(no subject)

[collects_strays]

[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.

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

"The Bernadone case, is it?"

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.

[collects_strays]

The bird trills again, and flickers to the side of the cage. Graham raises his eyes to Dr. Lecter. He presses his hands together, let's a moment pass before he speaks, but he doesn't look away.

"I don't have a suspect yet."

[cook_the_rude]

"It would probably be wildly unfair if I just told you," Dr. Lecter says, walking toward Will's table and letting the kitchen door swing shut. "Not to speak of ruining all the necessary character development."

[collects_strays]

"I wasn't asking you to."

The waitrat returns with his coffee, giving him a reason to look away as he collects it.

"But Peter Bernardone isn't my suspect."

[cook_the_rude]

"Of course he is not," Dr. Lecter says. "Still, he is the fulcrum of the case. It's his bird you have there, isn't it?"

[collects_strays]

His eyes still down, Graham nods.

"He seemed concerned about it."

[cook_the_rude]

"He's deeply concerned about all living creatures, great and small," Dr. Lecter says. "He lives up to his last name."

[themysciran_diana]

"A new pet?"

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.

[collects_strays]

"No, um -"

His eyes meet hers, very briefly, before he looks back to the starling.

"- I think I'm returning her."

[themysciran_diana]

Diana raises an eyebrow.

"Here? Was she a patron?"

It seems entirely possible.

"Or a visitor from the Dreaming?"

[collects_strays]

Graham shakes his head.

"It's to someone in my world. This was more of a detour."

[themysciran_diana]

"A deliberate one, or one of Milliways' 'accidents'?"

[collects_strays]

"It was... unplanned."

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."

[patterns_bloom]

"Will," Alana murmurs as she approaches, resting her hand against the back of a chair. She pauses for a moment, unsure if she should have approached him at all, trying to find the words to begin the conversation. She's never sure where she stands with him anymore.

At least he's out of prison, she thinks. "Why do you have a bird?"

[collects_strays]

He doesn't meet her eyes, instead looking to her hand as she rests it on the chair.

"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."

[patterns_bloom]

Her hand rests there unmoving. "That's an interesting way to butter someone up," Alana says, watching him watching her hand. She's unsure if she should ask to sit or not. She decides to go for it. "May I sit, please?"

[collects_strays]

Graham nods once, opening his hand to gesture toward the empty chair.

[patterns_bloom]

"Thanks," she says quietly, pulling it out to sink into it slowly. "So if Jack has you looking at cases again, that means you must be out of prison," she says, though the statement has the hint of a question to it. "I'm glad."

[collects_strays]

"I was released," he says, quietly. "The FBI thinks they've caught the Chesapeake Ripper."

[sunbaked_baker]

It's the sound that catches the girl's attention first, the bright, warbling trill not normally heard indoors bringing her attention up and out of the engrossing story within the pages of her book.

Leaning up against back of the nearby couch, she peers with wary curiosity at the bird and the man watching it.

[collects_strays]

Graham drinks his coffee, mostly watching the bird, though occasionally glancing away, in the direction of the door.

If he's noticed the girl, he doesn't show it.

[sunbaked_baker]

Her own gaze flicks to him every so often, as she watches the bird hop about in its cages, peering back at the room with its beady little eyes. It is beautiful, in its own way. The feathers that look like a faded black at first glance show iridescent blue-greens and violets throughout, like the colorful sheen of sunlight shining through oil on water.

Eventually, her curiosity overcomes her wariness, and the girl asks, "...What kind of bird is that?"

[collects_strays]

He looks over to her, not seeming surprised when she speaks.

"It's a European starling," he answers, glancing back down to the cage. "They're common in my world."

[sunbaked_baker]

"Oh!" she says, looking at the bird again. "We have those back home, too. Usually they're in big flocks like noisy clouds, going every which way together. I've never seen one up-close."

"...They're actually really pretty."

[collects_strays]

"That's usually how they are," he says, nodding. Graham leans slightly forward, as though to get a better look at the bird.

"I'm not sure how this one was separated."