#feels inbound

Dropped early because of IRL issues.

//PURGATORY//

"So we fight monsters?" The little black boy looked up (and up and up) and the much bigger man that he would grow into one day. 

"Yes. Of every shape and size." Sanya said to his younger (and much smaller) self. 

"But only after we become one ourselves?" The little boy traced point on his belly where six year later he'd have a coin shoved into it. 

"But thanks to our friends, we become human again." Sanya pulled the much smaller boy into a gentle hug. He was sporting a split lip and a missing tooth, and he needed a square meal and a comfortable bed. 

And here we were again. The room was filled with a cloud of smoke that stuck to the ceiling lights. A pile of ashes was sitting in the tray and every once in a while a little bit got added to the pile. Always just a little bit. Not that it mattered because the ashtray had gone beyond it's limits before. The grey and black stains in the dark oak desk spoke of stories with similar plots. Meant one thing and one thing only. Graves was filled with doubt

The outlaw was seated in his comfortable leather chair that slowly was starting to show its age. Almost everything Graves owned was starting to get older, even the old man himself. As a statue he stared down at the papers on his desk. Not numbers nor business were the troubles plaguing his mind. It was the same old that showed its ugly head every year. Tired eyes read it again and again in the deadly silence of the office, but his mind felt like the loudest place on earth.

In the end Malcolm had never known who he was born from. To him his bloodline had started with him. He had no name, no place to call home. No he had to make his own name around town. Ratface, Little M , Scab, Slumlord, Graves. Graves.. It was always the one name that stuck. Hotheaded , ill tempered and dangerous. You were bound to end up in a grave. But something always stung with that name. It was a continuous reminder that he was nothing from no one. And it's what to say, better to have loved and lost than to never have.. You know how it goes right?

And every year he would find that piece of paper again. Every year he'd try to hide it again. Maybe one day he'd just put a scribble at the bottom and they would go look for him. Maybe one day  he'd know if he was someone's son. Maybe one day,get answers to the questions he rather left unanswered . His hand trembled when he put the pen back down. The piece of paper disappeared again, into the paper mess that was his desk drawer. And as history repeats itself, it also did that day. In that one moment Graves was one of the most broken men in Runeterra. With his face buried in his hands, he let tears flow without making a single sound.

Maybe one day

Not this day