infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

[He lowers his gaze, his tone going quiet, but not soft]

And he wouldn't need to lie to push whatever agenda in mind. Verity Willis, one of the people who replied to my...

[Clears his throat, deciding to brush past this part as quickly as possible]

...announcement, volunteered her services. A human lie detector, she called herself. While she was able to uncover some of his deceptions, she also said something interesting.

[And he looks back up, staring at Will before he continues]

That he, in her opinion, rarely needs to lie. That, in her words, 'he knows exactly how to deal with people so he doesn't have to'.

Edited 2015-02-06 00:26 (UTC)

[A human lie detector? Well, well, this was more informative than Will initially had expected it to be. Good to know a human lie detector was running around, albeit for rather selfish reasoning. Sure could come in handy in regards to situations like this, sure could come in as a pain in the ass otherwise.]

They often do. [His lack of seeming bothered is starting to break; his shoulders stiffen, he crosses his legs at the ankle, physically drawing in on himself.] Though with what you've just shown me, if he's giving out admissions...you've got what matters.

[Says Will Graham, trying to persuade himself that's true. For the moment, it's true enough. For the moment, Will can't afford to be the one who shows burns from betrayal. He's no longer plagued by physical sickness, has a good group of people to rely on instead of just the one who's wounding him and the rest of the world around them the most, no, no, there won't be any crumbling, no backsliding this time around.

Edgeworth saying he wasn't someone who matters. Please. Will looks at his bag as he says the last part, taking another sip of that coffee. P l e a s e.]

[She gets a grin, Will not disbelieving her but rather firm in the belief that she knows them better than he does, if only by the merits of her age, her generation. If she doesn't know them intimately, she'll be able to adapt better than him. She'll have heard names he wouldn't be privy to his circles, she'll have a better springing board.]

Sure, it's... [He hefts the bag up a little better and indicates the path to the kitchen with his free hand.] ...in there. I'll go put your stuff in the guest room, and...just make yourself at home.

[God, that—he has wanted to say that for such a long time, smile growing, absolutely joyous, not a hint of strain or insincerity behind it. Never connected to the idea of family, but a family involving Abigail making herself at ease, comfortable, in the place Will's done the same, that's.

An idea he can definitely connect to. Is connected to, obviously, as much as he's connected to Abigail. He'll take the good (her being alive) with the bad (whatever problems might arise, finding long hair clogging the shower drain?), because the bad here is nothing like Baltimore. The bad? Isn't here. They can be better, they can be happy.

Will's certainly happy as he makes a beeline to do just what he said after shutting the outside door, extending a foot in the direction of that bearded blunder, which allows for Ziggy to go bolting through his legs and tell her momma what's up.]

[So Will Graham finally admits that Edgeworth was right. Not about his methods, no, but about the undeniable connection between Yuri Petrov and Lunatic. And really, that's why he came here, wasn't it? To show him his proof, to declare victory once and for all?

Funny, victory doesn't feel nearly as good as it should. Not with the way Will's face fell when he read the conversation for himself. Not with the threat that looms over their heads until Petrov can be brought in. Not with the last dregs of fear and adrenaline sinking into his gut and flowing sluggishly through his veins, making him feel every bit as small as Will looks right now - and when did he start to look so small, anyhow? At what point, exactly, did the other man start to shrink into himself?

When Will looks at his bag, Edgeworth glances away as well, rolling his shoulders and fiddling with the strap. There's nothing more for him to say, is there? No, there isn't]

Unfortunately, that's all I've got at the moment. [A pause] I should be leaving now. I... don't exactly have anything else to show you, I'm afraid.

Edited 2015-02-06 02:53 (UTC)

[Will doesn't think she knows, either, but if she doesn't want to get into the process of unraveling that hellish nightmare with him right now, he's not going to press. He drags one leg up to cross over his knee, half on the bed as he resettles to make room for Ziggy wherever she might want to move. Or flop, either or.]

No. [He says after a long pause, licking his lips and shaking his head.] It's a waste of energy to be mad at him. [Because he's not here. Because Will might be dead if the Porter ever decides to shuffle him back to Baltimore. Because Hannibal left a great deal of room for Will to be mad at himself. He's smaller, here and now, one hand Ziggy's faithful servant and the other fiddling with the hem of his pants around his ankle.] So I...don't.

