infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

Probably are in this place.

Fair point. I don't want to run into them.

[Even if they're an imPort. Last time he ran into a dog imPort that didn't talk, it turned out

well

not so great.]

Does it get easier? All the crazy stuff?

[NOT THE C-WORD]

Sometimes. My house up here got destroyed a while back, and I witnessed a dog flipping a cop car. I had a roommate who could just sort of vanish. I talked to a giant robot about dogs. I know someone who has wings. Lucifer went to jail here. I met someone named Flame Princess, a girl on fire from a kingdom of fire people. Every time something happens that I think is strange or impossible, I recall all that, and that I've already seen plenty of strange, impossible things. So that helps.

Wings?

[ that sure is what she's is focusing on in that sea of ... everything. ]

Wings. That she can actually fly with sort of wings. Haven't seen them in totally proper action, but it was still pretty strange.

[And he made bird comments he won't repeat to the daughter of the Shrike, n o p e.]

She and I get on well enough, but wings aren't anything I'm used to. So she's one of the ones that I remember whenever I encounter something that I immediately think is impossible.

Like a bird.

[ haha too bad. she went there anyway. ]

[CHILD]

Kind of like a swan, yes.

[Giving some sweet sweet oral over the dinner table at Casa Lecter.]

[ SHE WAS ALWAYS THE ONE SITTING ACROSS FROM IT THAT IS LITERALLY THE FIRST THING SHE THINKS OF AND HAS TO GO GAG A LITTLE IT WAS A BAD LIFE CHOICE TO ACTUALLY GO TO HER ASSIGNED JOB TEXTING WHILE WATCHING ARTISANAL SAUSAGE BEING MADE IS NOT OKAY. this is what she gets for having bad work ethic and not being able to claim sick leave anymore since she already got her stitches out and doesn't even need to have a bandage over her scar anymore. /tina belcher's distressed whale noises. ]

That sounds pretty.

[ a+ save. ]

[HE WAS TEACHING HER TO APPRECIATE ART OF ALL KINDS AT ANY TIME EVERYONE SHOULD BE ABLE TO EAT HUMAN FLESH NO MATTER WHAT ELSE IS GOING ON IT'S ETIQUETTE OKAY really fucked up etiquette. Will knows it's there. And in a few other places, why does one person need that many copies of Leda and the Swan???]

Pretty's a good word. [A+ getting away from "the wings are pretty" or "she's pretty" and not having to go down that road, thanks.] We get together and drink sometimes. I always get a little drunker, it takes a while for her. [Because she's like immortal or something, and Will is not. He can own up to being a lightweight in that regard.] Would you wanna meet her?

To drink or in general because I think you know I'm still to young to legally drink and it might be frowned upon to get your de facto ward accidentally drunk.

[ not that she'd say no to half a glass of wine before bed so she only wakes up panicking and not screaming... but she's only teasing. ]

Yes to either, ftr. Does Gunther like sausage?

Wouldn't be frowned on if it was done in the house with supervision. I meant in general. But if you want to drink, that can be done, too.

[Lecter's all giving her orange juice, what's up with that.]

All right, I'll let her know. Gunther probably does. He's never had it. Why, you got some sausage?

I am an Artisanal Sausage Chef Assistant. :| I finally went to my job after my doctor's note ran out. I hate it. The sausage is free. I'm probably going to quit though and become a homeless street urchin like Oliver Twist.

[No? No. Nope. Nu uh. Not okay.]

If you hate it, why haven't you quit? You won't be homeless. We'll find you another job if you want one.

I don't actually want to leave this job until I have another one for sure.

If you can run a cash register, you can always pick up shifts at the shop.

[He offered it to Annie, who felt uncomfortable by a gift of shirts. Shirts he had no intentions of telling her about the specifics of expenses until someone went and took them from her. She wanted to do something to pay him back, something that made what he gave feel earned, and it was all he could think of. A trade that he didn't need, but a compromise that was necessary.

With Abigail, it's not at all about trades or making her feel like she has to work, to earn something, not from Will. It's recognizing that there may now be a great discomfort with meat in general, though to what degree...he's yet unaware. Coupled with her hating it, it's the best he can come up with.]

