Closer Conversations [open]

[Ted Kord]

For the past few days Ted had experienced moderate success in starting up a newer version of the Justice League. For the time being, it was mostly working out kinks and trying to decide any official planning that needed to occur. Ted was quite proud of himself, and his teammates actually. He had grown a lot in the past year or so, and so had other heroes. He respected each member of the team very much.

Things were still a bit stiff though, and he could tell not all of the members were totally comfortable with the new situation. Some seemed like they needed someone to talk to, and while Ted was no therapist he could prove to be a good listener and a skilled problem solver.

It was quite late at the moment, and Ted had spent much of the evening and day in the watchtower observing activities below and updating the systems of the Leagues technology. He peered back at the open door behind him and leaned in his chair a bit, having heard slow footsteps padding over. It wasn't uncommon for one of the new members to come to him with either a personal and professional problem, and he waited with a warm smile.

[Grant Emerson]

Grant walked the halls of the Watchtower, bored. He was a wanderer of sorts, unable to find a place after the war. New York was more than taken care of, the JSA had disbanded, and while many former members had found their way into the new League, they also had homes to return to, lives, even alter egos, though the concept seemed strange to most in the JSA they were heroes full time, with the exception of the younger ones still in school. But alas, Grant had no home to speak for him. He had been forbidden to ever go within the state limits of Georgia again, and Atlanta was the longest-lived home he had ever had.

Now, in the Watchtower, he waited; waited for something big where everyone would need his help. That's all he could do. He couldn't be proactive if he didn't have a starting point. His mask, hanging over his shoulder, he slowly padded down the halls looking through the doors and trying to memorize his way around. He contemplated the nature of his situation. Sure, he had friends from the JSA, Hourman was an especially big part in making him feel welcome, but not really. Rick was not the same man who, with his wife, had taken Grant underneath their wing and helped him along. Rick was different. Grant supposed he was too. He had matured, he had to. He had to grow up and face the things he had done. Rick had already grown up, and had nowhere to go when it came time to face what he had done. Both knew that secretly, though they denied it, many of the war crimes the heroes had been charged with, had in fact been committed, though special politically correct names had been given them, and nothing had been explained to its fullest extent. Grant suspected, on some level, Rick was attempting to make up for his actions, trying to stop his feeling of guilt with his obsession, his addiction. Perhaps Grant would be the guiding light this time. He stopped and looked in on an opened room, Ted was working on a computer, Grant decided to join him. He walked to the meager window by the console.

"It's beautiful." He said, looking at the planet Earth hanging in dead space, a thriving heart in a body of impenetrable black. "I never used to think about it before the war, but it really is a marvel to behold, just almost magical. A spectacular focal point in an enormous landscape with thousands of others, but none quite so important to the painter." He smiled. "Hello, by the way."