infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

show me

[age/smile/lunacy?]

show you what? the bad smile?

that's the one
maybe people just aren't seeing it right

[Turning it on isn't a problem. Not doing his pleased grimace-smile because he does appreciate April is the problem, so when that smile becomes all warped and twisted, it does look rather wrong.

Actually, he looks like he might throw up.

And then possibly murder someone. Or perhaps do that during the barf. Convenient distraction. This is definitely the guy that is okay to sleep on the floor.]

[ She does believe in some fairness with people she ~~likes~~ doesn't hate, so she goes to video as well.

And proceeds to laugh and laugh at the expression. ]

Okay. They were wrong. Not creepy but- oh my god, stop smiling.

[Oh no, no, this is good, this is not so bad. This is not wading into the territory of oh, poor Will and his sad smile, he must be hugged after he's reminded how unstable he is (like he could forget), this is—this isn't that. This is laughter and for someone who's had much worse than laughter thrown at him, well. It's a little easy to just

morph that not smile

a little more hideous. Hello friend.]

[ Not helping Will. April actually covers her mouth, the whole lower half of her face even, as he....what. Tries harder? Mocks her? And laughs a little more. ]

Oh my god, I was right. You're so an evil man.

[Oh no, he has more, he has an arsenal of unhappy smiles, and they fluctuate so well! It's like he's made a path for himself in this world of smiling people, a path where the smiling people see his smile and make paths elsewhere. Far away from him. This, this is the confused smile that's trying to stay on his face. He's trying to be friendly and do that odd smile thing all the other people do, but it's not working, it's not. He's being laughed at, why are you laughing?

Which really only works until a furrier, friendlier face appears behind him, Gunther the Mustached Menace popping in to lick at the back of his neck and ruin it all. And that, yes, that is a laugh from Will Graham. Part actual joy part dogs!, but that would be a laugh.]

There, see? Me and smiles, we don't work so well.

[Except when he does shit like that and his dogs come running, naturally.]

Mm. Okay. You should stick with looking how you look. You're a terrible cheerleader.

[ It doesn't take much for April to calm down totally. Like all the way back to a neutral expression totally. Almost as if she has practice squishing down her amusement in order to project her deadpan attitude.

But the appearance of the puppy does get a small, soft over viciously amused, smile.]

But you're okay how you are naturally.

[Terrible cheerleader, yes. That would be him, him in his plaid sitting on the floor like he doesn't have a bed or a chair or anything else (he does). Him watching her carefully and ignoring when the dog goes back to sniffing him. His hair. His head.

It's a little bit like watching monkeys in a zoo. If April guessed Will might often wake up with a dog snorting about his face and not push him away but pull him up, thus not breaking the habit? She might be right.]

You know that ceremony we had, up here? [He's not leaning forward. The dog is just rooting around so that he nudges Will every now and then.] Told me if I shaved and started doing injections in my eyebrows, I could be a model.

[That face, the way his eyebrows lift—what do you think? This guy getting his hair all messed up by a dog and not even caring.

Is this why he's on the floor.]

Mm. Maybe. Even without that stuff, you're pretty enough.

[ Not even a hesitation or a shift in tone there, it's just an objective fact. Kinda old as he may be, Will is pretty. Even sitting on the floor, staring at her while she's seated on her bed, an odd raccoon or too scampering in the background. Just pretty.]

So long as there's no smiling. I don't know if they know the magic of photoshop here yet.

[He wasn't expecting that—nor was he expecting Gunther's licks to stop because he sneezed doggy snot all over the back of his neck the moment April finished speaking, as if Will had forgotten he was there. In a somewhat animal-unfriendly movement, Will reaches out to bodily shove the dog off screen. It's possible he's grown used to Gunther's sneezing, the fits, and knows that it's going to get worse. It does, but that sneezing is further away and not all over him. Victory.]

Pretty model prisoner. [His voice is a little too rough for him to sound entirely flippant. But wait, if she's this into the bad guys and he's got...] I still got it, you know. Orange jumpsuit I came here in. Haven't had it in me to get rid of it.

[Wanna see? is implied, but not stated. He's still got his hand out to keep the dog at bay. The dog who has been sneezing the entire time. Normal day in a Graham home, this. This furry mess here.]

