IC Contact [Asgard]

[infomodder]

Catch all IC contact post for Will Graham at asgardeventide
[ Text | Voice | Video | Action ]

[Note: Will is unlikely to use video unless there is a good need for it. He'd be more inclined to do text until he's made a substantial recovery and becomes more comfortable with voice.]

Comments

day 366 // text

[proudofwhatiam]

[Let it be known that Evy spends an embarrassingly long time trying to decide what sort of salutation to start off with. People seem to be rather casual about such things here, but it still feels rude to leave it off entirely, if she's contacting him out of the blue. At the same time, My dear Mr. Graham is altogether too formal when he's asked her to call him Will, and--well, really, it's a silly thing to struggle over, isn't it? Set one down at the very front here, and if he doesn't reply in kind, follow his lead. Then everyone's satisfied.]

Dear Will,

I hope you didn't find yourself in too much danger during the latest business with the giants. I don't recall seeing you about; were you in the usual Asgard or the one with the inverted colours?

And would you be interested in a little bonfire tonight? I know it's rather warm out, but I'm hoping it might cool down a bit with the evening.

Sincerely,
Evelyn Carnahan

[infomodder]

[It's not only Evy that spends time—too much time—thinking of how to address it. Dear Will, he should have expected it. She's from a different time. He knows this, but he's still...it's still odd.

And she still has no idea what sort of terrible company he is. She's using a greeting, too, so he takes his time trying to figure out how to return it.]

Evelyn,

I was in the "usual" one, as you called it. I kept to myself as much as I could.

Bonfire with smores, right? I'm still interested. I can get a hold of the ingredients by tonight. Where would you like to meet?

- Will

[Maybe they can have a bonfire over some form of text.

No they can't.

This is going to be terrifying.]

video (because she can);; Backdated to D365 if it's ok for you.

[partinglass]

[Beth just stares at the screen for a long time, eyes red and puffy from crying. She's clearly exhausted and her voice trembles when she finally speaks.]

Will... Y-you said you kinda owed me a favor so... [She sniffs and hugs herself.]

I was in the other Asgard and... And something happened... Mitchell, he... He...

[Tears start rolling down her cheeks again and she ends the feed, unable to say more.]

text; it's more than okay!

[infomodder]

[Will has little experience with teenage girls. No experience that ended well, for reasons he'd never get into. But he knows despair when he sees it. He just can't bring himself to show his face, not just yet. He doesn't know what he's feeling. It's better to do text for now, he feels, and if they have to meet up...well, they're not too far from each other.]

I do owe you a favor, and I meant that. I can't help you if you don't tell me what happened, though. We can talk or not talk or whatever is best for you. Where are you? Do you want me to come to you, would that be easier?

action; i hope this is okay i wasn't sure if you were srs

[palebee]

[ It's not that he doesn't trust Mr. Graham, because really, he does. Will is a grown man who hails (he claims) from a position of authority and responsibility. He teaches, he shows great kindness and empathy to animals, and --

-- And, well, there's something still not quite right there, is it? Maybe it's the clipped quality of his speech, even when waxing poetic in complete sentences, maybe it's closed-off way he looked to the eye of the bracelet camera. Maybe it's that he was sitting with a bandaged hand in a room full of dogs and one enormously outsized wolf, more than obviously reluctant to part with even a scrap of fur.

Yes, in retrospect, it's definitely that.

The first peculiar thing about wizards is that a very great many of them (especially those with strong magic to their blood) live to a very great age. The second peculiar thing about wizards is that they only grow more peculiar with time. Back in Godric's Hollow, there was a friend of Bathilda's with near an entire flight of enchanted canaries, each one named for the miracle of some long-dead saint. Then another, a wizard near Hogsmeade with boxes upon boxes of literal rubbish crammed into every cauldron and corner of his room. There was his sister, and the way that she would hide --

Albus is familiar with the trappings of obsession, of illness; he does not suspect the latter of Mr. Graham now, but oh, how easily loneliness might drive one into excessive measure. These things must be managed, they must be controlled.

