School what school
“You couldn’t stand it, could you?”
Dinah was leaning against the door of the room, all in black, her body wilting in a way that told Hal she was far more than slightly drunk (and still standing in those heels, god bless her). He had been going to leave – Barry and Clark were handling the clearing up, and there was no further comfort he could offer here – but he’d come down to Ollie’s shooting range instead. He’d been almost sure, in some subconscious space, that he’d find something important down there – a letter detailing all the things he needed to hear, or even Ollie himself, giggling in his hiding place. “Come on, Hal, you didn’t really think I’d shuffled off the mortal coil yet, did you? The Second Funeral of Oliver Queen – it sounds like the title of a fucking musical.”
All he’d found were the blank eyed targets staring back at him in their rows – and now Dinah, wine bottle in one hand a piece of paper he couldn’t see in the other.