Earnest In Service Of My God|(Hamlet) FINISHED

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

It had been a long time since Richard visited a church. Weeks, perhaps even months. He no longer felt obligated to attend the service on Sundays, feeling he had seen enough every Sunday of his childhood in England, at his beloved Mother's insistance. And yet there he sat, in the foremost pew of St. Paul's Chapel, his eyes closed and his head bent, his lips moving silently in what looked to be prayer. He would have clasped his hands too, but that was an impossible feat even for him.

For all outward appearances he seemed truly devout and pious, and it was evident among the congregation that morning that many were heartened and pleased to see him, an elite and pillar of the city, dutifully bent in meditation and earnestly praying to a higher power.

That was fine by Richard. It was what he wanted them all to think. In truth he had only come that morning to better his standing in the public eye; he knew the majority of those he one day hoped to govern disliked him for various reasons, some trivial and some with good grounding in truth. He hoped to attempt to quell these hatreds by showing them all that he was a faithful man, a worshipful man...a good man.

He looked up, eyes snapping open, as the minister leading the service dismissed the congregation.

"God bless you as you go and serve our King."

Richard gave a small smile at the words but made no attempt to leave, simply watching the citizens as they filed out of their pews and left the church. Some gave him approving looks, a few even smiled! Mission accomplished.

Still he did not move. The chapel was practically empty now, strangely silent and still as the crowds had departed. Richard liked the silence and solitude, and so resolved to stay awhile longer. He glanced up the church's ceiling, admiring the glittering chandeliers as the sunlight reflected off them, before returning his attention to the front of the church. He did not pretend to pray again as he had done earlier but instead found himself glancing over at the pulpit, on which the symbol of a radiant golden sun was prominent.

The sun was Edward's political emblem and it suited him well.
But not for much longer...

Richard pushed the thought from his mind almost as soon as it had chanced upon him. What was he thinking of Edward for? Certainly his brother's impending death was his thought's sovereign at present, but that did not mean he wished it to occupy him constantly.

His gaze flicked from the pulpit to the cross at the front of the church. The small smile he had worn earlier returned to his face.

He might as well pray for his brother, he reasoned, closing his eyes once again. But you can be certain Richard was not praying that Edward's health would improve. Quite the opposite.

[hamlet]

God bless you as you go and serve our King.

The words rang in his head as everyone filed out of the church. Harry sighed with slight frustration, sitting back in the pew and looking towards the front of the church. So this is what the great Harry Chandler has come to. Here is Hamlet Enterprise's "prince," in the papers for acting like a madman and now, all of a sudden, sitting in a church as if that would help him.

And what was even worse, took a couple of shots before coming to church. No, he couldn't help himself, could he? Just to feel numb was all he wanted. So yes, he came to church slightly buzzed. He came to church secretly wanting the minister to shake him out of his constant haze and tell him that, yes, his father was dead. No, his father can't speak to him. No, his uncle didn't kill him so no, he didn't need to do anything about it. But none of that happened.

No, instead, it made him even more buried in his melancholy, this idea of "God." The idea that He would take away such a good man just to have his legacy buried with him. This was the God staring him in the face. And the only thing keeping Harry from being buried in his own secret confessions and thoughts of vengeance, so deep and so dark that the grave reached murder...was Ophelia. But he knew he'd loose her too.

So no, his thoughts weren't settled and meditative in spiritual peace. His mind was now....calculating. How could he be sure about his uncle's guilt? How could he really be sure?

A grin cracked his lips as he stared at the front of the church. The grin released itself into sort of a laugh. The laugh was driven by the thought of his uncle coming here to confess and the alcohol that was still in his system. He looked around the church immediately after the laugh, not thinking that he might not have been alone.

His grey eyes landed on someone sitting in the pew across from him. Harry recognized him as the mayor's comptroller and he'd saw him in the Capulet party. Other than him, no one else was there. He smiled to himself and sat back against the pew again, arms crossed over his chest.

