infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

Okay. Well that's totally unfair. I only have one.

[Will's a moment shy of having raised his arm to throw that slobbery tennis ball again when she lands.

When Kara, who he has some knowledge of her abilities through seeing them for himself, lands. With wings.

Gunther's tail wags like this is nothing unusual, eager and pleased to have someone else to play with, but not too friendly. Licking is reserved for hands, not the face (unless she sticks it right against his snout, and then so help her). He acts like she's anyone else, not someone who has wings that she not only has folded against her back but has used, effectively, as a method of what Will assumes (in a few seconds) of transportation. This has happened before, in a different way. A roommate turning what seemed like intangible, and Gunther wasn't bothered at all while Will Graham, certified adult and human being, had to fight off gaping.

How that ball stays in his hand is a mystery. Perhaps the spit does it, keeps something of a grip there. But there are a few seconds where Ser Beard is reacting like a proper host greeting someone and Will is acting like the idiot who has no idea what's expected of him. Like the kid who lives in the cupboard and isn't sure what to do now that his family got a surprise guest and he was not quick enough to get his ass under the stairs in time. Under the stairs to crawl under an equally plaid comforter and be quiet and pretend he doesn't exist.]

You know his breed's very popular when it comes to hunting birds.

["Nice wings."]

None of mine are anywhere as useful as yours. Maybe they even them out.

[Sticking her face in the dog's face is not her plan; petting and some ear scritches are about the extent of her friendliness with strangers' dogs.]

Lucky I ain't a bird.

Yeah, maybe. Healing's a pretty big one too. Anyway, I'm pretty sure he can't turn into a dog.

[And I'm not a hunter might go there if he wasn't still taken aback as much as he is. Will might have a hunting dog or two at home, but he doesn't use them for that. That's not what he made a family for, to send them off all growling and barking and biting because it gave him a kick.]

Wouldn't be shocked if you could turn into one. [Not at this point. He squats, taking a hold of dog's collar the moment he predicts that licking tongue is about to get face-licking.] He's German. Decided they wanted something rugged and multipurpose, to go with a party of one or a party of many. Farms, forests, snow-covered mountains, regular towns, good in all weather, you name it. Hunt big and dumb or little and smart, track effectively...came out with this guy.

[This dopey-faced thing that can't pretend he's not happy to be getting double the attention, because Will only moves to counter when that attention gets to a point where he, the owner, doesn't approve. There is no punishment, just gentle nudging. Suggesting. Finally holding up the ball for the dog to put back in his mouth. He caught it!]

He coming with?

[Will doesn't mind if she doesn't. The look on his face says as much.]

That ain't a thing I can do. Just got these.

[Fluttering the wings a little before she lets them disappear completely, since she's not used to leaving them out in public.]

Humans and your dogs, you guys love selective breeding.

[Which is about the limit of Kara's knowledge of genetics. But she grew up with mostly big fluffy Elkhounds. Watching humans breed dogs over the centuries has been kind of fascinating.]

He can come, doesn't bother me.

[There is a question he would like to ask. However, it goes back to a conversation that Jesse did not have with him or Skye, which goes back into STALKER!!! territory, and...the less criminal, the better.]

Can't say I'm jealous. [~~I THINK I'M FUNNY~~] One more thing before I tailor this: the fight, he didn't seem to be under the impression there was something sexual on my end regarding you, did he?

[One bonus of his old career: asking the "invasive" questions is another day in the life. It's not his life here anymore (not yet), but this is something he can be unflappable about, in text or voice or video or sitting in the same damn room. If he has to approach this seen as some sort of threat in that way, too, he's going to need more than sixty seconds and a drink or two, so help him.

(No one help him.)]

[Fluttering draws his attention back to them, not that it's a difficult feat. He's got a thing for birds in the first place, but they also happen to be wings attached to someone who looks like a human being, and Will Graham does not hail from a world where human beings have wings. So perhaps he stares a bit more than he should, but he assumes all is forgiven. That she doesn't take it as exceedingly, piggishly rude. That even if she does find it rude, it does not put him in too horrific a predicament.]

Guess so. Never cared about breeds so much. Most of the ones I have back home are mutts. Mixes. [Ugly things, even. Not ugly cute or cute ugly, but just ugly. That weird underbite that doesn't grow on people, that oddly shaped face that proves more unnerving than something that can be gotten used to. Will lets go of the collar and stands up, tossing the slobber ball aside and wiping his hand on his pants as he looks at Gunther and nods his head to the direction of the door. Off he goes, makes a few attempts at grabbing up at cloth bag, which really shouldn't be a big deal for a the end result of some ultimate hunting dog, should it? Two failed attempts and one final push that results in half the bag nearly falling onto the grass, Will makes a face and goes to get it himself. After a nice pat on the head. You tried, buddy.] Easier to get purebreds when they've got problems. [Said problem dog following excitedly.] Oxygen deprivation in the womb. You're fine with whiskey, I take it?

