infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

[There's a pause as he tries to figure out her angle, exactly. And then.

Jesus Christ.

He turns his video on, too, the face of someone who is being granted a show but doesn't quite know what to make of it. Someone who totally just took off a hat, even, surrounded by fishing gear. Peep shows are great, but this one is coming at a bad time. If ever there was a poorly timed peep show, it's this one. Which in no way means he speaks up immediately to stop it. That would just be absurd. No. He'll wait for some layers to be shed first, to see if she's actually intent on it. Yes. Not because it involves nudity, no way.]

Why?

[Why does he get this show, why does she care so much about a stupid Goddamn holiday with people she doesn't know, why does this world still have Thanksgiving? Just. Why?]

Why would you go outside for this? That's where the people find you.

[Oh look, he's doing that incredibly strange and probably unattractive thing of spitting people's words back at them while using their voice in his own voice.

That'll really make this better.]

[ Because, Will. Because that is how she gets what she wants. And she was half way through the show so, totally ignoring the fact he is clearly at work, she sits back down in front of the camera in her bra and sleeping shorts alone. ]

It's Thanksgiving, Will. It's supposed to be miserable. That's why everyone tries to kill themselves in Walmart the next day. Because dying in the shittiest place on Earth is better than living to see another Thanksgiving.

[There's a moment where he is tempted to prod one of those toes, but when one thinks of toes and how parents call them little piggies and how piggies are people who are rude and end up brutally murdered, it's probably best not to deal with toes.

...or think of parents when he's with his super secret girlfriend who is much younger than him.

Jesus, that's one not to say out loud. To anyone.

He plays a hand that's rather in it to win it, not because he lined up the cards by number and type, no. He just played a hand of four pin ups represented the four branches of the armed services. Skills.]

I don't know how to train snakes. I'm supposed to throw them in the slammer or kill them, not treat them like pets. [Or like raccoons, ones trying to figure out what the fuck Will's hand even means when it none of it immediately aligns.] Would you tell me to my face if I sounded irrational?

[Chilton has, for the time being, turned his world on an edge. No one calls out his shitty metaphors and similes. No one. Raccoons might call out his bad hand, but that's to be expected.

Because talking about himself like an actual animal and comparing serial killers to snake is totally rational, isn't it.

He does not seem to be aware that what he just said can be taken as extremely "off" if the look on his face is anything to go by. Everyone talks about themselves as animals and inanimate objects, don't they? Of course they do. He's asking so honestly, too. The end of the line, wits compromised, no paddle, no anchor, no lighthouse.

Only April Ludgate. Only has eyes for her.

And her cute little piggies.

Shit, no.]

What...like wanting to work on wall street and get a retirement plan and a white picket fence to imprison children and puppies or something?

[ Babe, she...has feelings towards you. But she is probably the single worst judge of irrationality he could pick. She's not even looking at the cards, or at the raccoon wailing about the rules not being followed, or anything else but him after that question from the left field. Not that she minds, left field is her favorite field. But it's an extremely relative question. ]

[Boobs will not distract him.

...they will distract him for approximately 1 second.

Oh, there goes the face. The face that seems to agree for a split second, you got me there, shit, I didn't think about it like that, you're a genius. The one that, at least, Mike Parker knows is followed by something from the tumultuous waters of Smartass.]

Everyone tries to kill themselves in Walmart the next day because they're stuck on material goods at lower prices despite having spent the day before talking about how they're thankful for what they have and don't need anything else. [People are hypocrites and love to spend money they don't need to if they can get away with it. Dogs are the way to go.] So your motive behind celebrating the misery is hailing a bloodbath on the horizon, is that it?

[He could not sound less like he believes what he's saying if he tried.]

Duh.

[ It doesn't matter, bro. Empty promises and fake motives are the core of the holiday experience. ]

But you told them we were dating.

[He sits on the futon, which is the epitome of secondhand store and looks about as comfortable to sleep on as asphalt. Eyebrows knit together and he frowns, which highlights the fact of the matter that Will? Has not shaved recently.]

I did not. [His nose wrinkles, the frown gets worse. God. Human faces should not look this miserable.] Maybe she heard me talking to you in my room... [Miserable.] ...smelled a woman on me when I came back after a weekend and put two and two together.