[Doesn't waste the energy or fuel his entire existence off his anger at Hannibal Lecter.

But, oh. That in no way means he's forgotten, does it? Could anyone?]

[Will's eyes remain on the bag; even as Edgeworth causes it to shift, Will's focus appears rather fixed. Whether it's because he feels as small as he looks, because he's avoiding eye contact, that's up to Edgeworth to decide, if he wants. He stays fixed on it for a while, but there's something about don't exactly have anything else to show you that has his face changing. He's listening, he is very much giving the words out of Miles Edgeworth's mouth full attention despite not looking at him. It almost seems like Will doesn't want to look at him, but...not out of humiliation. Not out of being wrong.

He was wrong about more than Yuri Petrov.

He finally nods, glancing across that lukewarm coffee to Edgeworth's face, and oh, that intensity is not lost. It's just quieter.]

You've showed me plenty. [Not at all referencing the conversation with Yuri Petrov, not at all bothering to hide it. There are hot readings to go along with those cold readings, and Will's certainly unable to claim anything cold in regards to Miles Edgeworth. They might be generally attributed to groups of individuals most consider con artists and nuisances, but Will's never had a problem being among the very bottom of the barrel. He was born there.] Anything crops up you think I can lend a hand with, you know how to reach me. [He points, lazy, as if he truly doesn't realize Edgeworth has no idea of the lay of the house, as if he's just like everyone else when they have their groggy states, need sleep. It's the direction of the bedroom April and he share, Edgeworth can at least surmise wherever he's indicating has his communicator.] Generally always hear that thing go off, regardless of what's happening. I'll answer.

[May God have mercy on Will's soul should Hannibal Lecter ever pop back up.]

Don't worry about locking the door behind you; I'll get it.

[And Edgeworth looks up, accidentally meeting his gaze, staring back as he feels the shift in atmosphere. He senses a double-meaning to his words, recognizes something lurking underneath the surface, but what, exactly, he does not know. It's like glimpsing a figure in the fog: you can guess at their significance, but the harder you strain for details, the hazier the stranger becomes.

He breaks eye contact when Will points haphazardly, his eyes following Will's hand, grateful for a break from the intensity of his stare. A moment is all he needs, though, before he turns his attention back to his host]

I'll keep that in mind.

[He speaks slowly, cautiously, still puzzling out the subtext to their conversation.]

But I think that's all for now, Graham. If we do talk again, though, I hope it will be under less dire circumstances.

[He doubts it, unfortunately. Edgeworth prefers to avoid conversations that don't have a use to them, and so far, Will's main use seems to be a profound knowledge of dark, terrible people and the events surrounding them. But, in the interest of keeping this conversation brief, Edgeworth keeps that thought to himself, and will be walking out the door if Will has nothing else to say]

[ abigail is just going to follow will around like one of his strays, to be quite honest, but she pauses with a happy exhale in order to lean down and scoop up ziggy, cradling the fluffy monster to her chest happily, looking exactly like agnes with her unicorn. IT'S SO FLUFFY!!!!!!!11!!

but once ziggy is clamped in her arms and eagerly inspecting abigail with her sandpapery tongue, wondering where her hairless kitten has been for so long, abigail continues to follow after will, not letting him get very far out of her line of sight. she giggles when ziggy licks her ear -- not even the good one. ]

It's like she thinks I'm her kitten and not the other way around.

[He snorts.]

Thanks, man.

[And with that, he's gone.]

[When Will had said he was going to put her things in the guest room, that's exactly what he meant. Even if he hadn't been living with a woman for the past two months, he had knowledge of them before that, knew better to start pulling things out of her backpack in case he stumbled onto something surrogate dads were just supposed to know about but never face firsthand. Not unless there needed to be a late night run to the store because supplies had vanished. So that bag gets gently placed on the bed and Will props up the pillow like he is totally used to guests. He totally is not, but he tried, okay? The sheets are fresh, the comforter is the nicest they have that isn't on their own bed, and he only had to enlist the help of two raccoons getting everything ready on time. He's got this.]

