight around... What do I do then?"

"Hmm, I dunno, lie?"

"What lie can I tell them?"

"He's a friend who got piss drunk, got in a fight and got the shit kicked outta him? C'mon this is Boston that shit happens all the time!"

"Fuck it. I ain't got nothing better."

"So let's do this."

With that both of them pushed open their doors and stepped out of the car, making their way to the trunk where their new guest was currently scrunched up in the fetal position with a bleeding nose on account of being pistol whipped. The gun sat in Arryn's waistband, itching to be used again either as a blunt object for bashing or for its intended purpose. Joshua, formerly squinting to account for the stray beams of the morning sun pressed the button on his set of keys that popped the trunk open and revealed to both of them and only them the struggling, writhing body of the newly awakened spokesman. Before he could even think to scream Arryn pulled the pistol and beat him over the head with the grip until he couldn't thrash about any more. Then, she waited as Joshua pulled the dead weight out of the trunk and slung him over his shoulder, keeping her hand on the trunk's door the whole time. Once the man was out and his everything cleared from the gap, she slammed the trunk closed and turned to face her building.

"Ah, home sweet home."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. You take him in, I'll get the money."

"Shit, good looking out!"

Joshua tossed the keys to her and made his way towards the building's front entrance as Arryn walked over to the backseat of the car, pulled open the door on the passenger's side and picked the briefcase up off the car's floor. Dusting it off, she pulled it out and slammed the door shut before likewise walking towards their place in hopes that this one success would balance out the hostage. And a few minutes later, she'd get her answer.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!"

The voice of Marcus Perkins screamed as Arryn tried to explain to him the situation.

"So, we just take this guy as a hostage and then what? Extort them for more money?"

"No! That'd utterly . We don't tell them we have him at all. We tell them he up and walked away, that we left before he did and the leader's brother was alive when we left. Make it look like he turned on them or something."

"And what about the guy? We just supposed to keep him here?"

"For the time being, yeah. The way I see it, we wait around a bit, when they can't find him we offer to look for him, kill him and bring his body right to their doorstep. Boom. Done. Case closed."

"Yeah, but what about the money they're out or the guns they think he has?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Marcus, clearly a little unnerved began to pace around the small little room of the apartment, where three mattresses strewn across the floor made up the sleeping quarters for 75% of the household. As a matter of fact; all this pacing was the most exercise the pudgy man had gotten in months so the antics of his two underlings (more or less) had at least one positive effect on him, even if everything else was generally negative. Finally, he stopped pacing and turned to his two colleagues and the unconscious man next to them.

"So, do we call them or... ?"

"No, we wait. Play like we thought everything went smooth."

"Alright fine. But now it looks like we got another problem."

"What?"

"Looks like our guest is waking up."