infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

[He's tempted to remark that it's definitely not his signature, was gifted him when he got here, but that gets into what his signature would have been back home and that's dire and involves feelings, who wants that?

Will takes the card deck and shuffles, but his idea of cheating isn't as simple as relying on raccoons to help him out. No, his is a crueler, more brutal, more manipulative method. He shuffles the little guy in his lap off to the side, holds his hand out to keep it from getting back on, and reveals his master, sinister plan:

The game is now between April, Will, and the raccoon. No buts, no ifs, no stuttering, because he deals the first card to the animal, then April, then himself. There is no room for argument. If fuzzy wants to get in on it, he can also play. He is now involved in a more immediate manner, may his loyalties and nerves be forever tested.]

What's your signature?

[His cards are a little closer to the chest this time around. Anyone trying to peek over his shoulder might find they have to actually tap it, make him move to get a better look. For the most part, at least. One of his cards ends up faced out after he catches sight of it. That's the easy cheat April gets. Everything else is going to take a little more work this time around.]

[ Oh no, Will. This is a terrible plan. Of the three of them, the raccoon is probably the only one with any actually knowledge of the rules fresh in his mind. Which may have been why it had been getting handsy and frustrated as it tried to signal things to April and she hadn't really changed her game plan before. He knew what he was doing. The two humans were doomed. Unless April totally glares him down and he folds, that is. Which, considering he'd been getting more treats from Will than here lately, may not be likely.]

That's not how it works.

[Will's been doomed for a while now, he can handle losing horribly to a raccoon. This change in the game is absolutely no skin off his back, that much is obvious. He's as relaxed as he ever gets and the fact of the matter that he smiles and it doesn't go away is a glaring neon sign that, even if the child bride's in peril, April's company is something he values.]

How what works, this game of cards or finding out what you think your signature is?

[It's true that Will is a treat machine. Very true. And he proves it again, not at all subtly tugging out the small baggie of dog treats in his front pocket and tossing it down in front of the raccoons' cards.

Go hard or go home. What's the difference between hypnosis and bribes? Will Graham may never know.]

Oh my god.

[ She almost does it. She almost just tosses down her hand as Will blatantly bribes the third player away from her glaring method working. But she manages to take a small breath and recall they are just killing time until Abby returns...hopefully unkilled. Ugh. There was a thought.

One that ends in her diligently playing a few cards, even if she's only half sure it will earn her any points. ]

You have to guess it. It doesn't count if I tell you.

[That smile warps, what are you gonna do about it? Would she take treats from a raccoon who's day is getting made the longer he hides his cards, would she take away his joy, that he might currently be head of the group in Will's eyes? Look at him, first being welcomed into his fishy lap, then physically loved on, now getting free food? His rank is moving up and up and he gets to look at cards of human women in odd clothing that sometimes barely covers what it seems they think should be covered. The fuzzbucket has every right to enjoy this attention, who would be the monster to take that from him?

She plays her cards and Will shifts his around, takes a moment, plays his own, and draws again, looks at the guy crunching down on a biscuit and waits for him to take his turn.]

If we're going by animal themes, you do have that tattoo on your ankle and you did tell Mary Morstan your name was Snakehole. [Will follows conversations that he can see, he's ceased hiding that, at least with the people who know.] Following those clues, I'm thinkin' you've got a thing for snakes.

[The kind that the mongoose doesn't have to do a deadly dance with. The kind the mongoose can pal around with and do other, more enjoyable dances with. A pretty damn fine snake.]

Edited 2014-11-12 07:33 (UTC)

Just the one snake.

[ The logo and the name came from the same, stupid source. A trashy bar in a middle of nowhere town she'd once scammed out of some money and drinks for fun during a date. Money they had, admittedly, instantly given back because that was the way life had been then, but still. It'd been one of the toddler steps of a potential growing criminal career.

But he hadn't gone for the obvious and picked raccoons. That gets at least a little extra credit. She shifts how she's sitting slightly, stretching that tattood ankle out across the bed, just to the side of where the cards are laid out, bringing the foot to rest next to him just so she can glance at it again. There was days she forgot she'd even gotten in, a mark picked up in the City she was pretty sure wouldn't even be there anymore if she got ported out and back in again.]

But I could expand, I guess. Leave a rabid cobra behind at every crime.

