The cell door closes behind Grigor with a click. He's given the khaki pants and button-down shirt he wore to his trial a year ago. It has misdemeanant written all over it (figuratively, of course), but he doesn't have anything else to wear. Melina had come and swiped the Hermes costume for a production of Dido, Queen of Carthage. At least she'd been nice enough to buy him a suitable replacement for court.
He takes his clothes to the jail's only bathroom and changes, remembering the day that she came to visit him. It was sudden, unexpected, and he was startled. When his cell door clinked open that time a year ago, Grigor's body moved with a jolt of surprise, toppling his head and elbows from his knees:
"Visitor," the bailiff, Agathon, announced gruffly. "Come with me."
The holding cells were in the back of the building, connected to the reception area via a tall, narrow white hallway that had a door on each end of it. Another door in the middle opened to a visiting area, where Grigor now followed Agathon.
A sudden clanging sound made Grigor's body stiff like death, shuddering and bolting for air. He looked down to the guard's large hand, which had produced a set of keys. They were small but rang loud in the placid nothingness of the hall, the jail, his perplexed coronary arteries.
The door opened. Grigor frantically braced himself against the startled portion of his senses that caused these hideous overreactions. Soon he would be in the presence of people, and he once prided himself on his social abilities. Then he stepped forward, grateful that Agathon didn't rush him, and listened for the door to shut so he wouldn't jump.
Unfortunately, he did jump when he saw his visitor. Primly she sat in a chair, a petite figure with gray streaking her temples and concentrative lines carved indelibly over her brow. Her dark lips pulled forward in a frown as she regarded him, this insolent would-be thief profiting off a culture as revered as the sun. Then, as if reading Grigor's mind, her eyes fell to the ground and returned bearing a mist of restraint. "You may find it odd that I've come—"
"No." Grigor shook his head, accidentally cutting across her. "I've missed people."
She stopped, blinked, then began speaking again. "The Phideas Cultural Center is putting on another play to celebrate the beginning of autumn. Some of the museum's backers have insisted that they want to see Dido, Queen of Carthage. And," here she falters, her eyes falling away again. "I need the clothes you were arrested in."
Stupidly Grigor looked down to his chest, expecting to be greeted by a thick gold vest, no doubt meant to resemble armor, and the beginnings of the scarlet cape in his peripherals. The gray perplexed him. He could think only of his banal life here. There was no before.
Melina cleared her throat.
His eyes flickered back up to her. Her face returned his memory to him. "Hermes," he managed, choking past the sudden urge to stutter. "You want Hermes. The costume, for Hermes."
"Yes."
But Hermes he was unwilling to give. For one thing, Grigor felt sometimes that he himself was the messenger god who excelled in tricks and thievery, with all of the stealing he's done over his lifetime. And if he gave away his flesh and his bones and life force, he might as well have started calling this dusty jail cell home. And even if Grigor was wrong about being Hermes' mortal reincarnation, he knew one thing for sure: Hermes brought him comfort through a sudden, vivid recollection of the Iliad, characterized there as a gentle god who cared about humans. Grigor had lost his last copy, a library book which he'd forgotten to return in Philadelphia before moving to Newark. Hermes was quick on his feet, an attitude Grigor had to adopt when playing him as a character, and Grigor still needed that cunning and the ability to conjure Hermes so he could figure out what he was going to do for the rest of his life or, at least, for a little while. Most importantly, Hermes was a god. He was a god, and no matter how many times Hades tried to kill him, he couldn't.
"I don't know where it is," he lied clumsily. "I think they got rid of it."
Melina's eyes softened. "I called before, and the bailiff says it's here."
Grigor didn't want this reaction to terrify him, but it did. His life was about to end, he was sure, and at the realization his heart dropped into his stomach. He was falling into the Styx where Hades awaited him, leering. "I have a trial in three weeks," he heard himself say flatly. "I can't wear this."
"Oh." Melina replied. "I didn't think of that."
He bit down his lips, bit them both down hard on the frustration rising and swelling in his lungs. It was disproportionate and he knew it was disproportionate. Then the anger veered inward toward himself.
He didn't want to be bothered. He didn't want to be bothered.
All these people were connected to Thanos, anyway.
"Are you familiar with Dido, Queen of Carthage? I don't know anything about it."
Grigor inhales, clearing his inner turmoil. "No." Once upon a time he'd be leaning forward in his seat when discussing a play performance, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.
Now it was just, "No."
Her gaze fell to the floor, embarrassed.
He shut his eyes tight and opened them again. He had to be nice, even if he wasn't purposefully being mean, even if it took every last bit of his strength. "Marlowe, right?"
"I—" Melina paused. "I think so."