She's gotten attached. [Sort of like the bearded dummy of a dog has gotten attached to Will, sitting at the threshold of the room and watching them both carefully.] When an animal loves someone, they want to take care of you as much as you take care of them. It's not one way or the other, it...goes both ways.

[He gesticulates as he says it, and even though that isn't a real, trained cue for the dog to come in, he doesn't need one. He knows where he stands with Will and walks in...only, he walks past Will and sticks his head up on that clean, clean comforter to sniff at her bag.

Will's marginally got this. And he's definitely just talking about animals here, nothing else. Nope.]

Is that it, huh, Zig? [ she hefts up the cat in front of her face to look at her. and ziggy stares at her in silence before meowing and reaching out to bat at her hair.

okay. that's probably it. with a laugh, she sets the cat down to inspect the room now that her human will be in it. which allows abigail to look around as well. ]

It's nice. All of it, I mean. You should put flowers out front.

[ her fingers fiddle with her blankets, the comforter plus her pink knit blanket from her own room. pillow from her room too, the one that smells a little bit like stiles still. she's been accidentally collecting her things at will's house, small stack of books on the nightstand having been rescued from her bookshelf little by little.

she, of course, is not mad at hannibal. she tries so hard to be, but she's mostly just sad. ]

Do you forgive him?

[ very seriously studying the blanket, she doesn't look up a will, that skittish nervousness of so long ago making her fidgety. like maybe he'll snap in an encephalitis fueled rage and scare the crap out of her like he did in minnesota. ]

[Will pushes aside the curtains on the window to look outside, as if he hasn't already started contemplating what sort of plants to put around the place. It's an easy way to show he's taking her suggestion on board, immediately.]

Funds are sort of tight. [He cranes his neck up, eyes narrowing at something across the way before he lets the curtain go and turns back, shrugging his good shoulder.] Got a bunch of plans, but we're staggering them. Prioritizing.

["We're" he says.]

Why, what flowers would you suggest?

[Abigail studies the blanket, and Will studies a small rip in the knee of his pants. Nothing worth fretting over, just a snag that ended up with a barely noticeable hole one has to be close to in order to even realize is there. He's just realized it's there. He hasn't just realized the growing collection of Abigail's things in the guest room, but he hasn't got in him to comment on it. She's more than welcome wherever Will stays, like hell is he going to risk proving that false through words he didn't think on before they came tumbling out of him.]

I don't know. [Still quiet, raw, completely honest. How can he know when he doesn't know the outcome of that bloody mess? If he's even alive to be able to forgive? What is the extent of costs he has to forgive? Without knowing how it all truly ended, it's difficult to gauge where to begin with forgiveness.] I guess that's a no, then, if I can't...say for certain either way.

[A sad attempt at a smile follows what might as well amount to thinking out loud, and he lets his hand drop from the small of Ziggy's back just long enough to see if she'll go padding across to Abigail for physical affection instead. She's going to have to; he leans back on that hand and lifts his other to get rid of some thread stuck between the blanket and Abigail's neck.]

Feeling any better?

Wildflowers. [ absolutely zero hesitation, followed by: ] Grey likes flowers.

[ does she assume grey moved with them or is she just pointing it out because grey is april's friend and it'd be nice for him to visit and be suddenly surrounded by a tiny meadow of wildflowers. ]

Hydrangea and rhododendron against the house. Maybe lilacs too. Geraniums for ground cover, hosta along the walkway. Lady slippers, tulips, irises, lupine, tall ones like that for in front of the bushes. Scurvy weed is really pretty, but I think dogs are allergic to it, so ignore those. [ her face scrunches in thought. ] Actually rhododendron, too. [ think think think. ] Forsythia or weigela would be better. And you could coax some bougainvillea to climb up the tree, with honeysuckle vines.

[ ... ] I read a lot. You should get a dogwood tree.

Edited 2015-02-13 07:30 (UTC)

[ ziggy stays planted in his lap. traitorously. ]

Yeah, I guess. [ she sighs a little, the picture of discontent, but the words that follow has a vaguely teasing quality to them. ] Don't tell Dr Chilton, I'd hate for him to think talk therapy actually works for me.

