The conversation between Ramara and the young boy reminded Wade of a much younger boy who had tried to take up his father's place. Wade and many men-at-arms were clearing a town, after toppling the walls and breaking through a siege. They were clearing house after house, making sure there was no resistance. It had so far dispersed with little threat left, as they hadn't experienced resistance on this next street. The previous patrol had cleared a lot, so they had little to worry about.

The signs of resistance showed, and it had been adequately stifled well. Dead soldiers laid everywhere. Among them, there was a child, a boy, on the ground weeping over what Wade assumed to be his father. They simply looked over the boy as they passed over, but after the boy noticed them, Wade saw something unexpected. The boy was trying to pick up his father's crossbow. Wade already had his own crossbow in hand and he pointed it at the boy.

He was a long distance off from the child, and the rest of the men-at-arms were too far ahead. Wade was the only one far back enough to respond, or even notice. He looked at the boy, as the boy paid him no mind and kept trying to pick up the crossbow. "Don't pick it up." Wade whispered, as the child kept trying. His eyes became wet with frustration as his mouth shook. "Dontchu fuckin' pick it up." His voice was shaking, as he had killed before, but this was long before his days of dealing with genocide. 

Wade was a much younger man. This boy was perhaps a good decade younger and he persisted, until he held his father's crossbow in his hands and aimed it at Wade's comrades. "Dontchu fucking pull that trigger!" Before Wade knew it, he let loose a bolt from his crossbow on the boy. The boy went down, pierced through the heart by Wade's bolt. "FUCK!" He screamed it as he reloaded the crossbow, hastily. "Why'd you have to fucking do it?!" He said, his eyes watering up with frustration. 

Sometime after that, he started to experience a much bleaker world, killing more. Age stopped mattering, so did status and gender. He had killed all he could. The only thing he could hold onto was the fact that he was still alive and he had to make sure his comrades stayed alive, too.

Back in the present, Wade took the water and bread from the boy, graciously taking them back. "Yeah, whatever. Dick." His eyes looked dark as he had recalled the memory in a small flash. 

He noted the conversation between the two women and the boy. He wasn't sure if he liked everything he was hearing from the older woman, but she was spot on for much. "You're a fucking assassin?" Wade had a look of slight amusement on his face as he spoke towards the blonde emotionless female. He scratched his head, and puffed a little more on his pipe.

"Well, of course he fucking cared. We all just insulted his fucking choice of profession which has very sentimental meaning for him, obviously. I'd be pissed the hell off too." Wade finished his short ramble and swigged some of the water. "Wait, I was the only one who insulted his choice of profession." He laughed at the realization. He swigged at the water before hanging it around his torso from the strap that was around it. It dangled freely, annoyingly kicking out with every step he took. 

Wade's concentration seemed to settle on the ground as he walked quickly, beside the cart. His attention was unfortunately brought to what was going on between the jester of death and the paladin. The jester was playing with the paladin's long blonde hair and Wade was making a very disgusted looking face. "Ewwww, nooo." He said, to himself, not sure if anyone was listening. "Pretty boy? Aroused? What?" He said it all, not really thinking on whether or not the two of them could hear him, or if the older woman and the assassin were listening to him.