[Ahhh, he has always maintained that he is not an intimidating individual; for all his ability and all his skill comes not from menacing or moving others with fear but merely softly, insidiously remaining by their side like a pretty ornament twisted in one's hair, or a rotten fruit hidden upon the table.

Poisoned water, acid rain, slowly, slowly seeping into all the pipes and blackening the organs.

There are all different levels of understanding -- and in truth it is hard to say just what understanding becomes in their arrangement, under Hamelin's guidance (and how much do they understand their Don, in the end, after everything?), with Jack being all that he is and isn't. His smile curls over teeth and then softens around the rim of his glass again, oddly dreamy.]

That is flattery, you know. I cannot say I've ever been a particularly ambitious man, but I can agree that it is interesting to watch how others' ambitions and attachments may move them -- whether they are a part of the game or even outside of it. [there are so very many moving pieces; and Jack still talks like he is somewhere in between, not quite part of the game (anymore?) and not quite outside of it] ... I do wonder what sort of enemies we might have made, you and I. If it was power you craved, we might have been allies even then.

[There's something ironic in it, just so, before it's gone.]