Leman Russ washed his face carefully, feeling the cascade of clean water in his face. Afterwards, he splashed water in his velvety, brown hair, smoothing it out like a master artisan. He gazed at his face - stern, solemn, almost graceful. The fact that he woke up with the fresh memory of murder doesn't bother him. It's a job that must be completed after all. It's been a month since he carved a name for himself, moving from the shadow of Nurgle, Inc. That bastard slept soundly, Leman thought. Now, there are no more loose ends for an empire-cut-short. Leman Russ is now a man for himself, a legend in the making. 

If he can live that long. Leman smiled. He is a pioneer of war, of sadness, of suffering. He watched his Wolf brothers butchered by narco freaks and corporate hoodlums. Dire Wolves, they claim to old traditions. Now, in the rapidly developing "Kingdom of Murica," new stories shall unfold. A Dire Wolf must adapt to the times. There's no excuse.

And so, Russ packed up. This day, he just wants to drink up and remember the past. Or perhaps forget about it. Or...just remember something that mustn't be remembered at all. He wore a loose shirt - as loose as his forlorn heart. His pants, as simple as his desire for vengeance. Yet as complex as his goal of reuniting with his brothers. 

He drove off to a small bar, sandwiched by two ragged tenements. This bar, a secluded speakeasy, was built for soul-seekers, fortune hunters, shattered men and women. The bar counter is old, made from rich mahogany. The tables, perhaps older even. There are only six tables and only two of them are occupied. Leman shot a quick glance at the tables: one drunk sleeping man, and a skinny man smoking a joint while staring blankly at the ceiling. 

Leman shrugged and headed for the counter. This is where things happen, he thought. He pulled a stool and ordered his drink.

"What's up, Schmoe?" Leman Russ said to the barkeep while holding his whiskey glass. Cold. Near-perfect.

"Nothing fancy, Russ. Same old same old. We're planning to add a poker room in the back, for gents only. Perhaps them Poets can join us?"

Leman sipped from his glass. One shot brings back a shard of memory. "Perhaps..."

"This world is thriving, I hope it remains this way...no more backlogged stuff for ya?"

"Fuck it, I'm done. I've sold all the Big Papa's interests. You even got a cut, I'll give it within the week."

"Grazie," Schmoe replied. He was about to open a topic when someone entered.

A fine lady, dressed in elegant black, walked with composure. With precision. She's like a woman who can get what she wants. Schmoe watched as the lady took her place in the bar counter. Graceful. Her hair flicked, as if there's a mysterious wind inside the bar. Schomoe greeted her nicely.

"Martini." The lady spoke.  "Straight up."

Normally, Russ doesn't pay attention to ladies. He knows how deadly ladies can be, especially in a world full of deceit and corruption. There's a big reason why the Queen is the strongest piece on the board. But when the lady spoke, Leman's world came tumbling down - like fruit in an overturned table. 

He turned and saw the lady. A graceful, independent lady with finesse. A maiden looking for a drink, perhaps to cool down her aching soul. A part o of the pass, an archetype of Leman's memory. A chink in his armor.

"Havana..." Leman Russ spoke.

@Havana turned to Russ, her mind confused for a short while. 

Then in a jolt, in one swift burst, two souls connected.

"Leman..." Havana muttered, her lips forming into half-smile.

Time seemed to stop in the bar. 

As she drove through the streets of the Windy City, Havana winced as the sun shone directly into her eyes, enveloping her in a warm embrace that Havana was less than happy to receive. Had she not been on a die-hard quest for alcohol, the brunette would've abandoned this trip completely - normally, she wasn't one for day drinking (heck, she wasn't one for day anything at all), but today.. today proved different.

A day of celebration for many but a day of mourning for the young woman, today was her father's birthday. Her good-for-nothing, abusive, misogynistic, son-of-a-bitch of a father was turning 52 today - the man she'd run away from was turning a year older today. Her grip tightening around the steering wheel, she felt rage as she recounted that it was only a year ago when she was unhappily with her family, plastering a fake smile on her face for the reporters and saying nothing but good things about the noble mayor of their city.

Here she was now, one year later, happier yes, but alone. She wasn't a sentimental kind of person nor did she value personal relationships all that much, but having to run away and start with a blank slate has its downsides too, the biggest one of them having to let go of all her friends and loved ones from the live she used to lead before. She was sure her father fabricated a story about her death or something, of course he wouldn't let his mafioso daughter ruin his reputation. 

Sighing as she pulled over, she shook the negative thoughts away and prayed that a few martinis can help her forget, at least only for today. Opening the door to the speakeasy, she failed to notice the other people inside and made a beeline for the bar, ordering the first of many drinks. Determined to ignore any and all people who tried to interact with her today, her plans changed when she heard a familiar voice.