He hopes that Will has already seen to it.

Albus scoped out Graham's room a week or so back to deliver his gifts. After a cursory search of Hel proved fruitless (something of a relief, the veritable threstral-haunt that it is), Sigyn became the next natural target for a man of the law.

His robes swish about him now as he strides down the narrow hall, keeping his eyes open on the approach. ]

get out jaime

[infomodder]

[Will was sick, very very sick. Or, he had been. Here, he was getting the help he needed. His brain was growing back to its regular size. He was getting clearer and stronger with each passing day, the only thing that reminded him of time lost and extravagant murders being nightmares and the way he caught himself looking at meat sizzling in a frying pan. He did his work with the school, he came back to his room, he repeated the process.

He'd gone from the one dog (a little, mostly Pomeranian thing, promptly named Samantha) and one alone to two now, this one far uglier than his first. An ugly thing with a face that looked like she'd run straight into a wall, the kind of ugly dog he'd never have been able to give away back home. Not too large, but he couldn't tolerate too large in his room. He hardly wanted his suitemate, already so out of place, to feel crowded because the man who shared her bathroom was obsessed with dogs.

He wasn't! It wasn't him being sick, it was him being...it was...it was Will being Will. First people had just dropped them off near his house. Then it had been idly cruising the roads with the hope that he'd find a new member of his family running around in need of food and drink and love and—

It wasn't an obsession! He only had two this time. Just two. He'd keep it to two.

Unless he found a very small third.

But only three!

He'd been baffled by all the gifts he received and, of course, kicked himself in the pants for having not thought to give any himself. Even poor Abigail hadn't received anything from Will Graham, though what could he give her? Assurance that whenever he returned home, he'd put Hannibal away? Earrings? What did he get a teenage girl?

The sound of footsteps down the hall wasn't all that odd, but for the time of day, he wasn't really sure who it was. He'd done enough meeting and greeting to know the basics of his housemates and when they came and went, but he couldn't quite wrap his (burning) mind around who it was this time. He pushed aside the little desk he'd made for his fishing lures, got up, and went to his door, opening it and looking out like a man who was trying not to be overly nosy but honestly couldn't help himself.]

You lost? [He couldn't place the face, and knew he didn't live there. Unless—] Or, ah, did you just get here? In Asgard, I mean, are you a new arrival?

[Text] Day 386

[stilledsurgeon]

Healer group to meet in order to organize sub-groups today at Ril Sorrin's clinic "Time and Tea", in Loki District.

Cpt. B.F. Pierce

(OOC: The log post is up here. Please be advised that this is really time sensitive, and we should probably keep long, meandering discussion tangents until after we've at least managed to organize people into the sub-groups and figure out where your character will be.)

private text; disregard deleted comments i suck cocks

[palebee]

[ This might have worked better the first time around. ]

text/private forever, etc.

[infomodder]

[Good God in heaven, that was not what he was expecting. He can appreciate him being thorough, though.]

So I'd be a muggle, right? Was there no better word? We sound like some sort of defenseless slimy fish. A dog. A sort of woodland creature. You say this Lord Voldemort underestimate us because of a disgust of us—does that transfer over to the rest of your world? I can understand not wanting us to know about magic. I do not imagine that would go over well at all. We'd panic. We'd be terrified. Salem Witch Trials and others throughout the years prove as much. So we can't produce magic, no. But is it understood that we have other means to take care of ourselves, or is there some sort of condescension amongst your people for us? Not that I'm implying you think less of me for not having this heritage, but I would like to know in advance.

I've met Professor Snape, as I'm sure you know. He gave me my spot [as a glorified substitute, let's be real] at the school. I gave Sirius Black a dog recently. Very slobbery, prone to snorting—I knew he must have been good people in some way when he took to him so well, despite the nature of the dog. Not much contact with the others, if any.

