Will Graham (
collects_strays) wrote in
milliways_bar2014-12-12 04:24 pm
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[oom: hold my hand. Warnings for allusions to violence.]
The sliver of landscape visible through the door is bright white, a smooth layer of snow over a frozen field. Graham steps through the doorway, and closes it, cutting off the brief, cold draft that follows him.
He doesn't look surprised to see the bar. There's only a glance around, as he heads for an unoccupied table. In his right hand, he's carrying a small, rectangular cage – he sets it down on the table first, and the starling within it flutters from its perch to the narrow steel bars along the top, and then back again. Its black feathers shine in the new light, glinting with shades of violet down its throat, and blue and green along its wings. Graham takes a seat, pulling off his gloves and unwinding his scarf, but leaving on his long, gray coat. He sets the gloves and scarf on the table next to the cage, and orders a cup of coffee from a passing waitrat.
The starling makes a loud trilling sound and flits again to the side of the cage. Graham watches it, his face impassive.
The sliver of landscape visible through the door is bright white, a smooth layer of snow over a frozen field. Graham steps through the doorway, and closes it, cutting off the brief, cold draft that follows him.
He doesn't look surprised to see the bar. There's only a glance around, as he heads for an unoccupied table. In his right hand, he's carrying a small, rectangular cage – he sets it down on the table first, and the starling within it flutters from its perch to the narrow steel bars along the top, and then back again. Its black feathers shine in the new light, glinting with shades of violet down its throat, and blue and green along its wings. Graham takes a seat, pulling off his gloves and unwinding his scarf, but leaving on his long, gray coat. He sets the gloves and scarf on the table next to the cage, and orders a cup of coffee from a passing waitrat.
The starling makes a loud trilling sound and flits again to the side of the cage. Graham watches it, his face impassive.

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That is Dr. Lecter, in an apron and rolled-up shirt sleeves, sticking his head out of the Milliways kitchen as if to see what the bird noise was.
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"I don't have a suspect yet."
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The waitrat returns with his coffee, giving him a reason to look away as he collects it.
"But Peter Bernardone isn't my suspect."
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"He seemed concerned about it."
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Diana's smile is warm as she approaches, though it fades at the edges as she takes in Will's expression.
Impassive is rarely a good sign, she finds.
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His eyes meet hers, very briefly, before he looks back to the starling.
"- I think I'm returning her."
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"Here? Was she a patron?"
It seems entirely possible.
"Or a visitor from the Dreaming?"
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"It's to someone in my world. This was more of a detour."
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He looks up, with a small flicker of a smile. As he speaks, a waitrat returns with his coffee. He picks it up, and takes a sip from it, before he tells her -
"I saw Beverly in here, before."
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At least he's out of prison, she thinks. "Why do you have a bird?"
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"Jack asked me to -"
Graham pauses, then lets out a breath. "- to look at a case. I want to talk to someone, and I thought, um."
He leans slightly back in his chair, looking to the bird again. "I thought it might help."
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Leaning up against back of the nearby couch, she peers with wary curiosity at the bird and the man watching it.
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If he's noticed the girl, he doesn't show it.
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Eventually, her curiosity overcomes her wariness, and the girl asks, "...What kind of bird is that?"
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"It's a European starling," he answers, glancing back down to the cage. "They're common in my world."
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"...They're actually really pretty."
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"I'm not sure how this one was separated."
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