Graham Ross is a (hauntedsoul) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-07-16 11:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | !dc comics, *narrative, graham ross |
narrative: graham
Who: Graham
What: Narrative: post-Woodbury.
Where: Gotham.
When: Nowish.
Warnings/Rating: Some mentions of violence and ouchies.
Blood. Claws. Death, clawing its way down his throat and filling him up, up, until he either invited it into himself or suffocated from it.
This was what Graham remembered. When his eyes opened again, the left painfully swollen, he was no longer in the storage unit. He could feel cool air on his face, like he was out in the open, and he wasn't looking up at no ceiling. No, it was the sky. Pretty colors. Sunrise. Black and midnight blue melting into pinks and oranges, which would become that bright baby blue Lorelei had liked so much. He tried to breathe. Inhale, exhale. Hurt like a bitch, like sandpaper inside, but he could do it. He was alive.
Not dead.
Felt like every inch of him hurt, though. Bruises and cuts and he was soaked in blood, dried copper gone dark, some of it his and some of it not. His head throbbed, his jaw ached, and even the tiniest movement sent pain screaming through his entire body, set his goddamn nerves on fire. He licked his dry, cracked lips and tasted more blood. Distantly, he remembered the feel of skin between his teeth. Rip and tear, and he'd swallowed some blood. He had. It should have sickened him, but it didn't. He'd torn a man's throat clear out and ripped another man's face to shreds, and he didn't give a damn. Not one. He was only sorry he hadn't been able to kill the Governor before-- before--
Before what? He couldn't remember. Nothing beyond the man with claws intervening, and now he was... here. But he didn't know where here was.
Naked, bloodied, and looking like he'd gone through hell, Graham tried to sit up. It was a slow, laborious process, and halfway through using the slick stone wall at his back for support he thought of Clem.
Clem, and he ended up back on the ground, cursing in pain. Where was Clem? She'd been there, there, he'd gotten the bastard off of her, but then what? He tried to say her name, but his throat was too raw. Tried to call for Shane, but he tasted iron when he tried to form words.
Clem, Shane. Clem, Shane. Repetition, and his only priorities. He fought through the searing pain and struggled onto all fours, a wild-eyed beast of a man in an unfamiliar alley, and little by little he made his way out. Knees already scraped raw bled anew as he crawled over the concrete, and he found a homeless man at the mouth of the alley, weighed down by coats and clothes and curled up on a pile of garbage bags.
Graham stopped. Waited. Watched. The man noticed him, eventually, jerking upright, yellowed eyes gone wide.
"Need a coat." It was hoarse, and he coughed up blood, but he got the words out.
The homeless man kept staring, and Graham bared bloody teeth in a feral snarl. Maybe he was an animal, now. He looked for Lorelei but she wasn't there, was nowhere, and neither were Shane and Clem. He growled again, made a move forward, and the man hastily writhed and jerked to free himself of one dirty overcoat and tossed it his way. "Here! Leave me alone!"
Graham did.
He managed to get the coat on, managed to do up the zipper with fumbling fingers, and ha ha, wasn't it funny, he found his phone in the pocket. Ha ha ha.
He found himself a quiet spot, curled up in a corner, and turned it on.