Will Graham (
collects_strays) wrote2014-05-11 01:27 pm
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[OOM] you favor the truth
He wasn't in the river.
Graham had been lying on his cot. Or had been asleep. Either way, rather than needing to retreat to the river, the door of his cell had unlatched. It's something that had happened before, and whatever state he was in, it hadn't concerned him. What he should do was simple, straightforward. He rose from the cot, stepped forward, and gently pushed the door open. The hall beyond his cell had been unrecognizable the moment he stepped out – he couldn't make out the ceiling, only scattered strips of light among dark branches; high dark trees climbed up along the walls; concrete petered out into small stones scattered among leaves and soil. Something glinting among the bars, and trees, before him.
On the other side, he's sitting on a rock near the Lake. Not making the same side trek through his mind has meant he's still dressed in the blue, numbered uniform. Graham isn't planning on entering the Bar.
Graham had been lying on his cot. Or had been asleep. Either way, rather than needing to retreat to the river, the door of his cell had unlatched. It's something that had happened before, and whatever state he was in, it hadn't concerned him. What he should do was simple, straightforward. He rose from the cot, stepped forward, and gently pushed the door open. The hall beyond his cell had been unrecognizable the moment he stepped out – he couldn't make out the ceiling, only scattered strips of light among dark branches; high dark trees climbed up along the walls; concrete petered out into small stones scattered among leaves and soil. Something glinting among the bars, and trees, before him.
On the other side, he's sitting on a rock near the Lake. Not making the same side trek through his mind has meant he's still dressed in the blue, numbered uniform. Graham isn't planning on entering the Bar.
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"Thank you," he repeats. "I know you're -"
Well - a superhero, which still feels strange to say. He gives another, short nod instead.
"But um," he continues, "- he's a killer, and a -"
Graham takes a deep breath "- prolific one."
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Perhaps she does.
"Do those he's killed have anything in common? In case he thinks to try his hand at such things here."
Diana has fought monsters before, many times.
She's killed them, too. When it was necessary.
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"He has no discernible motive," he answers. "No clear pattern."
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It may be in Ancient Greek.
"Do you have any advice for me, Will? Either in what I should do, or what I should not."
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But Graham doesn't say this. He doubts she'll want to hear that, and he hopes she is more than capable of surviving not wanting to hear it.
"Don't talk to him. If you don't have to. And um -"
Graham rubs his forehead. "- don't tell him anything about yourself."
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Clear-sighted though she may be, Diana prefers for herself to be the target rather than those that should not be on the front lines. (As it were.)
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He lowers his hand, but then glances away, back toward the forest.
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Before he goes back.
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So he doesn't. Graham's quiet, for a moment, and then gives her a weak smile. He raises his hand out to her.
"Thank you," he repeats.
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(The sadness she keeps locked away for another time.)
"You are always welcome, Will. Believe me."
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Then he turns, and walks back toward the forest.
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As he vanishes into the trees --
"Athena's wisdom go with you, Will."
If only she could be sure it would work.
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On the other side of the forest, Graham is lying on his cot, flat on his back. He moves his head far enough to look to the cell door, and see that it's locked in place. The hall beyond it is empty.
He rests his head, eyes back to the ceiling. And then, he shifts his hand, tilting it over the edge of his thin mattress.
The stone from the lake hits the floor with a quiet clack.