"Does it really help?" He asked, facing the front of the church but talking to Richard, his boldness aided by the buzz. He sat up in his seat a bit. "Praying? I mean, it just makes you think harder about things you don't want to think about and...doesn't He know everything anyway?"

He laughed a bit and shook his head.

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

Richard started slightly at the sound of a sudden laugh, his eyes flew open and his serene little contented smile dissapeared in an instant. He had assumed he was the only one still there. Thank goodness he hadn't decided to pray aloud.

He turned around in his pew to see who had made the sound, only to see, to his great surprise, Harry Chandler of Hamlet Enterprises. Richard had seen him at the Capulet's Ball, and managed to find the time to read of his actions at the museum in the Times. An unusual character.

Chandler, having looked over at him, seemed to return his attention to the front of the church, yet still seemed to be talking to him. He seemed in a strange mood, Richard reflected, what with the laugh and the talking to someone without looking at them, not to mention his lack of deference to him as a man of higher status. Not a 'sir' in sight.

"Does it really help? Praying? I mean, it just makes you think harder about things you don't want to think about and...doesn't He know everything anyway?"

Richard couldn't say he was surprised at the question; even in his more truly devout days his prayers had gone unanswered for so long he'd taken to lying to Mother about having said them every night before he went to bed. What was the point?

He wasn't about to reveal to Chandler the falsity of his current prayer, however, and made to reply as though he really had been talking to God, or at least trying to. He wasn't about to let the mask slip now, especially not when doing so would be far more noticeable.

"I like to think it helps," he said coolly, debating whether to look at Harry when he talking to him or continue to look at the cross. He chose to look at Chandler in the end, only because it seemed more polite; politeness and being cordial went hand in hand, in Richard's opinion, with the religious facade he was putting on.

"I will admit it does make you think more acutely about what is troubling you, and that He does see all that is happening...but I think when you confide in Him through prayer it gives you hope that He is listening and that He will come to your aid."

Richard wasn't entirely sure where that had come from, but at least he'd managed to reply in the sinciere manner the answer warranted.

As Chandler laughed a bit more and shook his head Richard continued to watch him; something didn't seem quite right about his behaviour. Certainly he was no longer as pious as he once had been but he still didn't think such outbursts of laughter were truly fit for the church.

[hamlet]

"I like to think it helps. I will admit it does make you think more acutely about what is troubling you, and that He does see all that is happening...but I think when you confide in Him through prayer it gives you hope that He is listening and that He will come to your aid."

Harry listened to his words as they mostly jumbled around in his head, not exactly registering completely, as did most of the sermon that day. But he got a general sense of them...so much that he was actually generally surprised. He blinked and then turned toward him, now seeing the elder man fully.

Harry wondered what exactly was going through that man's mind right now. He probably didn't want to be disturbed. He probably was wondering if something was seriously wrong with Chandler but didn't want to ask aloud. After all, they were both men in the public eye. Perhaps he knew what it was like...but, what did it matter? He could very well be regarding Chandler in contempt for even speaking to him like this. Especially being the "Prince" of Hamlet Enterprises...ha! That is a joke within itself. Of course, Richard probably wouldn't get it. No one would. No one but Chandler. And it was the source of Harry's troubles, it was why Chandler made his home in the bottom of the bottle and why he was a prisoner, most times, in his own mind.

"Wow," he said finally, looking at Richard straight on. "You certainly have an optimistic view on life. I suppose I should admire that." He said, slightly aloof. He shook his head. "That wasn't sarcastic by the way. I just find it hard to look at things with rose colored glasses lately. Praying, not praying, church, no church, it doesn't matter anymore to me." He paused in thought. "But you know, I'm glad it works for you. All must be well in the world of Comptroller Richard Plantagenet, am I right?"

He grinned, looking almost too interested in his answer, the alcohol, once again, carrying his boldness. He forgot all about the whispers in the paper in regards to the mayor's health, in fact, Harry was almost completely out of the loop in regards to politics in general. Needless to say, his focus stayed latched on to other things.