[Fucking vampires. Back to normal human face, it's like art. Living trash art!]

I'm okay with telling people now, though. If you want to, I—the reason I was so adamant to keep us under wraps isn't here anymore.

[Even if Hannibal Lecter getting his ass kicked by raccoons would have been amazing, he's sure there would be a casualty involved and he doesn't need another death at his feet. The miasma of shit and blood and suffering that follows Baltimore when Lecter is around has been removed. What can go wrong?]

[Kind of offended. That's good. Will can play off that. If he can get Stiles in a place where he's feeling offended, it's easier to make him understand why Will's a little offended himself.]

So you wouldn't tell anyone else, but you'll call her my surrogate in a public forum where anyone can read it. [Not difficult leaps in logic to make here, not in this case.] And anyone can read that and wonder how the hell a former profiler with the FBI ended up with a surrogate daughter. You realize that opens up a whole slew of questions for both Abigail and myself that we might not want to share with the entire world, and serves to remind us both of what happened that lead to being surrogates?

[He's calm about it, voice steady and at a proper indoor level, no sign of anger on his face. But maybe that's could make him sound a little more dangerous in the end, when it comes to talking about Abigail: how quiet he is. Intense is a good word.]

[It was late afternoon by the time Yuri made it to Hook, Line & Tinker, a carryout tray with two steaming beverages in one hand, a small plastic bag full of milk, cream, and sugar in the other. Hopefully, after having decided to pay Will Graham a visit where he worked without any sort of invitation or warning, the man would in fact be there.

Yuri had donned one of his better suits for the occasion: a dark grey ensemble complete with a navy blue button down shirt and a silver necktie embroidered with white paisley. Not only was the outfit comfortable, but it would serve the dual purpose of emphasizing that he was not there to shop.

Stepping through the door, Yuri's eyes wandered almost immediately down the various aisles and then toward the counter where he was expecting to see the man he had come here looking for...]

[He is, in fact, behind the counter. Very behind it, his stool perched in the corner of the shop where he can look out the front window but being able to spot him relies on where the other party is standing, and very points anyone could look from would make him visible. The stool he's perched on is one that seems close to collapse, his feet resting on it and his entire body hunched over a large, dark folder. No business to be had, Will's doing a little bookkeeping...which seems to not exactly be his forte, if appearance is anything to go by. His REEL WOMEN FISH hat is slanted just enough that one might assume he's been continually scratching his head in frustration or confusion, or both.

All in all, he appears small. Overworked, possibly in a line of work that doesn't suit him very well, and curled into that work despite of it. Sanctuary this place may be, it comes with chores, and he's going to do them as long as it keeps him out of the literal hell his former job can be. The bellringer of Beaver Dam.

He first spots shoes. Nice shoes. A suit. Not for the first time, Will's grateful to be wearing a hat, because even though he knows he's not here, he knows people come back. It's his first thought even when it really should not be. The brim of the hat covers his face as it cycles through that—when he looks up fully, there's something close to a smile on his face. Not what other people might consider a smile, but it's his version of one.

Yuri is not unwelcome here. In fact, if it means Will Graham can stop with these endless aggravating numbers, he's welcome to live on the futon in the back room.]

Hey. [Quiet, eyes shifting from the tie to the beverage tray as he stands, sliding the folder onto the counter.] What's got you around these parts?

[His hands rest on the counter instead of reaching out for one of the cups, sure, but he appears relaxed in Yuri's presence, standing less like the owner of the shop they were both in and more like, well.

Someone actually pleased and comfortable to see another person.

Ah.

Aha.

Well.

Mongooses have to be ready to tango at a moment's notice, give him a moment.]

[Ricky Martin is, in fact, displeased with the current set of cards being played. Will holds a finger out at him for it—the couple is talking, you hold your Goddamn tongue, go ahead, eat some more dog biscuits, good boy—before picking them all back up and drawing, passing the turn along.]

