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Mar. 21st, 2016 03:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
collects_straysHe'd wanted to go home.
It's not a building, or a place. It doesn't mean any one thing, nor is it always the same thing. Usually an ache for some kind of stillness, and familiarity, but this time it has something else attached. He could walk straight through the back door, find the dogs in the forest, but they're not what he's looking for. That ache is for something before -
Before Florence and Aukštaitija and Palermo. Before the last supper, before Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Before Garrett Jacob Hobbs and Dr. Lecter and Jack Crawford, and even before the dogs, before Quantico and before Wolf Trap.
His father had a drink for when they were broke. Bottom of the bottom shelf, it tasted terrible and still always burned his throat. And it worked quickly, so it lasted longer in the bottle than anything else in their cupboard, or trunk. Cheap and reliable and almost always around.
It's what Graham orders from the bar, carries to corner booth along with a glass tumbler, both in his left hand. (He can't seem to move his right.) He slumps back in the booth, pours a finger into the glass, and never looks beyond the table. The bandage on his forehead is clean, as are the few nicks on his face and the bruise along his eye, but nearly everything else about him seems ignored and unkempt.
[ooc: Open until it scrolls, but this will be a lot ofpost break-up drinking.]
It's not a building, or a place. It doesn't mean any one thing, nor is it always the same thing. Usually an ache for some kind of stillness, and familiarity, but this time it has something else attached. He could walk straight through the back door, find the dogs in the forest, but they're not what he's looking for. That ache is for something before -
Before Florence and Aukštaitija and Palermo. Before the last supper, before Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Before Garrett Jacob Hobbs and Dr. Lecter and Jack Crawford, and even before the dogs, before Quantico and before Wolf Trap.
His father had a drink for when they were broke. Bottom of the bottom shelf, it tasted terrible and still always burned his throat. And it worked quickly, so it lasted longer in the bottle than anything else in their cupboard, or trunk. Cheap and reliable and almost always around.
It's what Graham orders from the bar, carries to corner booth along with a glass tumbler, both in his left hand. (He can't seem to move his right.) He slumps back in the booth, pours a finger into the glass, and never looks beyond the table. The bandage on his forehead is clean, as are the few nicks on his face and the bruise along his eye, but nearly everything else about him seems ignored and unkempt.
[ooc: Open until it scrolls, but this will be a lot of
