infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

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.

[It's not the commentary on feline loyalty that has his lips thinning out, has him leaning back further against the stool as Gunther takes to licking the bag itself. Abigail might look a little silly as she talks about it, the cat twisting and gnawing and being a cat. But she's also dealing with Will Graham, who's looking pretty Goddamn silly himself.

He lets go of the bag, gives Gunther a new tasty snout hat, and crosses his arms, surveying the tiny kingdom before him. Dumb dog, fishing crap, cat, Abigail. Abruptly:]

Do you think I'd treat you differently if you were a boy? [He manages to keep eye contact once he gets it, if she'll let him. He won't be the one to drop it this time.] Have we got problems to discuss?

[About the way she's being treated, naturally.

Walk in the shop like what up, is it serious conversation time.]

No problems. I like us. But you would treat me differently if I were a boy. Everyone would. [ she knows this. she also knows that her being, effectively, a little girl is why she was only ever suspected of helping her father. if she were garrett jacob hobbs' teenage son it would have been a foregone conclusion. violence and aggression is an assumed aspect of being a teenage boy, not so with teenage girls.

she shrugs a little, looking away, breaking that rare eye contact as she sets the cat down on the floor, running her fingers over the cat's neck one last time before she straightens up. she doesn't have any illusions that will would have cared for her if she wasn't the tiny, breakable girl whose blood had stained his hands as he tried to stem her bleeding. would he have even tried?

being a girl, being a delicate, seemingly innocent girl is what makes abigail so strong. she knows what she has and she works with it, to her benefit. ]

I'd be dead or Jack Crawford would have put me in jail. No one would have bothered Alana to talk to me. I'd've gone straight from the hospital to Dr Chilton's. [ the cat winds around her ankles as she moves forward and leans against the counter, fingertips drumming against the top of it. ] No less than I deserve. [ she glances up again, blue eyes soft and resigned. ] But on the upside, you wouldn't have had to keep my secrets.

[It's a good thing she keeps the meat of those thoughts to herself, because Will Graham would have Issues with some of them. At first, he thinks she just means in general—girls have Barbies (back when Barbies weren't human-sized and selling toothpaste) and pink bedding, boys have Tonka trucks and blue bedding. But then she mentions Jack Crawford and his face hardens, arms crossing over his chest without him having to actively tell them to do as much. The cat is ignored, the dog with the bag still stuck to his face is ignored, the world for him melts down to Abigail Hobbs, nothing and no one else. The shop could catch fire and it doesn't seem like he'd notice.

Chilton. Deserving Chilton. His jaw clenches, seizes harder when he hears the last of it, wired shut as opposed to gaping.]

You don't deserve Chilton. Not many do. [But Will's going to end up with him whether he likes it or not, already has in a time yet to happen. Chilton's verified it multiple times by now, and although Abel Gideon might be a little fuzzy on plenty of details, so is Will. A broken clock is still right twice a day. Freddie Lounds provides additional backup and so much more, more he can't reveal without going through it himself. Does Will deserve that fate? Probably. Especially considering...] I never had to keep your secrets, Abigail. You didn't blackmail me. You didn't force me to. I did it of my own volition. I did it because I wanted to. I did it for you, yes, but I did it all by myself.

[And he'd do it again, and again, and again. He'd do it for the rest of his life. He'd ignore the mourning Boyles to keep it so Abigail could rest in peace, wherever she was. He's not the monsters he chases, no.

But he's certainly not the cleanest member of law enforcement on their tails.

Arguably, Lecter played a big part in Will's silence on the matter. He's not going to address that part. Not with Abigail, not with Lecter. Not with himself. It's not a very stable thing to partake of, arguing with oneself.]

[ came in here for a cat, leaves with emotions. ]

You did it because I'm a girl. [ she smiles, a lopsided little grin that holds no mirth. ] You wanted to protect me. Society says boys don't need protecting, that little girls are the ones who need to be protected. It's why women who are in their late twenties are still called girls.

[ looking down again, staring at her nails and pale hands in desperate need of sunshine just like the rest of her, the bitter caricature of a smile disappears. ]

I know I didn't force you. But if I weren't... If I didn't... [ her breath gets pushed out in a sharp sigh. ] You shouldn't have. I shouldn't have let you. I should have told Jack Crawford the truth. Or Alana. Then you wouldn't have -- [ been force fed an ear and wound up in jail not having pissing contests with hannibal. ] I'm sorry.