"I don't know anything about Dido, but Christopher Marlowe was a contemporary of Shakespeare. Isn't an Elizabethan English play kind of weird for the Greek crowd?" It came out harsher than he meant it. He winced. At least the question was a fair one overall.
"A good number of the museum's backers are from England." A slight note of disapproval clung to her voice, as Grigor knew it would. Greeks were nothing if not proud of their heritage.
And rightly so.
He summoned a grin. "Try Ion next time."
The memory ends there, and Grigor stares at the gray bathroom wall with a blank mind.
But soon tiny threads of the memory stagger forward, prompting other memories. Sometimes Grigor dreams that he's back in his old barren Philadelphia apartment learning to play a guitar he'd scraped up the money to buy. No matter how many times he untangles his fingering hand and plants each finger on each string, he can't make a proper sound. Somehow the fingers would still pile and blunt the strings. Oh, but I did it right, he always tells himself. I made sure the fingers were right and I didn't move them. So he strums across the sound hole first light, then harder and harder thinking it'll make itself right. And it doesn't, and his fingers callous until they're nothing but red and translucent, and he always has to set his guitar down before smashing it through a window.
He never knows why he gets those dreams, but now he can guess, since what happens in the dream is exactly what trying to talk to people in his current state is like.
Grigor finishes buttoning his shirt and returns to the reception area, where Agathon's waiting for him. He stops.
Agathon, standing next to the entrance, stares down his hook nose at him. He blinks once.
Maybe he's not allowed to leave yet, Grigor thinks. "Uh… bye?" He tries.
"Be good," Agathon replies in a thick Greek accent. "I like you, but I would not like to see you here again."
"I will be. Very good. And thanks." He pushes open the front door. Almost immediately his eyes rush shut to protect themselves. He'd forgotten just how sunny Athens could be.
Doing that was a mistake. It's starting again. He gasps for breath.
"You know how it is to be alone, yes?" Thanos presses his throat to the bark.
He opens and closes his eyes, seeing only bright lights.
"Some complaints of yours have been circling, Karakinos. Certain complaints about Ms. Doukas making your role bigger. If the Drew girl finds out any other relevant details to your place in this operation, I will crush your windpipe, burn your body, and throw your ashes in the electrified water down here."
Grigor wrenches his arms behind him to feel the air, but it's already over. He's not there anymore, shoved against Hades' favorite tree in the pits of Phideas Culture Center's amphitheater.
His eyes flutter open.
He's here, outside the local jail, one year later.
Thanos was right about one thing, though. He's completely alone. No evidence of the flashback except the shaken edges of his mind.
Still panting, Grigor lowers himself slowly to the ground. Stay optimistic, he reminds himself. The days are hard, but they're nothing compared to the nights. Dreams of his childhood or lack whereof, the darkest corners of Olympus, being locked in the underworld with his talaria clipped and shackled. Unlike flashbacks, these last more than a few seconds and can't be reasoned out of. Can't wake himself up, just wait for his body to reach a point when it can't take it anymore, long after his mind is gone.
"Hey. You okay?"
Grigor jumps as two jean-clad calves appear in front of him. "I'm fine," he says coldly. "Don't touch me."
"Wasn't gonna." The voice sits down, revealing a cute blonde girl wearing pigtails and oversized red headphones. She tucks her knees to the side.
He sinks forward, head sliding into his hands. Oh gods, what's the matter with him?
"Maybe would've kicked you or something just to make sure you weren't dead in such a meditative pose. I mean, it's not a terrible way to die, but still."
"I'm sorry." His fingers muffle his voice. "You just startled me. That's all."
"Oh, I know," she replies cheerfully. "I'm sorry, though. I thought you saw me coming. I swear I'm not a ninja."
He laughs in spite of himself. "Good to know." The sound of faint music distracts him. "Is your music still going?"
"Oh. Yeah." A sheepish grin bubbles to her lips as she turns her iPod off, and she tucks a stray curtain of hair behind her cheek. "Have you ever listened to K-Pop? I swear the stuff's addicting."
"K-Pop, huh?" Grigor shares her smile. "Why K-Pop?"
She shrugs. "Why not?"
"I guess that's as good a reason as any."
"It definitely is. I mean, lots of people ask 'Why?' But not enough people ask 'Why not?' Like, my friend Nancy said she was coming to Greece to visit somebody being released from jail and asked me to come with her so I said, 'Why not?'"
Grigor's smile fades as he ponders this.
"Wait, what?" Bess blinks. "Oh wait. Are you the guy?"
"My name's Grigor, if that helps."
"Grigor!" She exclaims. "So that's how you pronounce it! See, I thought there was a long e sound involved. Yeah. Nancy—Nancy Drew, I guess you know her—she was supposed to meet me here at 1, and it's 1:15. She tried to rope me into going to the Acropolis with her and I said, 'Not on your life! Way, way, wayyyyyy too many steps.' Now I would've done it if baklava was involved, but she said there wasn't enough time to get any before coming to see you. So I went off on my own and ate all the baklava I wanted. Hah!"