I understand that these are your people, and I would never want to harm another without extreme reason. I know what psychopath means. I work with psychologists and psychiatrists, those that get into the minds of others to help them work through their issues. Confidentiality is just as important with them as it is in my career. I will by no means use any of this information against anyone. I will never mention what you have told me to them, and not to anyone else. I do not want a more intimate conversation with you, which is not to say I find your company undesirable.

I will do more homework into this, I assure you. You will know when I have, as soon as I can get it all in order. I will not be subtle about it, but I'll do it a way that won't be all that easy to pick up on. It would, most likely, be best if either you or Professor Snape asked me to leave the school after it. I'll be understanding, not spiteful about it. And I will, before it happens, leave a resignation letter and a booklet on how he can help train his emu.

Sound good to you?

[morning of day 397] [audio]

[climbingwalls]

[And, while she's not in a particularly crowded area, the background noise of the audio feed make it clear that she's outside. Especially in the first few seconds of silence, an awkward pause while Abigail isn't sure what to say.

She's not even sure why she's leaving him a message, except to let him know she didn't disappear completely. And to see if he's still around. As much as losing the last connection to home would, in its own way, be a relief, it would also be... weird. (Understatement, but what it would be is something she can't entirely pin down without experiencing it.) And she'd rather at least find out, if he was gone.

So, first the silence, and then:] -- Hi.

[Another pause. Maybe she should have just done text, at least it would avoid these awkward hesitations, but well, she's already started now.]

I was... gone, I guess. I lost my bracelet for a while. I don't know if you knew, but I thought I should tell you I'm back.

[And one more awkward pause for good measure, trying to figure out what else there is to say.]

Maybe you can tell me what I missed? If you're not busy?

audio forever, etc.

[infomodder]

[Perhaps she never got to know Will very well (or he wouldn't let her, he's not sure), but he's more than used to awkward pauses. When he teaches, he's fine. When he discusses the more basic aspects of a case, he's fine. But every now and then, every now and then, he can be quite the king of those awkward pauses. Whatever worry she may have about it, were she to voice it, he'd be quick to reassure that it was fine.

Or try to, all things considered. Last he talked to her...not the best thing to leave off on, from what he remembers.]

I didn't know. [Not because he didn't care!] I didn't want to be overbearing, so I haven't made an effort to track your every move. We're all we have here, but I don't want you to think I'm going to be ridiculously overprotective. Smothering. I don't want that. [He doesn't want to get paid housing and make her live with him. He doesn't want to insert himself into every part of her life. She's her own person, and she's got another chance at life. He's not about to constantly remind her of the awful one she left behind.] But I'm glad to hear you're back and there was...some queen from another land came, something to do with elves. There was a fire. She asked for our help, lots of people volunteered. That's about it, I think.

[asgardsbeauty]

[In honor of the Earth holiday centering on love, Freya sends out a little gift around this time.

A small box containing a piece of chocolate will appear on your pillow during the day. When consumed, the chocolate’s magic will lift your mood for a short period of time. It’s accompanied by a note.]

Where love might bring about sorrow, it also welcomes joy.

backdated to Day 400

[asgardstricks]

[ In honour of the god centering on love being a giant frilly prissypants, Loki sends his own little gift just a few hours after hers.

His box of chocolate will look, smell, and taste exactly like Freya's did, appearing right next to where Freya's was or is if you haven't picked it up yet. The only difference between the two is that Loki's won't lift your mood; it'll give you loud and embarrassing flatulence for the next three hours.

It's also accompanied by a note. ]

Where joy might bring about yearning, it also welcomes wonder.

backdated like whoa, private text

[palebee]

[ It's clipped. He's just trying to get this out before the magical G-spot camping trip. ]

Riddle gone, expect you've seen. Expect will both see better Crouch's manner of in/dependence now. Spoke w/Crouch, may be moving in w/Merope. Reservations, but better than present situation. Leaving for Ginnungagap, back soon.

i just imagine will deleting this immediately to the bracelet trash. spam folder, even.