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

Richard continued to watch Chandler as he appeared to be digesting and mulling over what he had just said. When the "Prince" turned to look his way, Richard was pleased; he preffered to speak face to face.

However, at Chandler's words about optomism and his outlook on life, Richard found it very difficult to contain a laugh of his own. He felt triumphant all of a sudden; it seemed he had Chandler fooled as well. Him, Richard Plantagenet, optomistic?

"That wasn't sarcastic by the way. I just find it hard to look at things with rose colored glasses lately. Praying, not praying, church, no church, it doesn't matter anymore to me."

If he was talking in technicalities and not acting optomistically, Richard might have tried to be empathetic to get further into Chandler's good books. Then again, he had plans and plots, goals to achieve. His life certainly mattered at the moment. So instead he decided to be sympathetic. He opened his mouth to reply but Chandler spoke again.

"But you know, I'm glad it works for you. All must be well in the world of Comptroller Richard Plantagenet, am I right?"

Richard felt like laughing again, so much so that, as when he'd first been told the news of Edward's illness, he had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop the laugh issuing forth from him. All was well indeed.

Edward was dying, his increased alcohol comsumption only helping to speed up the process.

And Richard had another scheme that would soon come to fruition...

He managed to stop himself saying anything incriminating; he wasn't about to let Chandler know the impending death of his brother made him as happy as a new-crowned King. Well, Richard assumed all new crowned Kings were happy, at least. Why shouldn't they be?

"As a matter of fact, all is not as well as it may first appear," he said, playing the sympathy card for all it was worth. "You probably read in the Times that Edward' health is...deteriorating? Well, naturally, as his brother, I'm concerned about him, poor man. Waste of a good life, if you ask me."

[hamlet]

"As a matter of fact, all is not as well as it may first appear."

Harry raised an eyebrow to this statement, intrigued. But then again, things never are how they first appear. You think you know a person, for example. You think you know a person, you think you love a person, until they do something so... inexcusably and unforgivably horrific that it leaves you completely and utterly lost. Then...they are strangers. All of them. Both of them. Strangers. But it's only you who suffers the consequences. You are the one shut out, unable to do anything about it because no one would ever believe you and no one else but you even cares that father just died because people are so self serving and the only thing they give a damn about is...

Harry mentally came back into the room and only barely caught what Richard said next.

"You probably read in the Times that Edward' health is...deteriorating? Well, naturally, as his brother, I'm concerned about him, poor man. Waste of a good life, if you ask me."

Harry blinked and was silent for a moment, trying to register what Richard said because he was lost in his own thoughts.

"Oh." He finally uttered when the words started to make sense. "Sorry, I haven't exactly kept up with the news lately. You know, finding my name sensationalized in the paper kind of ruins the whole experience for me." Harry explained with clear annoyance in his tone. Then he said, a little bit too passionately, "You know, for an establishment that gains as much money as they do, you'd think they'd realize that unbelievable exaggerations isn't news. I'm mean, they used the word 'crazy.' Crazy! It's slander." Harry shook his head and sighed.

Then he realized he was being a total ass in front of this man. He tried to save himself. "Ah, you know what? I apologize. I'm just...not myself today." Yes, the alcohol would have something to do with that. He was glad Ophelia wasn't around to see him like this. Generally, he's kept his woes secret from her, and has done a pretty good job of it. He hoped to keep it that way.

"Anyway, I'm really sorry about your brother." He said. "Any idea of what's ailing him, if you don't mind me asking?"

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

"Oh. Sorry, I haven't exactly kept up with the news lately. You know, finding my name sensationalized in the paper kind of ruins the whole experience for me."

Richard nodded; he knew the feeling. He knew it all too well. He wanted to be sympathetic but he couldn't bring himself to be, what with Chandler's continued little rant about being portrayed as "crazy." "Crazy" wasn't a title Richard could sympathize with. He'd been called many things in the press over the years from such creative images as "a spider snaring his web about City Hall" to the curt and cruel "acted like a dictator." He'd attempted to get those responsible fired but Edward had managed to step in before the whole thing went overboard.