[ this time the long pause is on her end. she would not mind working for will. spending all day in his shop, staring at stupid fishing puns and liking pictures of herself on stiles' instagram. she's not a people person, but that kind of job only needs her to be able to pretend.

the pause comes from latent apprehension and bitter curiosity. usually she is better at not asking because for the most part she doesn't want to know the answers to her questions. but this one she can't not ask. it doesn't help that she's been surrounded by kitchen materials she is incredibly familiar with all day for the past three days and it's sucking all the joy from her life. complimentary bagels now come with purchase of sausage. that's all that keep her boss from tsking at her texting.

her bagels are great.

she types the simple question and lets it sit, going back and changing the wording, changing it back, changing it again. the little ellipses bubble must stay up for so long it looks like she's writing a dostoyevsky novel text instead of: ]

How much of you wanting to look out for me is because you killed my dad and how much of it is because I'm me?

[ that took almost an hour (including, in her defense, time to clock out and leave) to compose. ]

[He doesn't think too much of the message taking a while. Things happen, this conversation isn't important except for the fact of the matter that it's one he's having with Abigail. This is nothing, currently, that he finds a long pause to be worrisome. Then he gets the message and.

Ah.]

All of it's because of you being you.

[Just like he told Jesse Pinkman, none of the scrutiny was about him. It was about her. If he hadn't engaged, Will would have carried on as he'd been before, wouldn't have added him to the list of people to follow, to track, to sniff.

There's a ghost that follows him, a father with the last name of Hobbs. But that ghost doesn't follow him to Abigail. That ghost that appears in dreams, that he can see (could see) when he was sick, clapping at serenades and resting in a shallow grave? Stays away from her. There's darkness that plagues Abigail enough as is, Will does not need to add manifestations of her father hanging over her every time he sees her.

He gets enough of that in his own head. Mulling over remarks, the way she looks at him, the way they interact. A constant presence he's aware of does not to be put forth in any other way. Even with a brain rather on fire, there was a drive to keep them separate. She is the Shrike's daughter, may forever be remembered as such, but Will can't stand her to be just that. He lived in a father's shadow once, broke out—nothing as damning as cannibalism and preying on young women, of course not—and yet how can he help her do anything like it, be more than her father's offspring, when it's what ties them together? When, back where they hail from, it was a way for her to gain independence, money, a way out that Freddie Lounds was more than glad to help with? If it hadn't been for her father, Will and Abigail would have never met. The ties that bind are a bloody mess and trying to untangle anything ends up making it worse.]

It's you, Abigail. Nothing and no one else.

[Those three sentences?

Took Will all of a minute, shot off together. He doesn't have to think about it. He doesn't have to get into anything else, though he could. It's pointless when, in the end of things, it boils down to everything being for her, for her as a person, not her as an extension of that guy he shot to death in his own damn kitchen. Unbeknownst to him, a few from Baltimore have already thought of Will as something like Lecter's dog, ready to bark, to bite, to froth, to defend. He's been called that much when it came to his job back home. But really, if there's any one person that he'd go foaming at the mouth and tear out of a leash for without any suggestion needing to be planted?

He's talking to her right now.]

[ even though her brain immediately protests that of course he would say that, why would he say anything else???, the rest of her feels validated that, finally, to someone, she is just abigail.

important because of who she is not who she was born to or how she can be useful or whose secrets she can spill. ]

Thanks. I'm out of work. I'm going to shower and change and then I can pick up Ziggy. If that's okay.

[Will has spent too long being important because of the ways he can be used whether or not he wants it, has been relegated to working because he's good at it, should hike up his shorts and plow right on through.

He's rather keen on seeing people for who they are, especially when it comes to someone else who was used for what she could do without her own wants taken into consideration. Used for something much more horrific that he doesn't like to think over much but can't stop it from happening when it does crop up into his head.]

It's 100% okay. We'll be here.

[ because i have no self control... roughly an hour later, hair still damp and twisted into a braid over her shoulder, abigail creeps into the bait shop with a small paper bag. she holds it out to will like tada i made this for you with my bare hands and only gagged once. ]

It's lamb sausage. [ the green cast to her features would lead one to imagine she might still be feeling a little ill about it. ] All lamb. Not... [ people. ] Its definitely lamb.