[infomodder]

["Expect you've seen." He's not sure if that's rude or if he just didn't think it through. He's reading so much into everything these days, it's hard to tell what's really been said to him and what's

imagined

Nothing new there.]

Not going to Ginnungagap ["Guinea Pig" he wants to say] but stay safe. Do you need someone to check in on your bird? Just Y/N is fine.

[The things he does for animals, my what a guy that Will Graham.]

backdated a bit, private text

[palebee]

[ A copy of Barty's initial messages here is forwarded to Will. ]

I returned to find a gift from Crouch.

SPAM FOLDER 2 TRIGGERING

[infomodder]

[Squints.]

What are you lying to him about? Why won't you stop lying to him about it?

[What the fuck isn't Albus lying about, Will doesn't know.]

text from 'fingerlickin' good'

[liquidsky]

Let's discuss recipes.

[How tasteless.]

loki you little shit

[infomodder]

[God, what? What? What is going on? Christ. He's been contacted by few people since his time here, and as much as he likes being left alone, he does desire Abigail to drop him a line every now and then. Once a week, at least. But he's not her dad, and just because he killed him doesn't mean he gets to be him.

Still...it would be nice, even if it was something he didn't know how to react to. This?

Jesus. It's worse because not only does he read the words and despise them, he reads them and the voice in his head saying it? Not his, and not the one he'd want to discuss recipes with, either.]

Sure. Where do you want to start? You could do by meal, like breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We could do by ingredients or baking, but my little book of desserts is mostly stuff already made that I just have to heat up. I might not be so helpful there. Where should we start with our recipe conversation?

[Let's start with your mother.]

voice

[uncledaddy]

You have been speaking with my nephew.

[ Blunt. ]

voice WOW GOOD JOB JAIME NO TEXT THIS TIME

[infomodder]

[God bless an actual name this time. Had it been coming from something obviously not a real name, he'd be a little cagey. That, and he's already gotten this one and put it down in his mental notebook.

The good uncle. The good one. When the other two want him dead, how difficult was it to look "good" by comparison?]

Joffrey Baratheon? We've been talking a bit. We came across each other when he first got here. [At which point, Joffrey promptly kicked his dog and Will took him out for waffles. Naturally.] Has something happened?

[Or is this just a friendly little talk about how, if he continues to talk to the little king fellow, he's expected to act? What he's allowed to say and not say, being asked what rumors he's heard...]

idk whenever you want ; ACTION!

[valardohaeris]

[ She's literally just taking Nymeria out for a walk - partly because she doesn't trust the direwolf out and about alone yet and partly because she missed the hell out of her. Everything is pretty uneventful, and she's just passing through the Sigyn district on her way back to the house when the wolf suddenly makes a break for it.

It takes Arya a split second to process what's happened, and then she curses loudly and foully before taking off after her. ]

Nymeria, stop it!

[ Congratulations Will Graham, you're about to be accosted by the latest addition to the Stark pack, followed closely in pursuit by an out of breath child. ]

[infomodder]

[Within the home and district of those lovely, peaceful humanitarians, there lays a nefarious beast, a man who doesn't quite belong, or so he thinks. His face needs a shave, his hair needs a cut, and his clothes really could be less thrift shopping, but he doesn't seem to care so much. This is his person suit, this guy who looks scruffy and a little awkward, just some guy who doesn't have a sense of fashion to speak of. For all intents and purposes, he'd be better off in a small cabin with a boat he made himself. There's nothing dangerous in him, or so it seems. But his person suit? Just so happens to contain a jacket, and that jacket has the true design of this monstrous creature of fear and murderous intent: an inner pocket that is never without a small bag of bacon nestled on the inside, right next to his beating, pounding, not-yet-on-the-menu heart.

