Great Gatsby: Jude/Clem/Shane/Graham
Graham had been too damned stubborn to accept Jude's offer of sending a car once he was in Gatsby (oh, no, an address would be just fine) and he paid for it with every step he took.
They'd done a number on him, the Governor's thugs. Showering three times once he got to Shane's sister's place and finding new clothes couldn't mend fractured bones or fade bruises; wash away the blood and the hurt still lingered. No hospitals, not only because he hated them but because he had no money, no insurance, and so a home first aid kit had to be enough. The swelling had gone down some, but his face was still a discolored patchwork of bruises and cuts and he was marginally successful at hiding his limp when he walked. But otherwise he was clean, freshly shaven, not the bloodsoaked man who'd torn out somebody's throat with his teeth and spat it clear out.
Getting to Jude's mansion or whatever the hell it was wasn't easy, but he managed. Unarmed, because he knew Shane would be there out of sight and, really, after days in that storage unit he'd learned that he didn't need weapons to be lethal. Oh, he expected Jude Murphy to make a fuss but Clem said she wanted to go, said she wanted him to come get her, and that was enough for him. No rich boy was going to stand in his way.
The place was huge, the likes of which he hadn't seen since Constantos and even in comparison it was extravagant, too much, a stark reminder that in comparison Graham had practically nothing. No money, no job, and shelter was an apartment he shared with a cluster of other people. But he'd figure something out, Murphys and their wealth be damned. In plaid and jeans he didn't look like he belonged, not one lick, but he held his head high and asked for Jude at the gate, said he was here to see Clem, gave his name and who he was.
Led in by a butler, he didn't look around, didn't gawk or stare. None of that from the quiet man with dark eyes, and he could figure out easy enough that the fellow he was led to was the Murphy boy. No sign of Clem, though.
He didn't give a damn about Jude either way, but he remembered his manners. No need to jump into hostility right away. Ignoring the butler and his introduction, Graham extended a hand. "Must be Jude."