Chandler seemed to realize he was acting in a self centered manner as he apologized, saying that he wasn't himself today. Richard knew that feeling too, and identified with him much more strongly. He never was himself, not really. No-one knew the real Richard, sometimes not even the man himself. It was unusual, not really knowing oneself. Richard put on so many guises and reveled in each one that he sometimes found himself stuck, when he was alone, for one to adopt. Who was he, really?

As Chandler referred to conversation back to Edward, in the apologetic manner he seemed to have come to adopt, Richard forced himself back into character. Think mournful, think melancholy. Did Richard mind telling Harry Chandler what his dearly beloved brother was suffering from? Of course he didn't.

"His doctors informed me its cancer," he said, in a tone that was unintentionally quite curt. It occurred to him then he was more the angry, stiff upper lip, bitter type of mourner rather than the wan and weepy sort. "A result of all the alcohol he's consumed over the years I have no doubt."

[hamlet]

"His doctors informed me its cancer. A result of all the alcohol he's consumed over the years I have no doubt."

"Ah," Harry said, not at all surprised but inwardly startled by the information. As much as he was relying on alcohol lately, death surely was right as his doorstep as well. But for Harry, he always thought about how many days he had left, ever since his father died. He knew somewhere in his mind that his days were numbered...there was no rational reason why. Just a feeling. A lingering feeling. Sometimes he just wanted it to happen so that feeling could stop.

He needed to shake those thoughts away so wanted to move around. "You know," he said standing. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, due to standing up so quickly and due to the fuzziness produced by the alcohol. But he was able to walk fine and he strolled to the front of the church, just to pace around.

"It's a shame. Life, death...I mean," He turned to Richard for a moment, conversationally saying the following. "You work so hard to get to the top, right? Get the fame, get the recognition, get the honor...for what?" He started looking around absently at the flower arrangements in the front of the church, reminded immediately of Ophelia and wishing she was here. "I guess what Im saying is, I know how you're feeling. My father died recently as I'm sure you know. That was in the papers too."

He slowly walked to the stairs of the pulpit and leaned on the banister, looking up at the high ceilings. "Sometimes I just feel like its all a waste, you know?" He said with a heavy sigh. "I wish I was like you. Really I do." He looked over at Richard and crack a smile. "I mean, I know I just met you, I don't even know you." He pushed himself of the banister and approached Richard's pew. "But you seem like an upstanding kind of guy. You know, you've been through a lot and you seem to hold it together. Things might me rough for you now but at least...at least you've got a solid head on your shoulders. God has you in his good graces I suppose. Even through the bad times." " He laughed and shook his head without much humor. "I must've did something to piss Him off up there."

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

As Chandler got to his feet and paced towards the front of the church, Richard made no move to follow him. He preferred sitting to standing, and especially to walking. Limping. Whatever.

When Chandler spoke again however, his tone was more conversational than sombre. But the words remained in Richard's mind long after they had been said. He couldn't believe what he was hearing...it was as though Chandler was questioning what he meant to do, what he hoped to achieve...his very life. Richard's life. How could he discuss such things in so casual a manner? It seemed he truly was crazy.

"You work so hard to get to the top, right? Get the fame, get the recognition, get the honor...for what?"

For what? Richard didn't know how to make reply to that; how could he? Little did Chandler know just how hard Richard had worked, and was working, to achieve his ultimate goal. The 'Prince's' questioning wasn't about to stop him. He didn't understand.

"I guess what Im saying is, I know how you're feeling. My father died recently as I'm sure you know. That was in the papers too."

Richard had never known his father; he'd died the same year that Richard was born, in one of the worst Yorkist/Lancastrian battles in living memory. He couldn't really emphasize, having no recollections of the man, but he nodded to Chandler anyway. I know how you're feeling indeed.