[ she doesn't really mean it anymore. not since will vanished and chilton became part of her coping. ]

[Chilton. Will looks to the nearest corner of the room, as if he's expecting there to be camera, something wired in that would make it pointless for him to say he won't talk. Nothing's there, of course. They have other methods of security in this house.]

Deal. [Ziggy might be a traitor, but Will's not. Not with Abigail Hobbs, at least. The hand that got rid of that bit of thread reaches out, arm loose over her shoulders as he gives her the epitome of a tired, lazy hug. They're both tired, might as well.] You gonna be fine or you want me stay for a while?

[In case she's going to try going back to sleep, that is. Will's no stranger to restless nights, knows that sometimes staying up and doing a bit of reading is preferable. If Abigail wants to knock out some sleepy reading by herself, fine. If she wants to bundle up like a sad burrito all by herself, fine. If she wants some company, regardless of whether they spend that time talking or not? Also fine.]

[Well then. He stares for a second, wasn't expecting a full list like that. But it's good, he can file it away with his super memory and insert them into plans accordingly. Start small, one at a time, and watch for Abigail's reaction as one more on her list joins the others. And yeah, he already figured into Grey stopping by, so that's good to take into account. Better when it's presented by Abigail, though. He's more likely to seek it out and do it in a timely manner.

Building a home, together, as effortlessly and understated as possible.]

Probably easiest to start with the dogwood tree. [He says, and that cracks a small smile out of him. Yeah, he gets the joke. He approves.] Need to get this guest room in order, too... [Someone has plans for this place, Abigail can see that in the way he looks around the room. A fixer upper that's actually desired, go figure.] The bathroom is just down the hall, by the way. You don't have to worry about knocking or anything...there's one connected to the master bedroom.

[Takes out some of the potential awkwardness, doesn't it?]

That's about it. This isn't. A very big place, but it does just fine.

[But it's what they have, and Will cherishes it as much as he hopes Abigail will come to find it worth value outside of just being a safe space. What could be taken as nervousness in the way he looks down as he says it has nothing to do with the place itself and everything to do with wanting to make it so Abigail chooses to spend time here.]

Will -- Will. I need, I think I need -- to speak with you. Please. [Chilton. His breathing is heavy, ragged. As if he's been running.] At your earliest convenience.

[He so rarely ever uttered "please".]

Will? Disregard my prior message, if you would. Much obliged.

[It would be easier to disregard if not for that please, and Chilton barely has any time between his last message and finding Will Graham calling him back. Rather than wait for Frederick to speak first, Will goes for something more proactive than simply existing on the other end of the line, plans to open his mouth as soon as it's apparent Frederick's picked up.

That is, if he picks up. If he doesn't, Will's not going to leave a message. He's just going to call back. Again. And again. And again. Like the neighborhood dog who will bark all night long if he doesn't get let in the house at a certain time. Call him twenty times in a row if he has to. More. If poor ol' Fred's at his house, he should know that Will won't hesitate to march his ass over there if he doesn't get a solid answer soon enough. Oh, he could call Abigail about it, but he could also put on some pants and shoes and use the front door.

He could use the front door. But would he, in this situation? Ring-ring-ring.]

I'm sorry I didn't answer, this was in the other room. [Proactive apologies. He's not actually too sorry about it, but manners are important. So, so, so important. He sounds more worried than apologetic, remembers the last time Frederick Chilton had a reason to sound out of breath due to running. No please.] Hi.

[On the seventh time, Chilton picked up. He had no other recourse, his anxiety spiked every time he heard that ringer -- every tone choked him. He picked up, succumbing to Will.]

You did not disregard my prior message.

[This is his design. He'd be a terrible juror, grumble grumble.]

Don't see how I could—would you, had I left you the same?

Would you be in my position? [The wince that follows can't be seen over their phone line, but the pause that embeds it is heard.]

I didn't know who else would. [A beat.] Who else could listen.

[Confession is good for the soul after all, huh.]

Now's convenient. [No sighing, no grumbling, nothing in his tone that would lead to the belief that this is all very much a terrible burden, he'll be forever in his debt for simply listening. Disregarding that first message seems to be an impossibility at this point.] What happened?

IC contact [Mask or Menace]

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02.18.15 21:34

02.18.15 21:49

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