"Hmmm." The enthusiasm isn't as infectious this time. "Nancy's coming to see me?"
"Yeah. There are other people, too, but I don't remember any of their names." Bess's eyes go large. "Oh, shoot! I wasn't supposed to say any of that! Just—act like it's a surprise like it's supposed to be. I'm going to get out of here before Nancy sees me talking to you and figures out that I told you everything." She starts sliding her headphones back over her ears. "I don't know why they're so late. Hopefully the whole ancient structure didn't collapse on them or something. Bye!"
"Wait. Who else was coming did you say again?"
"I didn't. Nancy's coming, Sonny her boyfriend couldn't make it which is why I'm here, and there's one other person Nancy knows from when she was tracking that one guy down—sorry, can't keep the names straight. The person who's coming has a really Greek name. That's all I remember."
"Niobe?" He means to say, although it doesn't come out louder than a whisper.
"Yep! That's her!"
"Great, thanks. I won't tell Nancy you told me."
"Told you what?" Bess asks blankly. Then: "Oh!" She drags her hands down her face. "After I just told myself I would keep my mouth shut! And with Niobe and Thanos—I mean Nancy! Thanos not coming! Not coming, for sure! Why did I say that they don't sound alike at all oh my gosh…"
The name knocks him into the Phideas fiasco, shattering past the time that had passed since then like it's crystal. It jerks him backward, throws his eyes around the current setting for that sable-haired giant. But all he sees is a set of steps and a rather bewildered looking girl. He's still in the present.
Still in the present.
Still here.
Relieved that he doesn't have to deal with another flashback in the span of ten minutes, Grigor laughs until he cries.
"I'm so sorry!" Bess starts to panic. "How awful of me!"
"No." Grigor says, emphasizing the statement with a vehement shake of the head between chortles. "This is exactly what I needed."
"So are you actually Greek?" Bess asks with a hint of excitement. "You don't really look like anybody else I've seen here."
"No, I'm not Greek. Do you want to know what my real name is?" He throws a mirthful glance at her. It's true what they say: the truth does set you free. With all the candor flying around Grigor could be flying himself.
"Just don't try to tell me it's Tom Thompson or Andrew Andrews or something crazy." She laughs. "Anyway, my name's—"
"Bess!" Shouts an exasperated voice behind her.
She turns and greets the newcomers, waving wildly. "Hi, Nancy! Look who I found!"
"Yes, and I'm sure you ruined the surprise."
"Ruined what surprise?" Grigor calls. "We've been talking about baklava the whole time!"
Bess returns with a muttered "Thanks," and they share an amused, knowing look.
Grigor physically braces himself before looking over to the one person whose presence he dreads most: Niobe.
She's standing a little ways away by herself, wearing all black like he remembers her. Still mourning her departure from an art career.
Social propriety likely mandates that he go over and say hello.
Niobe sharply turns her head to him as he approaches.
"Hey," he says. "Didn't mean to startle you there."
She looks down to her feet. "I know," she mutters. "But I always startle."
"So do I," Grigor admits.
"You?" Her eyebrows rise. "But you were the one person who had it together in Greece. Well, you and…" She won't say his name, either. Too much venom.
"Nah. I just channel a time when I did feel like I had it all together."
Niobe smiles wanly. "You act."
"Yeah. And since I've stopped acting it's been nothing but feelings." Looking both ways to ensure there are no eavesdroppers, Grigor continues. "Tell me, is this how you felt when you got booted from the art world?"
Her smile turns sour. "This is worse."
Both look away, entering a tense silence.
"I helped catch him, you know. It's a relief."
It's Grigor's turn to be surprised. "How'd you manage that?"
"I slammed a car door in his face and beat him with a flashlight."
He laughs. She joins in quietly.
Another silence. Grigor runs his hand through his hair. "I'm happy to see you, but it's really hard separating you from everything that went down in Greece."
Niobe relaxes, chasing deeply-etched brow lines off her face. "I didn't even think about how hard seeing you would be, and now I'm not prepared for it," she confesses in turn. "I'm still glad I did because it was the right thing to do."
And in that moment there, in the cyclone that is Greece, it almost seems like there's hope for them.
"I'm glad to see you out."
Grigor turns.
Nancy is now addressing him with a quarter grin. "Just so you know for sure, we got Thanos."
He inhales sharply.
Niobe's fists clench.
Instinctively Nancy looks away, wincing.
"Nancy, you're basically a spy, right?" Bess trots up to them. "So why don't we call him a super cool code name? It would be very enjoyable."