As Chandler approached him, however, professing how he wanted to be more like him, Richard allowed himself to crack a small smile. God had him in His good graces...maybe he should come back to church more often. Maybe Mother had a point for once in her life.

At Chandler's final words, however, Richard's small smile faded away as swiftly as it had come. This wasn't a laughing matter, life and death.

"I thank you," he said, endeavouring to make a suitable reply. "For your kind words. I must confess my sombre mood is lightened somewhat by them. But to be in such high regard of a near stranger and disregard yourself? That I cannot understand."

In truth, Richard wasn't all that confused. Self pity, self loathing. He'd been there on occasion. Why was Chandler so disheartened? Sure his father was dead, but at least he still had the use of all his limbs. At least he didn't have any brothers standing in his way.

As much as he disagreed with what Chandler was saying, Richard knew he had to tread carefully. Matters of others that seemed trivial to him mean the world to them.

"Not that I'm attempting to say your troubles are in any way of less gravity than my own, you understand," he continued. "We all have our troubles...we just have different ways of dealing with them. I doubt He is wreaking vengeance upon you...unless, of course, you have done something to deserve it."

[hamlet]

"I thank you for your kind words. I must confess my sombre mood is lightened somewhat by them. But to be in such high regard of a near stranger and disregard yourself? That I cannot understand."

Harry grinned, laughed a bit and sat down in the pew in front of Richard. "Let me tell you something, Mr. Plantagenet. I look at you and see a man of action. I bet you wouldn't be afraid to make some tough decisions if you had to. No, you know what you need to do and you do it, am I right? You know your purpose in this city, in general. Me?" He laughed and shook his head. "It's like one big joke. And everyone is in on it." He paused and went into a moment of bemusement. "At least, it really seems as if that's the case. Ever feel that way?" He knew few people did, he wasn't even sure why he asked.

"I don't know what to do with myself." He confessed. He wasn't sure if that answered Richard's question. It was more of a continuation of thinking aloud.

Except...he did. He knew, he just didn't want to follow through, not without being absolutely sure of his motivations. Not without knowing if he was doing the right thing. Half of him was convinced he was right, part of him was so lost that he was losing the will to care, and another part of him thought that all of this planning and scheming was pointless.

"Not that I'm attempting to say your troubles are in any way of less gravity than my own, you understand.We all have our troubles...we just have different ways of dealing with them. I doubt He is wreaking vengeance upon you...unless, of course, you have done something to deserve it."

Harry's expression turned into a grave one and he studied Richard for a moment, mulling over his words. "Yeah," he said, dryly.

He was conflicted. The thoughts that went through his mind, the hatred and disgust he felt for his uncle...God must have certainly damned him. But if He was really there, why did He allow his uncle to take his father away?

"I probably have." He answered, dismissively. He paused, not exactly wanting to continue down that road of conversation. Only in the attempt to change subjects, he said, "Anyway...so tell me, you're comptroller, you know this city's governmental goings on. Pretty big responsibilities there. Do you like it?"

It was a glimmer of his father shining through Harry at the moment. His father always had an interest in the people in governmental positions, making sure they were working for the people's best interests. He was known for being honorable in this way. But harry wasn't really concerned about Richard's intentions as much as he just wanted to change the subject.

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

"Let me tell you something, Mr. Plantagenet. I look at you and see a man of action. I bet you wouldn't be afraid to make some tough decisions if you had to. No, you know what you need to do and you do it, am I right? You know your purpose in this city, in general."

Richard was almost convinced that Harry Chandler could read minds. Either that or he, Richard, needed to stop slacking off when it came to hiding his true intentions. He was a man of action, he wasn't afraid to make tough decisions (understatement of the year) and he certainly knew what he needed to do. And he was doing it. Even now. Getting Chandler on his side, making himself seem more...acceptable to the public eye. Harry was certainly a good place to start.