He's so used to putting it there he no longer thinks about it. Putting it in his jacket is just like putting on the rest of his clothes, a cologne of eau de where are the dogs and dog-like creatures I have not yet stolen found that people might just assume was Will having spent time making breakfast before he went out. To him, this subtle method of wooing other people's companions is about on par with cooking breakfast. Easy. Part of a regular day.

Whether or not he realizes his design attracts animals the same as he can use it to feed them if he comes across them isn't so easy.

What is easy to see? A direwolf (he can tell that much by now, having been such good bacon-swapping friends with Grey Wind and adorning him with flower crowns during a fiery funeral) bounding up next to him, whimpering, tail thumping around him, circling him and making him stop. Fear? Will has fear, has it in buckets and jars and vats, a house made of fear, hallucinations that give him nightmares following his every step, but for the new direwolf nipping the air in front of his heart? He doesn't have or feel any of it. He doesn't have eyes for anyone but her, either, and it's not until he's pulled that baggie out of his jacket and squatted down to feed her out of his hand without worrying if he'll keep any fingers that he hears the sound of a girl shouting behind him. He looks over his shoulder, still feeding her, still seemingly not at all afraid to have one of those vicious creatures nipping at his fingers. His fingers! No fear!]

She yours? [It's friendly, unfazed by the entire situation, it's like he's talking about a puppy for all the terror he shows.] That makes you one of Robb Stark's sisters, right?

[Still not bothered when she gingerly gnaws at the hand holding that bag, nope. No fear.]

voice, set on whatever day after John's post

[galvanist]

[The world's most awkward pause because how do you say 'yeah, guess what, there are two people here who look strangely enough like me that it's worrisome.']

So yeah. Apparently there's now two people here who look weirdly similar to me. One's John, who we both met, and the other's Adam, who's also in Baldr but is British for some reason.

[Whale's voice plainly gives off the impression that he has no idea why this is happening, what the hell is up with his life.]

Just wanted to give you a head's up.

best doctor

[infomodder]

[Will's not as sick as he was, and Whale's secure enough with the whole issue to let his voice be heard, so he opts out of texting this time and, yes, returns it exactly as he's gotten it. It's not the low hum of the Police or the way he talked about Alana. More like he realizes the gravity of the situation, same as he did with his crappy clocks.]

So you've got a guy in your house that looks just like you, only he's got a British accent, and now you have this new guy to deal with, too.

[The nice thing about this? Will knows he's not getting back to "what is going on with my head" levels of insanity.]

If you ever get all scrambled because of it, I have some great exercises that might help keep you grounded that isn't drawing clocks.

[Head's up gets him basic psychiatric methods in return. Or the offer of it; he doubts Whale would take it seriously, or even needs it. It shows as much in his voice—mostly a joke, yes, but he's willing to share if there's actual interest in it.

And certainly not going to judge.]

421 blazed it yesterday

[adjunct]

[Neville's arm is better, but he still feels all scraped raw regardless. He also really doesn't feel like looking any of his housemates in the face, so here he is under feeble pretenses, wandering the Sigyn hall that he never really settled into.

And that's when he smells something cooking. His stomach gives an embarrassingly loud rumble, and with a muttered word of reprimand down at it, Neville wanders towards the kitchen and pokes his head inside.]

... Oh. [Well, this is awkward. The fellow from the fire.] Er-- hullo.

yes good idea tell the guy with the fbi about your gillyweed stash

[infomodder]

[There are a few things that Will would not mind being "known" for in Asgard. The guy who always has a dog with him, the guy who doesn't make eye contact, the guy who sometimes wears glasses, the guy who tracks serial killers for a living, those are all just fine with him. When it comes to his housemates, he's fine being all of those and that one guy who uses the kitchen for a handful of things: eating only fish and salads and often making bacon, though for what, they can probably guess. He doesn't eat it himself, and he doesn't necessarily dole it out to his dogs like candy (bad for them if he gives them too much), but no one really needs to know that two direwolves sometimes scratch at his window and he lets them in to eat the saltiest, fattiest bacon that anyone could possibly imagine.