Irrational, not insane. [That is a level of sell out Will could not possibly reach, isn't it? And he can't see April with a white picket fence, either. Not without it having some fake blood on certain "spikes" along the way for shits and giggles.] You know, if I made a really...poorly put together metaphor or simile...that crumbles halfway through and I just kept going anyway, making it even worse, would you—would you tell me it was bad?

[He needs a paddle.]

[Yuri didn't spot Will until he ventured nearer the counter itself, and what he found was a man who seemed rather out of his element pouring over paperwork. Any other time he might have offered to help, but warm drinks were the extent of his courtesy today and would be until he had the answers he had come for.]

Good afternoon, Will. [The smile he offered the other man was one of practiced civility, one of the many masks he was used to wearing in the presence of other people, albeit not one he'd felt was necessary around Will before today.] I am actually here to see you.

[Pulling from the tray the other man's coffee, Yuri placed it atop the counter along with the small bag containing milk, cream, and sugar. His own beverage, a steaming hot tea, had been prepared prior to leaving the shop he'd purchased it from, and was promptly nestled between his clasped hands.]

Are you able to take a short break from your bookkeeping?

[Up goes an eyebrow—there are numerous reasons anyone in this world could have for coming to his door, especially after Freddie Lounds and her wonderful work getting the majority of the population to think her an evil heartless vile stain of shit on the underwear of life, but Yuri and he have a more interpersonal relationship than that. A more interpersonal relationship that includes...

Nah.

He takes the coffee as it is, the look of confusion on his face replaced with something like amusement. Can I take a break from bookkeeping when you're asking me? Pfft.]

I'm always able to take a break from bookkeeping.

[He doesn't pop open the coffee to sniff at it. He doesn't lift the lid to add anything else. Sludge. That is his preference. Hot sludge that he takes a sip of as his eyes move from Yuri's face to his collar and Will shifts in a way that implies he's spent too much time on his ass, not that he's uncomfortable with the situation at hand.

He isn't. Yet.

He's been fed human beings for breakfast without realizing it, and he still has no idea. Why on Earth would he refuse a hot cup of coffee hand delivered without asking for monetary recompense? That would just be insane.]

What's on your mind?

I'm glad.

[What's on his mind?

What a loaded question.]

How long has it been since we went out on, ah...Sick Day, was it? Some weeks, I think. I feel terrible for having been so distant since then.

[Actually, he didn't, and even if he did, it wouldn't have been for the obvious reasons. Besides, Yuri was fairly certain Will didn't mind having been left alone. They shared an appreciation for being solitary, and with it, an understanding that keeping to oneself for any length of time was by no means a way of saying they were discontent with the other. It was nothing personal—or it hadn't been until Will had (allegedly) had a hand in drugging Jayden—simply a side-effect of their personal nature...and probably a side-effect of their personal lives, too.

Yuri took a sip of his tea.]

I heard about the hostage incident. A handful of people you knew were involved, weren't they? I do hope no one was harmed.

Oh.

[ Will may have the misery part of this chat down, but April taking the lead when it comes to dissapointed. She's not angry, Will. Just that other word. The direct way his blood sucking roomie had stated it made it sound like Will was actively sharing the news. Had been...well, a reason to go to thanksgiving. ]

Okay, I guess. I'll tell Rick I won't burn his beanie baby collection if he snitches anymore.

[ He is losing her here. Not physically or feelingsy or anything, in fact she moves her foot off the bed, placing it more or less into his lap, to underline the maintained contact. But mentally, he is wandering down a memory lane she does not share, nor has reference for. What he just mentioned, the whole broken metaphors and similes, was Leslie during one of her finer rants, or Mitch when he hadn't had enough coffee. But, okay. She can be supportive.

She reaches over to pick up and hold forward the woman in the water card from earlier, then holds it up between them. ]

I swear, on this semi-pornographic fisher woman, to always make fun of any terrible world play. Pun, metaphor, or attempts at alliteration. All of it.

[Loaded questions, better than loaded guns?

Don't, he's tempted to say when Yuri mentions feeling terrible about falling out of touch, but with a mouth full of coffee, that would be difficult. He hasn't made an effort to contact Yuri, either. He had no need to. It's a two way street, both of them just as capable of sidling down it when and if they want to. Apparently, Yuri found that street today and couldn't take any other route. This is not a situation entirely born of want, is it? It's need.