But the poor young man said he didn't know what to do with himself. It seemed to Richard as though he had the money, the fame, the status...and now he was stuck, with nowhere to go. Of course, Richard didn't know the whole story, but that, at least, was what he had inferred.

Chandler disagreed with him then, mournfully insisting that he probably had ticked off the man upstairs in some way. Richard, not wanting to attempt in vain to talk Chandler round said nothing.

And then the younger man went and changed the topic of conversation entirely.

"Anyway...so tell me, you're comptroller, you know this city's governmental goings on. Pretty big responsibilities there. Do you like it?"

Do you like it? What a question. Richard was tempted to laugh again but, realizing it would come off as rude (as for once in his life he didn't want that) he managed to stop himself before he went too far.

"It's much better than working in the city planning department for certain," he said drily, remembering with sudden alacrity all too well the days he'd spent in those cramped and claustrophobic offices, poring over maps and charts, waiting for Edward to see sense and promote him (before he'd seen sense himself and joined the war effort, if indeed that had been sense).

"And yet..."

He paused, not sure what to say next, or whether he had even meant to add what he had done. There was no way come hell or high water that he would reveal his plans to anyone. Unable to come up with something appropriate that didn't pertain to Edward's imminent 'resignation' he said nothing more, hoping that Chandler would forget he'd said it.

[hamlet]

"It's much better than working in the city planning department for certain, and yet..."

Harry blinked his light eyes as a slow smirk appeared on his face. He rested his arm on the back of the pew where he sat, showing how much he was intrigued by Richard's pause.

"And yet?" he asked, with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

As muddled as Harry's mind was at the present moment, he was smart enough or, rather, paranoid enough to know when someone was holding something back. After all, he was an expert in keeping things to himself lately.

Harry's mind whirled around the motivations behind Richard's hesitation. Maybe his dream job was somewhere else, as this was often the case with most people. People usually think their lives are on the right track and they wind up in an office thinking to themselves, 'What the heck am I doing here? How did I get to this point?'

Or maybe the pressure really was getting to him. Maybe prayer really wasn't enough. Maybe he thought Harry was just like everyone else, searching for a story about the government to go make a splash in the next headlines of the New York Times.

So many maybes. He just had to take care of one of them.

After a pause he said, "Oh, come on, Mr. Plantagenet. You can tell me. Really." For no reason in particular, except for dramatic effect, he stated in a voice slightly lower and more secretive, "Do I really look like a guy that would gossip about juicy details to the press, or anyone for that matter?"

He laughed a bit and shook his head. "I'm just curious, honestly. What? Being comptroller isn't all it's cracked up to be?"

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

Richard bit back a furious curse. Not only had Harry picked up on what he'd said, but he was following it up with more questions. Think Richard think...make something up, anything...

"Oh, come on, Mr. Plantagenet. You can tell me. Really...Do I really look like a guy that would gossip about juicy details to the press, or anyone for that matter?...I'm just curious, honestly. What? Being comptroller isn't all it's cracked up to be?"

Richard wasn't sure he liked Harry's tone so much any more, or even the man himself. He was crossing the line, going too far... He didn't know it of course but he was. And this, naturally, made Richard angry. But he had to hide his fury from Chandler for fear he might somehow guess the truth. He'd already come close, all thanks to Richard's foolish slip of the tongue.

"I must confess you don't seem the type to go running to the Times," he replied, trying to keep his tone neutral. "But in my experience I've learnt it's simplest not to trust anyone. Not my fellow politicians, my friends...even my own family." Of course he was being hypocritical; he wanted the public to trust in his good image so they would support him when he became Mayor. But Chandler wasn't to know that. No-one was.

He felt like adding that curiosity killed the cat, but decided not to. No need to start with the personal insults. Chandler had a right to be curious, considering what Richard had said.

"There's nothing really that scandalous about what I'm going to say, really. Being comptroller of this city...it's rewarding, definitely. It has its merits. And yet despite the fact I enjoy my job I get that nagging feeling that I could be doing....something more."