There are a few who have a better idea of parts of him, yes, but he's rather glad to keep up appearances. The appearances being he is not a man heading to a prison called a hospital when he gets back for the deaths and cannibalization of young women. He is really, really pleased that that's not the way most people think of him or even see him. So while he may come across as awkward and possibly a little too much of a dog fan, and someone who has a heavy job back home, he's perfectly fine with that. Honestly, it's preferable to just about anything else.

The guy who runs around back alleys during a fire and promptly makes it a goal to get angry professors off their angry students? It's not so bad, but there's only two other people that know about, and apparently one of them has stopped by. Lives in Sigyn, too, maybe? He doesn't know. He doesn't spend much time with the people in it, spends most of his time alone in his room when he's there. That's also something he's perfectly fine with.]

Hey. [It's loud enough just for him to be heard, and the smile he tries to send is really, really strained. Or maybe it's just strained to Will, considering few people here know about his near inability to honestly smile. Hopefully it's not the hideous grimace-smile combination he generally has plastered on his face whenever he so much as tries. The stove has two frying pans on it, one sizzling said salty, fatty bacon, and the other taking care of some fish. If he can knock the day's meals out in one go, he'll do it. Less time he can truly be seen. It's not in dire need of tending to, though, so he turns around to look at him fully, not sure of where his hands should go so stuffing them into his slacks it is.] You got your arm healed? I would have done it myself, but I'm not that good yet. Do you live here, too?

[All the more reason for a certain wizard to never, ever drop by.]

text; day 423

[digophelia]

[The strangest question yet but. Maybe he has insight? Attempting to be vague as possible.]

If a memory is lost, is it worth remembering?

text forever, etc.

[infomodder]

[It takes Will a good forty-five minutes to get back to her, to stare it and think it over, to detach himself, to not get too personal, to work through everything he's thinking of doing here in Asgard and has acted on.

She can't know what sort of question that is to him. She can't. Nor can he begrudge her for it. She has no idea.]

Memories are precious, even the bad ones. The bad memories help us learn and grow. The very bad ones may hurt, but I would rather have every bad memory as well as the good than pick and choose without knowing what it is I lost. It could be bad, but bad can be useful. If it's good? Then I want it, too. I think all memories are worth remembering.

[A little less detached than he should be, he knows. But she did ask.]

Having some trouble with memory?

text

[grimmig]

You're Barty Crouch's special person. Just thought you should know.

text forever!!!!

[infomodder]

Wrong.

[Let's get this threeway started right, shall we?]

He's my special person. I just let him think the opposite.

[day 442; text; private]

[proudofwhatiam]

[It's sent around 3 AM.]

Dear Will,

I hope you'll forgive some curiosity from beyond Asgard's walls. At home, did you ever find your cases following you home? Metaphorically, of course--as nightmares, perhaps, or odd preoccupations?

Additionally, did anything strange occur in the city this evening? Perhaps around 23:00?

From beyond the wall,
Evy

[infomodder]

[The first question is a loaded one, but one he can...work with. The second is a difficult. Did anything strange occur, that leads into feelings and he's not really that good with them.]

No, this is perfectly fine. Yes, they followed me home. It's not like taking off a suit or kicking off my heels and unzipping a pencil skirt, what have you. It's different. No matter what I'd seen before, there was always something new and something worse and sleeping eventually became something I nearly dreaded. Preoccupations happened, too. Is this curiosity or do you have similarities with that you'd like to discuss?

Something strange did happen, but I'm not sure exactly what. That's not new here. I'm not surprised. Strange things happen constantly.