[Snakes don't carry rabies is the first thing that runs through his mind when she brings up the idea of rabid cobras. He knows the word has other meanings, of course, but that's not what keeps him from blurting it out. He's neglected to do anything with his cards because he's not just looking at that tattooed ankle, no. He reaches out, one finger following the winding line along her skin, careful to have started without touching the fangs or tongue, as if it could really bite him. He wouldn't be surprised if one day she revealed that she could move it, had some power to use it as a tool for hypnosis, had wooed all her raccoons that way. The fact that snakes don't carry rabies and he was going to say as much is lost by the time he reaches the tail and wiggles his finger over the squiggly at the end. He assumes it's a rattle, but it also reminds him of the lines that show actions in comics and lightning.

It's probably a rattle. He'd probably look like an idiot if he asked after. Probably.]

You'd have to be able to tame the cobras first. Make sure you weren't leaving them behind at a crime scene they'd made you the crime scene. [Not that dogs or raccoons can't turn with enough reason, too, but they don't have venom.] It'd be easier getting hognoses, anyway. Nonvenomous, but with a distinct ugliness that makes people think otherwise.

[Does he get points for his play? He's pretty sure he does. He's pretty sure he just got more points than he really should have, considering he's the one with the treats at the moment, but that's neither here nor there. As for snakes and their distinct ugliness, he's not looking at anyone in particular when he adds that in.

Well, no one but the really absurd cop-themed pin up, but she doesn't count.]

[Her toes flex as he traces the tattoo, but she doesn't move away or anything otherwise. It had kind of been the point and all. Getting some attention, from tracing or poking or whatever worked.]

Or you can just train then and I'll pick them up when I want them.

[ Because that sounded like a lot of planning for her life style. But with Will they could live in their own pun-theme room. The hiss house. Or just the snakehole. Right next to the insect emporium he was building. She tosses down her own cards- totally random ones, go ahead and call her on it- as she images it. A lot more deadly awesome looking than the bug room. Probably just as much grossness potential.]

[There's a moment where he is tempted to prod one of those toes, but when one thinks of toes and how parents call them little piggies and how piggies are people who are rude and end up brutally murdered, it's probably best not to deal with toes.

...or think of parents when he's with his super secret girlfriend who is much younger than him.

Jesus, that's one not to say out loud. To anyone.

He plays a hand that's rather in it to win it, not because he lined up the cards by number and type, no. He just played a hand of four pin ups represented the four branches of the armed services. Skills.]

I don't know how to train snakes. I'm supposed to throw them in the slammer or kill them, not treat them like pets. [Or like raccoons, ones trying to figure out what the fuck Will's hand even means when it none of it immediately aligns.] Would you tell me to my face if I sounded irrational?

[Chilton has, for the time being, turned his world on an edge. No one calls out his shitty metaphors and similes. No one. Raccoons might call out his bad hand, but that's to be expected.

Because talking about himself like an actual animal and comparing serial killers to snake is totally rational, isn't it.

He does not seem to be aware that what he just said can be taken as extremely "off" if the look on his face is anything to go by. Everyone talks about themselves as animals and inanimate objects, don't they? Of course they do. He's asking so honestly, too. The end of the line, wits compromised, no paddle, no anchor, no lighthouse.

Only April Ludgate. Only has eyes for her.

And her cute little piggies.

Shit, no.]

What...like wanting to work on wall street and get a retirement plan and a white picket fence to imprison children and puppies or something?

[ Babe, she...has feelings towards you. But she is probably the single worst judge of irrationality he could pick. She's not even looking at the cards, or at the raccoon wailing about the rules not being followed, or anything else but him after that question from the left field. Not that she minds, left field is her favorite field. But it's an extremely relative question. ]

[Ricky Martin is, in fact, displeased with the current set of cards being played. Will holds a finger out at him for it—the couple is talking, you hold your Goddamn tongue, go ahead, eat some more dog biscuits, good boy—before picking them all back up and drawing, passing the turn along.]

Irrational, not insane. [That is a level of sell out Will could not possibly reach, isn't it? And he can't see April with a white picket fence, either. Not without it having some fake blood on certain "spikes" along the way for shits and giggles.] You know, if I made a really...poorly put together metaphor or simile...that crumbles halfway through and I just kept going anyway, making it even worse, would you—would you tell me it was bad?

[He needs a paddle.]

[ He is losing her here. Not physically or feelingsy or anything, in fact she moves her foot off the bed, placing it more or less into his lap, to underline the maintained contact. But mentally, he is wandering down a memory lane she does not share, nor has reference for. What he just mentioned, the whole broken metaphors and similes, was Leslie during one of her finer rants, or Mitch when he hadn't had enough coffee. But, okay. She can be supportive.

She reaches over to pick up and hold forward the woman in the water card from earlier, then holds it up between them. ]

I swear, on this semi-pornographic fisher woman, to always make fun of any terrible world play. Pun, metaphor, or attempts at alliteration. All of it.