[ She does her best to try to follow the puppy as he is ejected from the scene, even as her smirk comes slightly back at the interaction. It's sad to see the puppy moved, but she knows how it goes. Animal snot as only funny when it happens to other people.

But when he's solidly off the screen, her attention does fully back to Will, and she considers him for a long moment before replying.

Will Graham, what are you plotting? And what is she going to do about it?]

I thought it was a future thing. The jail and murders and Freddie becoming your number one stalker fan and all.

[The sneezing stops, which means Will can take his hand back. For now. For now, the dog seems content to lick its snout and curl up next to his leg, eyes glancing at the screen. He sees you, April.]

It is and it isn't. Freddie's been on my trail for months now. [It's an uncomfortable thing to try to explain, but she probably should know more about it. Considering she isn't demanding or even asking, it's easier to run with.] Just before I got Ported in, I was arrested for... [This topic is not one he's fond of, it's so impossible to miss.] ...some things they found in my house. Body parts. Hair, bone fragment, an ear I threw up in my sink. [So much drama for a dog fighting fish man, so much.] Five people, technically. Didn't believe it was me, so I— [Did something that most can't, wouldn't.] beat the snot out of the guards and driver, threw them out, dumped the vehicle, ran to find an explanation of why. Who. How. Stalling because I could. When I got here, I was in orange and had a busted thumb. That's how you get out of handcuffs. One way, at least if you don't have a key.

[At least he can be informative and helpful on how to get out of handcuffs?]

It was just Frederick Chilton and another guy we know when I got here. They were a little behind me, time-wise. So I didn't mention it.

[If she's been around long enough to see Chilton in action, surely she can understand.]

You threw up an ear.

[ Will, that is usually the kind of info you mention before accepting an invitation to stay in someone's house. Where they sleep. Behind a only very weakly locked door. Not that it would have changed her answer on taking him in or not, it's just generally polite. But of all the points (breaking your own thumb?) that's the one she can't help but echo.

She runs one hand through her hair, for once actually buying time to think of a reply instead of just blurting the first thing that comes to mind or tossing back a harsh joke. Possibly more importantly, she bothers to try to hide the fact she doesn't have a reply instead of just blankly staring at him until he starts talking again out of discomfort. But don't think she missed that didn't believe it was me. ]

Okay. So, you're kind of a mess. But its not like you had to mention it. Stuff from before, it's, mm...whatever happened, it's not like it has to matter. Unless it starts happening again. Here. Or you want it to.

[It would have been polite, wouldn't it? But how does one bring that up in any polite conversation? It's a rude, horrifying subject. At least he had the good grace not to do it sometime when it was just the two of them, totally alone in the same room. Or, as alone as they could be, because send out the raccoons might have not been taken well if he was going to turn it into a talk about...

It's just better this way.

Him wanting it to, God, that's the bitterest excuse for a laugh, and he somehow seems to have shrunk in, lost some weight.]

A whole one. [Not digested at all, and not a lobe or a part. A whole freaking ear.] It's not happening again because it wasn't me. I didn't do any of that. Wouldn't. A good frame job, sort you'd put up in a fancy museum. [Or a hospital for the criminally insane.] But that's not me, I don't—I don't hurt people. [Like that, at any rate.] Understand it's a lot of mess. Bloody, nasty mess. If that's. Deal-breaker, then I'm not gonna. Stalk you or complain or hold up a stereo outside your house or anything.

[Say Anything Except for "Go Away Cannibal Dog Man, I'm Calling the Police" the saddest movie ever, costarring 400 dogs and more raccoons.]

That's...mm.

[ She will come back to all of this later. This...framed for murder and how exactly does one get an ear in ones stomach without permission stuff. April's never really- no, not even really. In no way has anyone asked permission to weird-court her. Villains and all, they usually had a fairly direct process for showing what they wanted.

But, regardless of that, as usual it's the other people involved that have to be sorted out first. Because while she could get behind some freaky threeway stuff, all three people involved have to know it's happening. And all she knew was will had rushed to the hospital for the kid, that she and Freddie were apparently bros, too. There was something with that.]

Don't you have a child bride already?