"Um… okay."
"Okay, well, how about this?" Bess continues with a wide grin. "Evel Knievel?"
"Fine," Nancy blinks and continues. "Evel Knievel is in a maximum security prison."
"Who is this 'Evel Knievel?'" Niobe asks, eyes going between the two.
"Don't really know," Bess replies. "He's got a cool name, though."
They fall into a half-comfortable, half-awkward silence.
"Would anybody like to eat?" Niobe cuts in. "I haven't had anything since getting off the plane."
"I'm up for that," Nancy adds with a noncommittal shrug.
"I can eat more!" Bess chimes in. She swivels. "Grigor?"
"Sounds good!"
Fifteen minutes later finds them at a little cafe with Bess monopolizing the conversation.
Or, at least, monopolizing the conversation and throwing it Grigor's way after seeing how quiet he is.
"So what does your last name mean? Karakinos? Names tell you something about the person, you know."
Grigor gulps down a mouthful of spanakopita. Prison food hadn't been anything to brag about. "Means pest," he replies.
Bess giggles. "No way. Pest?"
"Hera sent Karkinos, the crab, to pester Herakles and distract him from completing one of his twelve labors. It didn't work. Herakles kicked Karkinos into the sky where he still is now, in the Cancer constellation."
"You're in the sky? That's so cool! I mean, I know it's your other name and all, but it's still so cool. Plus you're immortal in a way."
"Yeah." He sits up straighter and smiles to split the ceiling. "Guess I am."
Niobe rises. "Nancy, I saw an artifact in the powder room that you will appreciate."
A little perplexed, Nancy looks up at her. "I'll see it later maybe."
"No, you must see it now. Come."
"But—"
"Life is too short to pass up inopportune moments," she snaps. "Come. Do not insult me."
Grigor stifles laughter behind the back of his hand. Bess begins coughing maniacally. Grigor hands her a menu to hide behind, after which her coughs dissolve into poorly-disguised snickers.
Annoyed, Nancy slides her bag off the side of the table in one quick movement and follows Niobe.
"So what about you, Bess?" Grigor asks her when they're gone. "What's your story?"
"My… story?" Her brow furrows in confusion. "I'm not really sure I have one."
"Everybody does. For starters, what are you doing in Greece?"
"Oh, Nancy invited me. After her boyfriend wasn't coming, of course." Bess's smile flickers. "Had a final or something."
"That's funny. Don't remember Nancy bringing the boyfriend along for other cases."
"Yeah, this one's different. They both like to travel. Which means it's probably serious."
"Well, at least you don't have to be serious," Grigor offers, noticing her sudden downtrodden attitude. "Minus all the economic trouble, Greece is pretty much the place to forget about your worries."
Her face molds into an expression of astonishment, and she laughs. "It's not literally true, but it is nice to believe, isn't it?" she offers.
Surprised, Grigor hesitates. He secretly agrees, but most people don't. He'd learned to say it to uphold societal expectations. "What do you mean it isn't literally true?"
"Well it wasn't true for you, and it wasn't true for Nancy. Besides, there's no place where trouble can't find you." Her grin reappears. "Especially if Nancy's involved."
Grigor smiles appreciatively. Once upon a time he'd said a very similar thing. "You know," he begins, "I've gotta thank you. I promised myself I'd tell only the truth when I got out of jail, and you're making it a lot easier than I thought it was going to be."
"Well, I'm glad," she says decidedly. "The truth is always good. You've also made the whole going-to-Greece-and-barely-knowing-anybody spiel a lot easier for me. I mean, I'm mostly a social person, but there's been a period in my life where nothing coming out of my mouth makes sense. It's like aliens invaded my mind."
"I've definitely had those days." Leaning back in his chair, Grigor feels the nostalgia wash over him. "So I'd think, 'The character I'm playing, what would he say?'"
"That's right! You're an actor!" Bess's eyes spark. "Are you one of the super broke ones who does it out of love for theatre but has to do other jobs to make a living?"
"More or less." He starts rapping his knuckles on the table.
"And thinking about what your characters would say, that's a really useful strategy."
"It is if it doesn't become a crutch. For me, it did. I actually stopped acting because of it. Right now, I'm a little bit lost."
Bess leans forward confidentially, concern quickly rising on her face. "Lost?" she repeats.
"I need to figure out who I'm gonna be, you know, without the help of my characters."
"You should direct," she says without missing a beat. "You've had a lot of time to think about your characters. Obviously you know enough about acting to direct."
For a few seconds Grigor feels nothing but the sting of her intuition. Moving out of the stunned stupor, he shapes his words and releases them. "I've definitely thought about it. That's probably what I'm going to end up doing."
"That's wonderful!"