[Jack Crawford or Alana, why can neither of them be here right now? It would go so much better. The sorry isn't what has him looking grimmer than usual, isn't what his him tasting liquor on the back of his tongue. Oh no.]

I'm sorry you feel that way. [About Will's motivations, about herself. Why is no one else here to break this up, to make it possible without Will looking like he wants nothing to do with her or can't handle her? So, in a drastic last attempt to do as much without being a total douchebag, he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, licks thumb and forefinger, and starts doling out cash, using the counter to lay it out, explaining as he goes.] I had her taken care of. She's spayed and got all her shots, but you're gonna need a litter box, you're gonna need food. [Which means, flip flip, more money.] Food and water dish. And a collar with tags. [Otherwise...could be stolen. He pauses for a second, the dog lover in him doing its best to transfer to cats as he lays out the rest.] Something to brush her with and a bed. Any medical issues crop up, you let me know and I'll cover expenses.

[Giving children money in the expectation that they will get the hell out of his personal space is a dad thing, isn't it? Usually a movie ticket or drink or something smaller, not Will Graham. The cat will be spoiled, he had said. He hadn't meant to do it on his own, but...]

This should cover all the basics you can get in a store.

[With room leftover for some of those basics to be really nice.]

[ she doesn't feel too shunted aside, if only because he has brushed aside her apologies before, she can recognize it as something similar to that. she does the same. feelings are too hard? abruptly change the subject. works like a charm.

and she trusts that what will had said before about caring about her for her still rings true. (she's already locked and screenshot that text, she is never losing it ever. her phone is now her prized possession.)

but she does, however, extract a handful of bills and hand them back. ] I'm not going to buy her a collar made out of diamonds. [ too much money. she's not used to decadence or opulence and even that seemingly small amount of money is a lot to her. strange, because of her time with hannibal, the picture of decadent elegance. hashtag minnesota life. ] Can I... still pick up shifts here?

[Come in for cat, insult the shit out of him, hand him money back. Why does anyone actively work to be a parent?

There's no argument on his end, because that prolongs things and makes them even more uncomfortable (though perhaps that's all on his end, too). He just shoves back what's been returned and slides the wallet back into his pocket, adjusting the hat a little bit, what could be seen as nervousness taking form in a way that's not refusing eye contact.]

Long as it fits, it's comfortable, and it's got some ID on it, it works. [A shrug, casual.] And yeah, just let me know when. Shop's open every day but Sunday.

[ she turns, shoving the rest of the money in her back pocket, to retrieve the cat again with a quiet ] Okay. [ scooping her up, she automatically settles the cat in a way that leaves one hand free if she needs it. she doesn't need it, deciding petting gunther while holding ziggy would be. something.

instead she just, keeps going. /upsets will, /fails at everything, this is how you lose an ear in this biz. w/e she has a cat. cat ladying can commence immediately. ]

Bye Will. Bye Gunther.

[He doesn't let her get too far before, quietly, almost like he had the ability to forget he had something stowed away for her:]

Oh, wait.

[A pat to the pocket in his shirt, no, no, of course not. But the distracted look is important, and since he keeps plenty of things in it as it is, it's not exactly an illogical conclusion that he would stuff something in it if he was expecting the new owner to be by soon. There's a pause before he reaches under the counter and pulls out a drawer, rifles through it, and finally holds out a small plastic bag. A small plastic bag containing a keychain shaped like that not-quite Buttercup but close enough, the one she'd liked on the fishing rods. Her arms are crossed and she's looking ready to kick all the ass, and Will's looking the opposite of it as he holds her out.]

Got one of each in shipment. You liked her best, thought she'd find a good home with you, too.

[Cats and keychains. One a strange animal that he never deals with much, the other a mundane part of life. Will can't live with her. Not with things like they are now, not at all. But he can add a little bit of himself without actively seeing it as such.

Abigail doesn't need to give him anything to be a continual thought. Not. At. All.]

[ abigail looks at it stupidly for a moment, as if she doesn't quite understand, even as her closes her hand around it. no, she will never say no to a gift from will. (money doesn't count.) ]

Thanks. [ a beat. ] Actually, could you do me a favor? It'll be quick and probably painless.

IC contact [Mask or Menace]

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