He shrugged, as much as he could with one good arm, and attempted to speak airily. He hoped what he'd said would suffice and stifle any further curiosity from Chandler. If there was anything Richard didn't need right now it was an unexpected and unwanted interrogation.

"Before you ask, I am as yet unaware what that something more is."

Hopefully that would dissuade the younger man from any further questions. Hopefully he'd made it clear he didn't want his private matters to be pried into. All men live in hope.

[hamlet]

Harry grinned as Richard answered the question on his mind before he even asked it. He nodded and said with a sigh, "Ah, well, I think we're all like that in some way. Everyone wants to do something more and no one knows what more they can do. Its like..." He paused in thought. Of course, in the instance, he was reminded of his father again. Richard seemed so unbelievably honorable and good hearted. It was almost too disheartening to bear that someone outside the Chandler family was was doing a better job at carrying on his legacy of goodwill.

Or maybe this wasn't the case. Maybe like his uncle, like his mother, he was putting on some sort of mask. Maybe he was putting on a mask for the Plantagenet family in particular. How could Harry take anything at face value anymore? He simply couldn't. Oh, how quickly perspectives change in life. If it didn't affect Harry so much, he'd be utterly fascinated.

"...like..." He paused again. He then shook his head. "You know what? If you really think about it, there's nothing more you can do is there? Look at this city. I mean really take a look at it. It's almost completely, and utterly, a wasteland. What could you possibly do if you were to do anything? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I used to think like you...that I could do something more. But what's the point? This city is nothing but a...a parasite to itself. Feeding, feeding, feeding. Nothing will be left for you to do anything about, really."

His words were full of complete bitterness. He gave a frustrated sigh after his short speech to show his disgust with the city. He just wanted to get away from it. Move away, far far away. Away with Ophelia. But it wasn't possible. He had a legacy to bare, and only he could do so.

He really wanted another drink right now.

"I mean, you know where I'm coming from right? It's hard not to see it, as far as I'm concerned."

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

"Ah, well, I think we're all like that in some way. Everyone wants to do something more and no one knows what more they can do. Its like..."

Chandler paused; Richard assumed he was trying to come up with an example. He had to admit he was impressed at how the younger man was handling the conversation; what they were discussing were certainly not run-of-the-mill ordinary subjects but topics of a deeper and more meaningful sort.

If only Richard could have seen inside Harry Chandler's mind, maybe he wouldn't have been so impressed. Maybe he would have even been slightly worried, especially considering the fact Harry had touched on the idea of social masks.

As things stood, Richard was content to wait for the example Harry seemed so eager to give. Yet none was to come. Instead, Chandler spoke in a bitter and spiteful tone about the state the city was in, and how neither he nor Richard could do anything to help it. Richard couldn't help an inward smirk as Chandler's words reflected badly on Edward but decided not to mention this. It was an interesting comparison nonetheless, saying the city was like a parasite, destroying itself from within.

If Richard had his way, he thought, he would soon be destroying the perpetrator, and a new era would dawn on New York.

But he wasn't about to explicitly state that either.

"I mean, you know where I'm coming from right? It's hard not to see it, as far as I'm concerned."

"I do indeed, as you say, see what is happening to the city, and I hasten to assure you I am doing all within my power to stop its decay. But I do not have the authority to do all I would wish. There is a limit to the amount of power one can hold on Earth; as much as I would wish, it is not entirely up to me to decide the fate of this city, or indeed any place, nor is it yours, Edward's... In the end we have little control over what happens, I believe. Everything is in the hands of an even higher authority."

He didn't believe that in truth, of course. He was just saying it to answer the question, making it up as he went along. He didn't believe that God controlled everything that occurred on Earth; certainly those on Earth played their part in the forging of their lives' paths. He was by no means nearing the end of his journey with regards to life but certainly with regards to his life's goal, the mayoralty...it was so close, almost within his grasp...

And he had his suspicions that gaining power the way he planned was not what the King of Kings would have ordained.