Stay safe out there.

action! day idek sometime during the middle of week 3's memloss shenanigans

[galvanist]

[are you ready to come home to a delusional Whale tearing apart the kitchen, attempting to build a small scale replica of his experiments back home with kitchen supplies and things he's scavenged from an Asgardian hardware store? because that's what's currently happening in the kitchen of Casa Cannibal. Victor has time and opportunities here and he honestly can't remember why he hadn't started up his experiments before, but why not go ahead and do so now, what's the worst that can happen?

also, there's a dead rabbit on the table. but at least he's put a tablecloth over the table before putting the dead rabbit on top of it (the rabbit is also sitting on top of a metal baking sheet). it's kind of sad when Victor fucking Frankenstein cares more about germs than Hannibal Lecter.]

is it wabbit hunting season already

[infomodder]

["What's the worst that can happen?" is a question that's probably not the best idea to be asked in a place that houses two men who are no strangers to hallucinations and Victor Frankenstein himself. Any time they might be able to pinpoint the worst, it's bound to pale in comparison to whatever the Hel else Asgard throws their way later on. Will's fortunate in the way that he's already had issues with memory loss, though that hardly sounds fortunate at all. At least he's 110% certain now that no matter what problems he has with memory, he hasn't gone around, torn people's bodies apart, and then eaten some of them because he just couldn't handle the heat of his job.

When he first felt his memory being tugged and twisted, he'd taken it upon himself to write down the names of people he had some sort of connection to, and he'd looked at that piece of paper before he'd come to investigate the noise.

dr. whale (v. f.) baldr flight housemate sting recreation storybrooke

The bare bones of what he knew of his housemate (though recreation stood for several different things he didn't think Whale would appreciate someone coming across later), but in his efforts to protect with initials, he'd looked at it and been more confused than helped from time to time. Fortunately, glancing it at this time had those initials translating into what they really meant (this was real life, this was really happening), and it didn't take him long to shuffle those dogs into his own room so he could handle whatever it was Victor Frankenstein thought a kitchen was for.

The kitchen's loud but not as hot as it should be, he thinks, when he sees a dead rabbit on the table. What other reason is there for a dead rabbit to be in a kitchen unless it's about to be cooked? The stove should be on, there should be utensils out so the rabbit can be skinned and cleaned properly, but there's not. Will stands in the doorway for a moment, putting it all together as best he can (is Frankenstein making Bunnicula, can Will get away with that joke?) and trying to decide what to do with it, how to go about it, wondering if he'll recognize only one name right now.]

Did you get that yourself, Doctor, or did one of the dogs bring it home?

[Doctor seems the safest bet at the moment. So does leaning against the door as opposed to coming in—he's not scared by any means. He doesn't want to come barging in and risk making him more confused than he must already be. And, of course, in ten mintues' time, making them both confused as hell because if Will loses grasp on what V. F. means...

He doesn't care that there is a dead rabbit (how could he! a rabbit! cute bunny! adorable creature!) on the table. He cares that the kitchen and everything in this house manages to stay as intact as it possibly can.]

voice; private | after Barty's return

[tonsofpun]

So I'm gonna go out on a limb here.

But please don't tell me you're gonna go keep going to therapy with the fire-happy maniac.

[infomodder]

["on a limb"]

Had enough therapy for a lifetime. We just. Talked. [That's one word for it.] Think he'll bug you? Burn something else down?

text

[liquidsky]

You know I don't care much for prison. I feel it's a sentiment we share.

Where are you?

[Barty has never really had that many possessions. Right now they mostly consist of the clothes he's wearing, the weapons Will has returned to him and a small book he's scribbling into in a language barely anyone could read, even if his handwriting was neater than it is at the moment.

Oh, and a chocolate bar he's been saving.]

[infomodder]

Prison is terrible.
I'm in my room here.
What happened?

voice; d478

[albuquerque]

A word if I may, Mr. Graham.

[Said with calm iciness.]

[infomodder]

[this would totally happen, wouldn't it]

Have two or three if you want, Professor Snape.

[If he's shocked, it doesn't sound like it.]

text

[liquidsky]

Boo.

Long time no see.

[infomodder]

[Fuck everything.]

So it has been.

[Fuck. Everything.]

How goes it?

[F u c k. E v e r y t h i n g.]