He chuckles wryly. "Is it? I haven't taken any steps. I'm not even sure I'll actually start directing just because I said I would."
"Well, you've recognized what's wrong, which is always a solid step toward solving it." Bess pushes on, leaving no time for an awkward pause. "Besides, it doesn't matter if you change your mind, just as long as you're doing what's best for you."
Raising his eyes to meet hers, Grigor tries to smile.
"So you want to know my story," she begins in a new vein, almost as if she sensed his weariness. "I just dropped out of college and have no idea what I'm going to do. Already tried woodworking, pottery, and piano. Those didn't pan out. I'm just not good at most things. Maybe interior design—sounds kind of fun to me—but my community college doesn't really have a degree for it. And I used to think I'd want to live in River Heights forever, but that was before I left it."
"So there's your present. What about your past?"
"Past, huh? Hmmmm." Bess's eyes narrow on the table in a heavily concentrative expression. "I'm not great at suddenly transitioning from 'I am,' to 'I was.' Let's see… past. I mean, I had a relatively normal childhood. Nancy, George, and I were tight. We would help Nancy solve mysteries about what happened at school. Other than that, school was pretty boring. No sports, cooking club, B student."
Grigor nods. "Guess high school is the same no matter where you are. Back in Philadelphia they had a million sports teams, a few religious clubs, and one tiny drama club. That's all I did there."
"How tiny we talking?"
"Five people, one play a year most years."
"That's even smaller than my cooking club was," Bess says, impressed, "which is saying something since I created it."
"Wow. You founded your own club?"
"Yep. Still going, too."
"You sure you don't want to become a chef or something?"
"If I can make a living on it. And all signs seem to point to an impossibility there. My dad keeps reminding me I have to think in terms of salary, not a bit of money here and there. I'm on thin ice with him." Her eyes drift slightly to the side.
Grigor turns and follows her gaze.
Nancy and Niobe are making their way towards the two.
"I'm tired," Niobe announces, placing her hands on her chair and leaning on them. "Nancy, I'm sure you're suffering from jetlag. Perhaps we should go get some rest."
"I'll go in a little while," Nancy replies. "Just want to ask Grigor some questions. Good talking to you again, Niobe."
"Yes, well." Niobe's eyes flicker down and to the side. Grigor can tell she's displeased. "Remember that Greece is tiring on the soul."
That line rings true, even if she's just saying it to give him and Bess some alone time.
"Niobe," Grigor rises. "I'm so glad to see you're doing well."
"Likewise, Grigor. All the best." She nods at him, then leaves.
Nancy takes her seat. "Have you figured out where you're going to be sleeping tonight, Grigor?"
"Yes," he replies automatically, keeping his hands in his lap from fidgeting. He's thought about this every night in jail, known without question that he'd nestle into some alleyway.
Visibly biting back a wince, Nancy tries again. "Have you?" she repeats.
"You know what I haven't done in a while?" Bess says at the same time. "People-watched at three in the morning. And thanks to the time difference, I know I'm going to be up for some time to come."
Grigor brightens at the prospect of putting off nightmares for another day.
Nancy looks away. "Bess, that doesn't exactly solve anything," she finally admits.
"Maybe not, but people come up with great ideas at three in the morning."
"Ladies, no need." Grigor squirm-proofs his body by planting his feet into the floor. "I already have arrangements."
"Well sure you do," Bess swivels to face him, "but probably with noisy obnoxious acquaintances, right? Everybody hates that. So let's people watch. You can show me the city, and then we can crash at a hostel. Sound good?"
Grigor bites back a smile, although his unquenchably grateful eyes dart to hers for a millisecond. Very few people could so easily navigate the maze of pride. Bess is a natural. "I'm game," he replies.
Nancy blinks and opens and closes her mouth several times.
She's processing the implication, Grigor realizes. Briefly he wonders if a sworn oath that his intentions are goddess-pristine would do anything except make things more awkward.
Nancy turns back to Grigor. "Have you started to figure things out long term? I know it can be particularly difficult with people in your situation. So here," she digs through her purse until she pulls out a piece of paper, "is a letter of recommendation for future potential employers. Maybe that'll help get you started."
His hands are shaking before the paper reaches them. He closes it along its natural crease and looks up. "Nancy," he begins. Then shakes his head. "Gosh, I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything. You don't need to."
"Thank you. Thank you. I can't say it enough times, so just listen to the thanks in my voice."
"Don't mention it. We worked together at the Phideas Cultural Center, after all." Nancy, clearly embarrassed by his effusiveness, drops her eyes down to her hands. "Our flight leaves at 11:30," she reminds Bess. "That means we'll have to arrive two hours early."
"Not a problem," Bess replies warmly.
"Right. Okay. I'm tired. I'll be going then." Nancy raises her gaze again and smiles.