[He's yet to remember it, but it involves tubes and things being stuffed down his throat right to his stomach and just—deep-throating, that's it. That's what that horror was.

He pauses at the question, thinking it over, and then that startling realization has him looking like he's just heard the absolute craziest thing in his life. Cannibalistic serial killers? The shit he saw at work? Normal. This? This is wrong.]

Abigail Hobbs is more a surrogate daughter than anything else. I was a guardian for her back home. [Why not snag Lecter's descriptions when they fit?] And I might be Southern, April, but I'm not incestuous.

[Or into raccoons.

Gosh why does everyone think the worst of him!!!!]

So you're just like, a dad without custody.

[ She rolls her eyes at that look. What do you want, Will. Abigail's pretty. And for some strange reason the idea of him being responsible for another person's life was almost hard to believe. Couldn't imagine what in this conversation would have made it sound like he was having trouble even keeping his own on track. ]

Found anymore kids while you've been here?

[He can handle dogs, but putting him in charge of people's lives kind of...there's a reason she went running to Hannibal. No one could blame her, especially not compared to Will.]

It's not like that. [With Annie, with Sasha, with Jayden, with any of the teenagers he's latched onto in his own way. They're not Abigail at all, and the words of one sorely missed doctor who had experience with Will and raccoons comes flooding back. They're not strays.] Not with the other kids here. None of them are her. I'm not—it's a circumstantial thing. [And uncomfortable, too. Gosh, he keeps swallowing, looking unable to sit still.] I'm paternal with her for reasons that won't happen again. I'm nobody else's dad.

[Gunther, dumb as he may be, snorts at that like he understands. Gets his attention.]

Humans, I mean.

[Better? Better.]

[ Circumstances that involved her mom, April can only assume. But whatever. Unlike some people she's ~~bullied~~ known, Will's been pretty prone to just come out with info he actually wants to share. If he's going to swallow and fidget instead of spitting it out, there's probably a reason.

Which means she won't press. Not that she won't enjoy the discomfort and run with it in a new direction. It's the only thing keeping this conversation grounded for her as they weave around the apparent point of it.]

So one of your mickey mouse club might win the child bride prize.

[Child bride. Prize. The idea of Abigail ever being a bride isn't sad because it invokes the paternal feelings of loss and protectiveness, it's sad because, as far as he knows, The Corpse Bride isn't real. She can't come back in any way. She can't ever be a bride. She won't be all right, she won't wear white and have her hair done to cover a missing ear, or have some veil in place that covers it up. Covers up the scar on her neck.

But he knows she's trying to go into the opposite direction of heavy and terrible and soul-crushing, so he does his best to follow along. Swim right down, shake the blood out of his hair.]

Probably not. I'm not looking to get married. Doubt she is, either. Doubt—the sort of people you've got here from my world, we're...not really the marrying type.

[Which may sound like he has nothing but sex on the mind when it comes to any sort of relationship that's intimate, perhaps, but it's more—well, in general, and here? Of all places? It seems so...destined for disaster. The people from his world are also kind of terrible at all relationships. And one of them, at least, has already killed a spouse. Really, just. It ends badly in Baltimore.]

Are you?

Sometimes. It kinda depends if the relationship is the marriage type. Some aren't. But if it is..mm, yeah, I guess. Why bother with the middle stuff if the end's better?

[ She married one man on literally the first date. True, there had been some zany City magic involved with that, but in hindsight it was still one of the better weeks she'd had in the city. She'd do it again, if she felt like that again. But she hadn't with Max, she'd felt like living together and doing small crimes and mocking people instead. So they'd done that, and it'd been just as good.]

What. Do you want to know if I want kids, too?

[Will continues to reel in conversations that will be so terrible to look back on if he ever goes home and has no idea of it. For now, he doesn't have so much of a problem talking about it, and the flat What has his face screwing up, a companion What what? without as much being said.]

Don't you already have some? [Will has seven dogs, people might count them as his kids.] Seem like you're readier to be a vet than anything else. A good vet. I'd take my dogs to you sort of good vet.

[Compliment???]

Thanks.

[ Compliment. She will take it. ]

I'll keep it in mind if making people miserable gets boring, I guess.

IC contact [Mask or Menace]

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