[Will is there in his REEL WOMEN FISH hat, possibly a favorite considering how well it sits on his head. Dumbo the Wonderdog perks up at Abigail's appearance but seems to be doing just fine laying on the floor behind the counter. Perhaps he realizes it's best to just be as still as possible, because the cat might also notice him and he'd really rather not. His tail does a half-assed wag, but the way Will's face almost lights up at the sight of her should be enough to indicate that if he had a tail it would be doing double time.

Until he opens the bag and listens to the explanation of it, face hidden by the bill of his hat. No, he does not like Abigail Hobbs working with sausage. With meat. With lamb. He doesn't like it at all. He's not sure if he's supposed to eat it himself, ends up taking a moment to decide, and eventually breaks off one and tosses it down to the dog who suddenly springs to life. Yes, he can show interest and get off his bearded ass for sausage. He knew Abigail was good people.]

You made it?

[He asks when he looks up, but his attention goes from her face to a spot behind her—if she follows his eyes, she'll see that cat he mentioned, considering she just jumped on top of a rack of silly fishing shirts like she owns the damn place. Entitled little shits.]

I... assisted. [ isn't she always. ] I thought Gunther would like it. [ so, yes, it was definitely for the dog. not that she would stop will from eating it, of course, but it's a little bit weird to just give a guy a random sausage when they both know they've been accidental and not so accidental cannibals sometimes. sometimes together, at the same table. sigh.

since she doesn't want to look at will and see that knowledge reflected there, knowing that some of the meat her ate while she was "dead" was actually partially prepared by her. cannibal sous chef. assisting. she turns to find the cat, tension draining from her shoulders as she holds out her hand for the cat to sniff -- the power of pets. thankfully her shower has wiped most of the traces of slaughterhouse from her, but maybe the cat likes the scent of garnier fructis green apple shampoo and alice in wonderland themed body wash. mmm, smells like cookies. come to momma. ]

She's so pretty.

[ hella in love. but she turns back to look at gunther. ] You're still the most handsome one in the room.

[ and as handsome is typically a male compliment... sorry will, the dog wins. ]

[Will has yet to realize the extent of his cannibalism. His, hers, the rhyme that plays right in front of his eyes. He does, however, recall the horror on her face when Lecter voiced the likelihood of her father sharing his kills, ruined only by additional horror, blood on her face and coming across Will staring at the dead face of poor, impaled Marissa. The screaming, the fact that he'd stayed at his post and let someone else handle her—there were times when he wondered if that was the right decision.

Of course, back then, he had assumed that Alana wasn't the only one in the room he could actually trust. That if he did the immediate parts of the job first, Abigail had both Alana and Hannibal to tend to her care, that she'd understand Will was doing what he was supposed to. That he wouldn't be potentially shoving her closer into the arms of someone who had the opposite of her best interests in mind.

He throws another bit of the sausage at the dog as Abigail does that weird thing human who likes cats do, that paying them attention, that acting like they really enjoy their company. Will's content to perch on his stool and feed the dog out of his hand, watch him grow more aggravated and excited as he refuses to just toss it on the floor and let him have at.

He looks back when he gets the compliment, realizes she's talking to the dog, and can't be bothered to act offended. He's not.]

Handsome's good. It's what he's got going for him. [That tail wags uncontrollably as Will finally opens the bag and holds it out, as the dog stuffs his bearded stupid face into it.] Oxygen deprivation in the womb. Came cheap for it. His breed's smart. He's not. [Will nods back to the cat.] She's figured it out. She's been torturing him ever since she came in.

[Cats and dogs, man.]

If she were a boy cat and Gunther was a lady dog then Ziggy would just be "boys being boys". [ reaching forward, abigail scoops up to small animal into her arms, gathering her up like her very own cat baby, scratching at the cat's throat so her paws curl around abigail's arm. it's adorable. she doesn't seem to mind the way the cat's head twists to bite at her fingers.

she smiles again when she sees gunther with his face in the bag. that would be worth putting up with that awful job. ] No one knows about feline intelligence, because they're too uncooperative and mercurial to test.

[ says the girl holding an apparently perfectly docile cat, gnawing on her knuckles. sounds familiar: stubborn, uncooperative, mercurial... if abigail were an animal, she would be a kitten, not a shrike. ] But they're incredibly loyal.

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