[There's ease there. Not just ease confessing that his dog has some real issues and moving along, but with each topic involved—dogs, problems, booze. Another day in the life. And, if she reads into it, there's an ease with Kara as well.]

[She notices, but she's used to people being kind of interested in the wings, and as long as he doesn't ever try to touch without permission then she doesn't care.]

Had a few of those myself, usually not on purpose.

[Sometimes she'd pick up strays, occasionally they'd belong to someone she'd killed that she didn't have the heart to like. leave their dog alone.]

More than.

[She lifts up her own bottle and shakes it a little. It's just cheap scotch, but that's all she needs.]

[He nods at the scotch, turning to head out of the yard and around it. Gunther is a good boy, follows at the side Kara doesn't or behind if he has to. De Chima's got plenty of woods nearby, right next to the housing—they don't have to go far for somewhere quiet. A moment of rifling in that bag has him pulling out a bottle of whiskey that looks more suited to sitting in an office for show than actually being consumed.]

Thank you present. [That's half full half empty, depending on who's looking.] Roommates are fine and all, but it's not something you just share with anyone.

[One is on an all blood diet. Another, he's not sure if Mike Parker can really appreciate it at this point. And the other makes clocks, which is a problem.]

[She tucks her bottle under her arm to free up her hands to light a cigarette as she walks, because it's been at least a few hours since she's last had one and that's getting ridiculous.]

Does that make me special or something?

[Will don't do it don't have feelings near her there's been far too many today.]

[It's not the cigarette that gets her the odd look as he puts the bottle back tosses the bag over his shoulder like a giant alcoholic purse. He's used to it, can't even be bothered to wrinkle his nose. Unlike other people, she could blow smoke right in his face and he wouldn't be too bothered.]

Nobody in that house— [A tilt of his head.] —gets anyone crawling up their ass because they killed people. We don't do that. Maybe consider it a golden rule.

[Good enough?]

[She won't blow smoke in his face; she's actually considerate enough to try her best to keep the smoke away from Will.]

Lucky you. Guess this is what I get for trying to talk to fucking heroes and shit.

What? No. He's more worried you're going to kill me. I already told him that was ridiculous too, btw. I've been alone in your house now like every week for two months. If you were going to go all serial killer on me, you've already missed like a metric shitton of chances.

[More blessings.]

Do they call themselves heroes? That word doesn't mean so much anymore. [It could be bitter, but the way Will says it, it's like reading from a textbook.] Everyone's a hero. The villain? Hero in their eyes. Their story.

[Will Graham might have a few feelings about heroes and villains. Perhaps.]

Talking to heroes is like talking to sinners or saints or...it's everyone.

Nah, but they're the type.

[She gets what he means, she's seen history books written and rewritten, but shes apply the label, rather than listening when people call themselves heroes.]

I don't fucking get it.

[Well this makes more sense.

More horrible sense.]

We have this guy back where I'm from, he's like the height of serial killers. He's been at it for a really long time. He's good. He's just about perfect, honestly. Evaded us for a long time. Toyed with us. All of it. And he gets away with it time and again because he's smart. He knows what he's doing. He wouldn't try any serial killer shit on you.

[Skye is untouchable.]

What? ... Why's that?

Edited 2014-09-03 14:32 (UTC)

Do you not realize how powerful you are? Think about it. How many electronic devices of some kind, of any kind, are within reach of the regular person at any given moment. Think about how difficult it would be to get someone who's technologically inclined out somewhere open, hoping that the risk of being able to hack nearby jets or whatever else might be in the area is not there. Now think about how terrifying the idea of no matter how alone you might get this person, there is some government test for a prototype of something that is not intended to be a weapon but could be one in the right hands. Your hands. And that you, this great serial killer, meet your end because you pissed off the wrong person and the only nearby electronic wasn't some impressive battleship that could take down an entire state. It was a hover golf cart with special GPS features that let it run on its own and you took advantage of that. There's a luck of the draw when it comes to you and the luck runs completely in your favor. No one wants to get caught. Even less caught for something that could potentially be downright embarrassing.

I hope you don't take that as me spending a lot of time thinking about killing you.

I spent a lot of time thinking about killing in general. It's not personal.

I... think... that was equal parts the sweetest and also creepiest thing anyone's ever said to me. ... Congrats.

That's what they pay me for.

[It actually kind of is.]

Anyway I'm pretty sure I get the main problems now and can work with that. So how about we give it 5 days, a week, from now until I do anything? If I go mentioning it twelve hours after this talk, assuming you two had the fight not too long ago, that's fishy.

I'm pretty sure it's going to be fishy either way, but sure, why not. Wait it out a few days if you want. Just don't forget.

IC contact [Mask or Menace]

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