Grigor thanks her several times more, and Nancy responds to each one while hastening her exit and probably flushing red. He turns to Bess. "Did you know she was going to do that?"
"No." Her pigtails shake with her head. "It doesn't surprise me, though. Nancy wasn't happy you had to serve any time at all, especially since you gave her everything you were going to use yourself to escape."
"Uh," Grigor feels his cheeks going pink. "You guys talked about me?"
"Not really. Nancy said it on the flight up, but she said it quietly so I think she was more talking to herself. Probably thought I was sleeping."
"I'm going to stop acting," Grigor announces randomly. He holds back a wince. Social ineptitude bites.
Bess's face falls. "Stop acting? But why?"
"Well, I said earlier that I might start directing."
"But you don't have to stop acting to start directing."
"It reminds me too much of what happened in Greece, honestly. I've had a lot of time to think about it and I'm not doing it."
"Well, maybe you'll try later on. It might feel like it right now, but trauma doesn't last forever. It doesn't go away in the typical sense, but it changes."
"And how would you know that?" Grigor's voice goes steely. He blinks. He hadn't meant to be aggressive. But when he opens his mouth to apologize, Bess is already speaking.
"I was kidnapped."
Grigor's mouth contorts without producing speech. What she said, plus the matter-of-fact way she said it…
"One of Nancy's cases. Somebody she sent to prison figured that taking me would be the quickest way to get to her. Turns out, it was."
He blinks. "Jesus."
"It wasn't all bad. We were supposed to be on a vacation, and we got to go on a real vacation after that. Two weeks in the Bahamas. Pretty awesome."
"Bess, that's—wow. That's terrible."
She stops talking, puzzled. "The vacation?"
"The being kidnapped."
"Well, fortunately it wasn't for very long. Less than a day. And I had this feeling that everything would be okay."
Grigor looks down, embarrassed at his fixating on the negative aspects of things. Before a few months ago, he'd hardly ever done it. Now the habit was laced behind every moment of his existence.
"Hey."
He meets her eyes again.
"Do you want to talk about it?" She asks softly, knowingly.
"I just… don't know who I am anymore. It's done, but I'm still terrified." He bites his lip and rests his head in his hands.
"Well, I don't know anything psychology-related, but it seems like one of those things that'll go away over time if you do the right kind of things and hang around the right kind of people."
He doesn't look at her, can't look at her, since the Phideas fiasco comes spiraling back in the black he sees behind closed fingers and—
"So now let's talk about something happier," Bess chirps. "Cupcakes!"
"Cupcakes?" Grigor repeats, stunned, as the images start to disperse. He raises his head.
"Well, yeah. They're the one thing I miss from America, and I've only been gone for three days. Speaking of which… hmmm." Bess laces her fingers together and places her chin on them. "I believe you're supposed to show me Athens, so where's our first stop?"
"National Garden, one of the best spots for people-watching."
They don't talk much on the way there. Once upon a time it would've bothered Grigor. Once upon a time he'd say stuff until he was blue in the face just to spare his own discomfort at emptiness. He'd still do it if he could since now his head is spinning with the silence so hard it's making him a little nauseous. But all of a sudden there's so little to say, since to open his mouth is to open the Pandora's box of stupid, random statements that come with psychological brokenness.
To make matters worse, Bess is just as clear an extrovert and looks every bit as fidgety as he feels.
The frustration starts to build in his chest, shortening his breaths. His eyes float out of his head until he's not seeing anymore, not with his face anyway. He doesn't know what's happening. It's a disaster. This whole thing is a disaster.
"You know, a friend of mine once advised me to take some time and listen to my own thoughts and it didn't make a lot of sense to me at first, but now," Bess' words run together until they stop, abruptly, and she continues: "it's… it's nice."
"It is, in a way," Grigor replies. The discomfort doesn't stop completely after that, but at least it's not unbearable now that he knows he's not actively disappointing someone. The thought brings him back to his childhood years and his habit of borrowing the diaries of his foster parents to see what they wanted in a kid. His youth was never as bad to him as it sounds to people, or maybe he's forgotten how bad it was.
He remembers hearing some opera—he's normally not into that type of theatre—but it was a modern opera, and it said that the woes of children were no worse than those of adults but they hurt more.
Maybe that's true.
Maybe he has forgotten and he's no longer himself.
The thought hangs on to him like he used to hang on to other people as a kid.
Wow.
Déjà vu bites.
Once they're at the Gardens, Bess' head revolves to take in all the white and green. Persimmon sunlight shatters through the stoic blue of the sky, signaling the arrival of early evening. She slows her step. "Are those… palm trees?"
"Yeah, Greece's finest vegetation." Grigor scratches the back of his head and laughs sheepishly. "I don't know much about palm trees, but the Greeks probably invented them along with everything else."
