It is time to celebrate. Somebody carked it last week. Quenton is dead. Dead as a fucking doornail and a tissue from a tree. He ain't coming back from that. I'm so upset I couldn't stop crying when he was in hospital. All those years of him in the Arrow flashed before my eyes. The memories. The good times. Now. Who wants to put a bullet in Felicity's head?
Feel free to worship the ground I walk on as long as you don’t leave a mark on my shiny new shoes.