infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

[Oh no, CPNJESS, what DID you do!?]

Maurtia Falls, De Chima, out at a bar, or outside out?

Edited 2014-09-03 09:50 (UTC)

De Chima, outside if you know somewhere quiet. You got a preference for what beer?

Know plenty of quiet places. We've got some regular cheap crap in the fridge here, so if you're wanting anything nice we'll have to pick something up.

Cheap crap is fine, I'll grab something stronger for myself too so I don't drink all your beer. I can be at yours in half an hour.

["You should have told her about the nice stuff you kept first," he thinks, but no need to go back now. He can play show not tell, just stuff it in with everything else.]

Works for me. I'll be out in the front yard in half an hour.

[By which he means he will be in the front yard playing a game of fetch the slobbery tennis ball with that bearded, silly dog of his as a way to pass the time. It's not that he's ashamed of Kara or ashamed of his roommates and doesn't want to risk the two of them meeting, it's that they're all very particular people. They're particular about their people, some of them aren't always actually people, and it's just better for everyone involved if Will gets his ass up and dressed and ready to go as opposed to blowing it off because someone else can get the door.

The house looks new. Newer. Not like it was just built new, like it was just rebuilt, should she notice the little particulars.]

[She doesn't bother replying, because words are for losers and Will knows she isn't just going to blow him off. So she gets her own ass dressed, swings by a liquor store to buy some scotch, the takes the teleporter to De Chima.

The residences are close enough that she decides to fly to save time, since she's pretty much stopped giving a shit if people know about her wings, after having had to use them so much during that whole kidnapping thing. So she lands, rather than walking up, her wings folding against her back as she crouches down to greet Mr Mustache.]

Hey.

[That's for Will, not the dog.]

[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."]

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[Part of him wishes he had a hat to adjust, give him something tangible to fiddle with. The dog, dumb in some ways it may be, recognizes it and moves in closer, just enough that Will can get a moment's eat scratch it before he cuts down a path that leads away from lights, from TV, from society.]

Be glad you don't. [Will gets it. He doesn't like it, by God he does not like it.] So you wanna say what happened? What got them up your ass about it?

Some idiot tried to attack me the other night, so I was gonna stop him.

[Permanently. But putting a knife in him, but she figures Will can make the connections there. She's hoping he isn't going to be all weird about it, so she doesn't mind telling him.]

Guess that makes me a monster.

[And she isn't going to argue that she isn't a bad person, but that of all things is fairly low down on the list.]

[He can get plenty of connections from there, vivid, real connections that turn to mental images in his head. For someone who's got the picture of Kara beating a schmuck to death, complete with a sort of flip book involving possible weaponry, he doesn't seem to have it going on when he looks at her. There's no judgment, no sizing her up, there's something much different: he relates. Not to the same extent, of course, but with certain experiences and that empathetic sponge of his...difficult not to.]

Monster's lost a good bit of meaning, too. [Less textbook this time.] But it's different when it comes from someone you think you know. Or knows you better.

[Ah, ah, that's the ticket, that's the part he relates to the most. The part that has something like a smile out of him when he stops to push aside a particularly thick, heavy, thorny bush to not just let her pass, but let her see. A small clearing in the midst of forest that only gets denser the further out they go, complete with one boulder. One boulder and some smaller rocks around it, nothing but the night sky above, and not a single city light in sight once she gets in a few steps.

It's quiet.]

[The lack of judgement is what she was hoping for, and it's surprisingly refreshing after Skye and Lydia's reactions. She knows that Jesse wouldn't judge her either, but that's because Jesse already knows the type of person she is. It's why he hired her.

Which means Will's kind of hit the nail right on the head, except Kara didn't quite realize that's what the problem was.]

Oh.

[It's a considering oh, mostly to herself as she looks through to the clearing. She moves past him easily, the takes a second to peer up at the sky, glad to be away from the city lights so she can pick out familiar stars.]

Nice spot.

[She hasn't dropped the subject of her killing people, she's just taking a break from it for a second, while they get settled.]

Edited (no one saw that) 2014-09-04 01:11 (UTC)

[An Oh he recognizes easily and lets it go, gives her some time and space while his dog finds a small patch of mud and proceeds to take great interest in it. Will carefully puts that bag next to that one boulder, taking out two glasses that are totally not meant for shots. But they're not doing shots, so he doesn't see a reason to stand on pretense.]

Found it when we first got here. [There's some cheap stuff in the bag, too, but it's not what he's going for. Kara brought something, but he'll go ahead and pour one glass, offer it after he offers a bit more. A bit more from his own mouth, not from Freddie Lounds or what he'd put in public. There's an ease to the confession that he never would have found had it not been for the knowledge he was released and Freddie being the one to slam it down without warning. People who didn't take her seriously were a breed he didn't like being able to understand.] Found all the little hidey places like it I could. Ever go home, I'm headed to a small, single room with bars. Probably in the basement. Taking advantage of freedom to move about outside while I can.

[He looks up, nonchalant—does he go ahead and pour for her, too, does she take the one that's ready, or...?]

[She'll take the glass he first offers her, sniffing the whiskey without tasting it just yet, because she's more interested in what he has to say. There's a small part of her that wonders if Jesse really is right about Will, but it just doesn't fit.]

Thought you were one of the good guys.

[It's a question without being a question, casual enough that he could easily brush it away if he doesn't feel like answering.

She even takes a sip of the drink, like she isn't that invested in his answer, like it doesn't matter.]

[The way his face changes, the nod, the eyebrows, the smile it fades into—so did he, he thought that, too, thought everyone knew as much, and they apparently did not. It's bitter, it's so so bitter, a taste that hits the tongue and is immediately spat back out. Intolerable, but perhaps not surprising when someone's been around him long enough to pick up that he seems more capable of negative emotions than positive one. Even as he pours himself a nice glass of the good stuff.]

So did I. Thought everyone knew it. Little different, not right, but not so off I'd... [He waves the glass, pulls a face, sits on the ground like he belongs there. Just dirt and grass and stars and sky, this is the sort of simplicity he can revel in.] ...go that far. [How far, though? That's not something to throw out (or throw up), right off the bat.] But I'd totally beat the shit out of someone who tried to attack me and if it came down to one or the other...

[He'd stop him, too. He's not really a hero outside of roles he fills, but even if he was—hero does not mean martyr. Hero does not mean sacrifice at the drop of a hat that means absolutely nothing in the end. Hero does not mean total fucking idiot, and he can drink to that.]

...don't gotta be a monster or a hero to want to keep from being turned into a corpse.

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