"Did the Greeks invent pizza?"
"As a matter of fact, they did."
"So… what, then?" Bess asks, peering up at him. "Feta cheese instead of mozzarella? Olives on top of the tomatoes? I mean, how does that work?"
"Couldn't really tell you. I haven't been here long." Grigor eyes the walkway and footbridge thirty paces up ahead. "But I always imagined it would just be piles and piles of vegetables—tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant, kalamata, you know, all of that stuff on semolina dough, and it would kind of look like a mini Mount Olympus when it's all put together."
"Semo—lina?" Bess repeats, puzzled.
"It's a Greek flour. Don't ask me how I know about it."
"You got obsessed with Greek culture and that's just one of many bits of random knowledge you've picked up, right?" Bess laughs, then looks away self-consciously. "Definitely done that a lot. South Korea being my latest obsession… I mean, project, I mean… interest," she amends, placing a peculiar stress on the last word. "Yeah, that's it."
"So, what's cool about South Korea?"
"Well for one thing, the people there are thinkers."
Grigor's eyebrows rise. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. There's something on their flag that has to do with the national philosophy or something. I mean, it looks like the yin and yang sign, which is all about the balance of light and dark forces in your life." Her eyes light up, and her hands begin whirring with expressive motion. "And I—I like it because I feel like everybody likes telling you to forget about the bad stuff that happens to you, I mean, nobody likes talking about it and listening to it but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen or should be glossed over and yin and yang is just, the, perfect," here she spreads her hands outward, "the perfect way to come to terms with that."
He watches her. "So which is the dark side and which is the light one?"
"Yin is dark, yan is light."
They walk for a while in another silence, this one more comfortable than the last. With a little imagination Grigor could have just finished stage managing a production earlier that day, since exhaustion is tugging at his eyelids.
Then, suddenly, he feels inspired to talk. "You know how light bulbs hurt your eyes if you stare at them too long?" he asks.
She looks over at him, shoulders straightening subtly. "Yeah?"
"Well the intuitive thing would be to compare them to the sun, but what if they were more like the moon instead? If the moon was closer to us, I bet it would burn out our eyes too." Shouldn't have said anything. Kicking himself. No surprise.
What is a surprise is that Bess humors him, nodding and looking contemplative. "The sun's going to set soon, so we can test out your theory if the moon is full enough."
They've long since passed the bridge Grigor noticed a while back, but now they're standing on another one.
"You know," Bess begins, eyes trailing the running water underneath, "they always say stuff about crossing bridges, which is well enough I guess, but what about burning bridges? I mean, have you actually ever known somebody to burn a bridge? The closest I've known is somebody cutting a rope bridge and making my cousin fall and break her leg."
Grigor shudders. "That sounds… pleasant."
"Well the falling wasn't, I can tell you that much, but George was on some sort of drug that made her sleepy all of the time and pretty happy when she wasn't sleeping."
"How's she doing now?"
"Oh, much better. Back running track marathons and whatever sportsy people like her do."
"So what about you? What do you like to do? In your spare time, I mean?"
"Socialize. People are interesting, aren't they?"
"Yes," Grigor says, eyes going hazy with consideration. "Yes, they are." He yawns.
Turns out they're both more tired than they gave themselves credit for. They head to a hostel Bess wrote down in her phone and tumble into bunk beds in a mixed-gender dormitory room she paid everything for, like a saint.
Saint Bess.
Has a ring.
"Grigor?" she asks right before they drop off.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think the Greeks invented milkshakes?"
"I… uh… probably."
"I mean, it goes really well with the Greek diner and fries theme I think."
"It does."
"And I know the Romans didn't do it."
"Yeah, the aqueduct was the only thing they could come up with themselves. Great engineers, no culture. No unique one, anyway."
"Yeah. Why do the pianos," yawn, "Not pianos, planets, why are the planets Jupiter and Mars and whatever instead of Zeus and Aries?"
"Because might equals right," Grigor says, trying to keep the sadness out of his voice. It's a concept he's both intellectually and personally acquainted with.
"Grigor?"
"Yeah?"
"Good night."
"Good night, Bess."
Her breathing evens out.
Grigor rolls onto his side, remembering that not all the nights are bad and trying to convince himself of it. His muscles go heavy and smooth. Maybe when Dylan Thomas wrote "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" he wasn't actually talking about his dad dying.
Maybe this is what he had in...
When Grigor wakes up the next morning, Bess is already gone.
Pulling his shoes on, he rushes to the front desk. "Is it after checkout?" he asks.
The clerk shakes his head. "Name, please?"
"Grigor. Grigor Karakinos."
"Kara—ah."
"Ah?" Grigor repeats, puzzled and impatient.