Typical.

hostage incident has that relaxed stance thrown to the wind—like this, looking grave and more serious than he has any right to in such a stupid hat, Will is far more someone who would fit the bill of his former job, for better or worse. His former job that called for more coffee when he couldn't reach for booze, apparently.]

Me and mine are fine. [As opposed to everyone—everyone is no longer his concern. There are a handful of people who are his immediate worries and fears and hopes and dreams. He's focusing on them. Specifically, Abigail Hobbs.] Did someone you know have a part in it, too?

[She can be not angry and disappointed, that's fine. Will? He's a little confused, and openly so.]

Don't burn beanie babies in the first place. They'll be valuable someday. [To a daycare...or cat people...] Guessing isn't the same as knowing, April.

[Because he's probably not allowed to say "I need a straight answer" when he's him, is he.]

[Much better, yes, but then again, aren't most things? At least, if you shoot yourself with a loaded question it isn't as likely to be lethal. And, guaranteed, it won't stain a perfectly good suit, either.]

I have met a few of the people who were taken hostage, but I wouldn't consider myself close to any one of them. [He'd spoken to Abigail a handful of times over the network and had gotten the impression she didn't like him very much. Whatever her reasons, it hardly mattered. He could honestly say that, at this point, the feeling was mutual. As for the other person whom he knew had been involved...well, he hardly needed to be concerned for Annie Leonhart.] Actually, it would seem that the people closest to me were only indirectly involved in the incident. I suppose that is my good fortune, and theirs.

[Another sip of tea before he set his cup down and meets the other man's gaze.]

Though, in the case of Jayden, I am told I have you and Freddie Lounds to thank for that.

[Foot in lap, okay, he can deal with that. His head goes through a variety of ways to break a foot to the names of all the bones in a foot back to piggies as he looks down at it, makes no move to push it aside. But he is totally focused on that foot until she draws his attention back to the pin up card and then he's as much at a loss as she is.

She hasn't even heard them and she's already telling him she'll mock every single one he spits out.

She's earned a dumb, slack-jawed expression, reminiscent of a cow more than anything else. Not because he's faced with a truly beautiful fisher woman. That card is fuzzy at the edges with the way Will's attention narrows down to April and April alone. Even his hand bows out a little, giving the raccoon all the answers he needs.]

Good to know. [He's tempted to toss out out one he's used in the past, but considering they end up relating to feelings and people here, maybe that's not the best idea. She's managed to daze him enough he might jumble them anyway. Besides, he might be able to one up it, and when he lays a hand over her foot firm enough to stop it should she kick out, oh God. She knows it's coming, doesn't she?] That's very helpful of you.

[His personal Hero.]

[ stiles rakes a hand through his hair. ]

Anyone could have a surrogate daughter. I mean, for all they know, you met her here and not back home.

[ sadly he's always been the kid to try and talk his way out of stuff instead of just apologizing. usually he just talks himself further into trouble. like now, as he gets nervous and defensive and continues to... say dumb things. ]

And you know, I don't even think I mentioned Abigail. Has anyone ever told you you're kind of paranoid?

[Getting shot with a loaded question leaves room for the lethal end to be much worse. For both parties and whatever suit might be worn.

Will's feeling a little shot, but not just by Yuri. By Freddie. By Jayden. By himself, primarily. And instead of staring at the bullet he's firmly put it in his own foot and screaming in horror at it, the only alternative is to suck it up and dance like he's on fire anyway.

He can throw both himself and Freddie under the bus in different ways, and he'll do it if he needs to. Not because of guilt or shame or actual outrage over what might have been done, no. If Yuri had claimed any profession other than law, the reaction would be different. But he's been a judge, if he's not lying and the members of his world aren't playing along.

Judges know their law.

Judges know how to use the law. Judges might have already taken it upon themselves to look up this world's laws, more so than former non-members of the FBI who hide in bait shops and pretend they can't maintain eye contact.

Mother of fuck.