"Havana," the voice trailed, and the girl was sure she was imagining things. She'd know that voice from anywhere, but it was unlikely - no, impossible - that she was hearing it here.

Turning her head slowly, her eyes met a familiar set of blue ones and a gasp escaped her lips before they turned up into a small smile, almost involuntarily. "Leman. It's been too long." She said so lowly it was almost a whisper.

The barkeep must have noticed something between the two as he just quietly settled Havana's drink in front of her and quickly scurried towards the back. Still, Havana couldn't avert her gaze, she was dumbstruck as she stared at the man in front of her - someone from her past. Someone who she didn't think she'd ever see again. After a few steady beats of silence, Havana cracked a smile and shook her head, realizing she must've looked like a dumbass staring at him with her mouth agape.

Sliding off of her stool and instead sitting next to Leman, she reached out mindlessly and stroked his cheek, perhaps to check if he was really there or if she was just in a loneliness-induced craze. "You're real..." she mused out loud, before abruptly dropping her arm and straightening her body. "I mean.. what are you doing here?" Havana asked, cursing herself for being so awkward around her old friend.

Havana's gentle hand was like a breeze long forgotten, or the delicate sliver of paradise. The moment her fingers ran through Leman's cheek, the latter felt a wave of euphoria, nostalgia, and the suppressed melody of love. His heart drummed fast, and he needed the rush of whiskey to stay calm. He gazed at Havana's peaceful yet melancholic face. Oh, how he wanted to kiss those lips. Those lips which meant the world to him. 

Leman gulped, and decided to stay formal. After all, a gent is still a gent.

"It's been quite a while, Havana." Leman spoke. Havana's name felt like a dagger against his heart. "I've been through a lot. When I left to lead my Wolf brotherhood, everything fell apart...we were betrayed, attacked, and hounded. Now, I'm on these shores to try my luck for a new life."

Leman gazed at Havana's eyes.

"And I'm so damn lucky of meeting you here." Leman downed his whiskey shot. "I still remember everything about you. The time we spent together, the tears, you're like a big part of my past. But I want to apologize. Sorry for leaving so abruptly. Sorry for my shattered life."

Russ stood up and caressed Havana's cheek. The lady is real, so real. When Havana smiled curtly, Leman's heart melted.

Leman Russ, the Wolf Lord, is more than ready to make things right. 

"Dinner?" Leman smiled and offered.

It felt like a plate falling to the floor and shattering, or a lightbulb going out - all of a sudden, Havana remembered the demise of their long friendship, the pain washing over her like a tidal wave. As soon as she heard his apology, Havana retracted, her lips forming into a curt line, she was donning her usual mask of indifference once more. To say that she wasn't the forgiving type was an understatement.

"You've hurt me once before," Havana thought as her eyes travelled across his familiar features. "I'm not going to let you - or anyone else - close enough to me to do that again." She mused wordlessly, mentally building up her walls and regretting that she let him she even just a sliver of weakness.

That doesn't mean she can't find an ally in him though - after all, it seems like they were in the same world now, a world where connections mean everything. Nodding politely at his offer and keeping a safe distance, she slid off the stool once more and proceeded to the door, not bothering to wait for him, not even saying a word. She looked back at him as she stepped outside. "Are you coming or what?" Havana asked, waiting for him with a hand on her hip.

Without hesitation, Leman accompanied Havana. He watched the fashionable gait of Havana, and wondered all about the long-lost years. Oh, how he wanted her. But he also wanted retribution! In this forlorn, corrupt world, a gent will do everything to survive.

And so, Leman and Havana drove off. Havana was quiet, merely observing the bland streets and almost monotonous shops. Leman, even though focused on the road, can feel the uneasiness in his heart. Havana. The name echoed like a wild church bell, amplifying the memories.

As Leman swerved the car wildly, the memories rushed in. The warm embrace. The heart-melting kiss. The passion cut short. It returned in a terrible frenzy that the Wolf Lord can't stop. Within minutes, Leman stopped the car in front of a park entrance. He wanted to bring Levana to a fancy restaurant, but this simple park will do. At least, they can have moments of peace.

Leman got out of the car and opened the door for Havana. The lady smiled - her eyes met Leman's again. 

"This park is old, though not many people visit here. It's my personal sanctuary."

The park looks just like any other park, except that it has greater amount of foliage. There seems to be no security personnel around, and only few people take a stroll. In the middle of the park is a shimmering fish pond; man-made or not, it radiates peaceful beauty - a siren song in the middle of a troubled city. 

"Come. I know a guy here who sells the best dinner-in-a-box. Simple meal, but great nonetheless." Leman smiled and offered his hand to Havana. 

It was a smile full of longing, pain, and contentment in whatever's going to happen.