"A young lady came down here this morning and booked you for another night."
He takes a second to react to this news, promoting Bess from saint to super-saint. "When was that?"
"Forty-five minutes ago."
"Thanks. Is Athens International Airport close by?"
"Fifteen-minute walk."
"Thanks. And hold that thought." Grigor begins to leave. Then, calling over his shoulder: "The checking out thought."
"I gathered."
Grigor races to the airport, summoning Hermes and his winged sandals. His feet trail to a stop at the entrance as he remembers he won't be able to get through without a boarding pass and, of course, passport.
So much for saying goodbye.
He feels his mouth curve into an angry grimace.
Just when he's about to turn away and slink back to the hostel in defeat, he notices a curvaceous blonde idly watching an airplane leap off the runway.
Bess stands very still, her eyes tracking every movement. Presumably she missed her flight.
Grigor finishes his sprint at her side. The physical and emotional exercise have taken their toll, sending sweat and a mild tremor to his skin. "You missed the plane," he says, trying not to sound too thrilled about it.
"Nah." Bess's blue eyes are in a calm state, visible even from profile. She turns to him. "Just came to say goodbye to Nancy. I think I'll stick around for a little bit."
"What types of things do you plan on doing?"
"I dunno. Stuff on my own. Stuff with other people." She shrugs and nudges a pebble with her toe. "Maybe stuff with you."
"Sounds like fun." Grigor turns to face her, as well. His voice lowers several pitches. "Stuff like, date kinda stuff?"
The calm is gone. Bess's eyes glint like a distant theatre marquee. "Are you asking me out?"
"I hope so. Otherwise I must have forgotten how to do it, which isn't good news for me."
"Then yes." Her gaze returns to the plane, growing smaller and smaller in the sky. "Yes, that sounds nice."
Grigor's shaking index finger brushes hers. The rest of her fingers curl around his, and together they watch the plane climb into a cloud.
Crap! I forgot to thank GiftsOfGab here when I posted this. I didn't know what the jail person was called until I read her story, Escaping the Labyrinth, whereupon I learned that the jail person was a bailiff. And the beginning of that story generally inspired this one, as well. Thanks, GiftsOfGab!
As evident from the title, this fic is heavily inspired by the movie Before Sunrise. And I didn't know what to do with the summary so I framed it in the Rolling Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want."
The pre-bedtime conversation is inspired by many similar ones I had with my sister when we shared a room. OF course she'd fall asleep before we got to any really interesting topics like what is the meaning of life, but ah well.
I love coming up with ship names, so here's mine for these two: Marvikinos. Five letters from each surname, making it equal. I like it even better than Jiobe!
Bess's friend who tells her to listen to her thoughts is... Sonny! Remember that from MED? Also, Bess's obsession with South Korean culture and K-Pop is inspired by-who else?-Sonny.
The opera Grigor mentions is Peter Grimes by Benjamin Britten. Wonderfully visceral, it recently upended Carmen as my favorite.
The Greeks DID invent pizza according to my Greek cookbook. That makes it a biased source, and of course I'm biased, being proudly Greek, but I do believe it. The Greeks invented basically everything. It could probably be argued that they even invented Rome, since so much of what we think to be Roman is lifted from the Greeks. *angry face*
Really missed working with Bess from Ultraviolet, so this was a bit of a dream fic for me. I mainly wrote it to come to terms with my own PTSD, but it became so much bigger than that, which makes me happy. I was also so afraid this would turn into a dark-ass piece like Anhedonic Treasure, but it didn't.
So I rewatched the Disney cartoon Hercules and saw that Hades says "Ladies, please" to the Fates in that movie. This seems to indicate either 1) Grigor has turned into that very thing he most fears and/or 2) Grigor has EATEN Hades, effectively turning into Cronus (or, if you prefer a different phonetic spelling Kronos - aka Thanos' merciless employers).
To further support 1) I offer my Myers-Briggs findings: Grigor is an ESFP and Thanos is exactly the opposite, an INTJ. I've read that people who are depressed/dealing with trauma/having some sort of identity crisis tend to turn to their opposite traits, so, in Grigor's case, he could well turn into an unhealthy INTJ.
O_o
^ Yet ANOTHER testament to the fact that I have way too much time on my hands
Is anyone biting at the bit for Midnight in Salem to be released? I mean, SEA wasn't TERRIBLE (the puzzles were great, the characters were well developed, and Sonny's comic was AWESOME), but I'd hate to think that that's the game HER will end on… even though it was Lani's last game. Particularly I want to see a new game in which Nancy doesn't go all OOC and *not* call the culprit on his bullshit (when he is very clearly lying!) for the benefit of making him a less suspicious character to those of us playing the game. *le sigh* Rant over. I've had enough with the all caps. xD