None of that shows, not when Will chooses to look at the dog coming out of the back room and eying them both, furrows his eyebrows, and sets the coffee down on the counter after a few seconds of seeming unable to decide if he wanted to do just that. If anything, he seems more dazed by the accusation than he does caught. How does he go about this, exactly, and what lines does he leap over to keep Abigail Hobbs out from under the bus, too?]

Told by who? [He can discredit Jayden. He can discredit Freddie. He can discredit someone putting two and two together just from his conversation with Abigail when the Manipulator revealed his plan. But to leave it at just that question is too obvious a fishing technique, which is why he swims right along without letting the question settle, confused and, dare it be said, reeling.] Freddie Lounds and I can barely tolerate each other on a good day. Don't thank us for anything. There is no us between Freddie Lounds and I. Just obnoxious tabloid journalism and me staying off her radar.

[He picks the cup back up and shoots Yuri a look that screams really? Really? Don't insult me. as he takes another sip. Screams it as much as the dripping disdain in his voice when he says Freddie's name screams other, more obscene words. In fact, it almost sounds like hate.

They don't need to be thanked for doing despicable shit; it's just another Tuesday on their end. Don't applaud that.]

[It's okay, they can both say dumb things together. Will's dumb things, at least, have been proven to be a set up. But they are very terrifying dumb things Freddie Lounds might have once longed for, so unleash the hounds of hell it is. He squints at the overwhelming rudeness before him and decides that fighting fire with fire isn't always the worst thing.

There is no mute button on this TMI.]

My unofficial psychiatrist told me I sounded paranoid shortly before I was arrested and wound up here. [The fucker.] Since then? Freddie's probably said it a time or two.

[Putting Stiles down with Freddie, in the gutters. Yes. That's one way to show some love.]

[For now, Yuri opted to temporarily ignore Will's initial question, peeling the lid off his tea instead and reaching for two sugar packets which were promptly emptied into his drink.]

Do you expect me to believe it would be impossible for the two of you to cooperate with one another if your interests aligned? You're not that unreasonable. And Ms. Lounds is too much of an opportunist.

[Vulture would be another appropriate description of Freddie.]

In any case, I truly am grateful for what you intended to accomplish. In fact, I am even grateful for your success. Jayden was kept well away from the hostage site and was kept out of harm's way. [Picking up a stir stick, he began to whisk it around within his cup.] That is what I would like to say, at least.

[Yuri momentarily eyed the dog that had come out to investigate things before returning his full attention to Will.]

Tell me...are either you or Ms. Lounds a medical professional?

[That sip of coffee turns into more than a sip. It's still hot, but to someone who's dealt with raging fevers and kept on trucking in the middle of wintery nights that could only ever make them worse, what is a little hot coffee? Nothing. He can chug it without having to worry about burning the hair off his tongue; he's got more than enough on his face to make up for it.

His face which is currently growing more and more offended as Yuri speaks. Not just offended that Yuri is teaming Freddie and Will as more than they are (as what they are, truly, and it would bother him to know that Yuri called them a danger; bother him and fill him with the slightest trace of pride because when it comes to certain things and people, Baltimore does not back down and those who can't recognize it even in Freddie Lounds strike him as blind—is that Lecter talking, or him, or both?), but offense that he continues on in spite of it and thanks him. That's not enough to draw Will's heels out of the mud on this one, oh no. He is currently braced, a stubborn mule that planted its hooves in wet concrete, now halfway to the point of properly hardening.

It's going to take more than gratitude to pull this ass out of it. This ass that pulls the stool out of its spot to lean against it and contemplate Yuri getting an inferior quality stir stick that leaks toxins into his tea.

This motherfucker.]

I was nowhere near either of them that night. Whatever actions she might have done were hers and hers alone. I'd appreciate you taking that into account considering I don't even know what happened that you're expressing gratitude for. [Nothing I said made that happen, words that have yet to come out of his mouth but...well, close enough. His mouth which is about to reclaimed by that coffee. God, it's hot.] And if by medical professional, you mean she or I have titles behind our names, then no. I've got a degree in forensic science.

[If he wanted to drug someone in a way that would kill them and not look suspicious at all, he damn well could. That's reassuring, isn't it.]

IC contact [Mask or Menace]

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action; 11/15

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