[Foot in lap, okay, he can deal with that. His head goes through a variety of ways to break a foot to the names of all the bones in a foot back to piggies as he looks down at it, makes no move to push it aside. But he is totally focused on that foot until she draws his attention back to the pin up card and then he's as much at a loss as she is.

She hasn't even heard them and she's already telling him she'll mock every single one he spits out.

She's earned a dumb, slack-jawed expression, reminiscent of a cow more than anything else. Not because he's faced with a truly beautiful fisher woman. That card is fuzzy at the edges with the way Will's attention narrows down to April and April alone. Even his hand bows out a little, giving the raccoon all the answers he needs.]

Good to know. [He's tempted to toss out out one he's used in the past, but considering they end up relating to feelings and people here, maybe that's not the best idea. She's managed to daze him enough he might jumble them anyway. Besides, he might be able to one up it, and when he lays a hand over her foot firm enough to stop it should she kick out, oh God. She knows it's coming, doesn't she?] That's very helpful of you.

[His personal Hero.]

I also get to hold up a sign when you're being a jerk.

[ She tosses the card (lightly) at his general chest area, rolling her eyes at that whole 'helpful' nonsense. Does it really count as helping if it's making fun of puns for her own entertainment? But, really, she could see requests about telling him whether a random raccoon was real or not, or letting him know when he's failing to fit in with the youth or his outfit is, but all rights, some mild crime against humanity. But turns of phrase is a weirdly, highly specific request.]

So...why?

[One hand on her foot and the other showing his cards to the raccoon, who is trying to play the game, it lands, falls down, Will making no move to stop it or grab it or anything else. He's too busy trying to contain the shit-eating grin threatening to overtake his face and too tempted to offer to build her a sign for that very purpose.

At the question, Will looks down at the cards in his hand and then does the unthinkable by stuffing them into the raccoon's furry little paws. Here you go, buddy. You win the whole game. Of course, that's not in line with the rules by any stretch of the imagination, so he's quick to also point to the still uneaten dog treats. Eat your confused feelings like everybody else, man.]

I've always...talked a little different. [No way had April picked up on that one.] Wasn't until I got here that anyone started pointing it out when it was too different. Rethinking some stuff because of it.

[Existential crisis over wordplay.]

Like the failures of the American Education system? The dangers of PBS being too helpful?

[ Of course she notices, but come now. April wouldn't be here if not for the things that made him odd- or, more accurately, he wouldn't be here. It was her room and all. That other people didn't like something wasn't on the list of concerns. So it had to be something slightly more than that. ]

[He stares at her, openly stares, and tries to think of a way to get into it that makes perfect sense. But, considering he's kept plenty hidden and hasn't been talking to people the same way he does at home, it gets muddled. Too much to explain, and it all sounds rather dumb, doesn't it?

So he goes for the most juvenile thing he can while running his hands over his face in complete exasperation. It was slightly more than that. Slightly.]

I had to send out a few messages on way my over here. [To the Baltimore crew, sans Abigail.] The one with Fred didn't go so well.

[There is an amazing amount of disdain crammed into four letters. He's so done with his own people half the time.

He's pretty sure most of them feel the same way. He can't blame them.]

I-

[This is confusing. This whole conversation. Granted, it's all happening while under stress and danger and it is the Baltimore crew involved. But come on. He called Fred the Wine Goblin?]

Why? Like, even call him. It's not like he's got a cape and speedo ready to go rushing into danger.

[His face screws up at the idea of Chilton in a cape and a speedo, which prompts him to run his hands over it again. His imagination fills it out before he can stop it. Even the cane gets a cape.]

It wasn't—there was somebody else here from home who's gone. Fred's talking to the Manipulator, too. I, it's—I had to shoot off a message to everyone else. He's part of that group whether— [I like it or not is the end of that, but he doesn't say it, cuts himself off. He ruffles up his hair and leans back on his hands instead, done. Well done with this entire situation.] —I feel like this is where I ask if you wanna make out.

[He's desperate to not have to explain this any further. What better way to keep questions and answers from happening than keeping mouths closed entirely? They could always play the game in silence, sure. They could also play something else while Abigail Hobbs is in peril—

—probably just keep it to the distraction level as opposed to the missing out on updates because they were having sex level.

April's question on the train just happens to stick out to him. He hears it in his head when he thinks about her, without fail. That's one thing he's not ever going to forget without extreme effort put into making it so.]

Do you want to make out?

[ There is a level of skepticism to that question that was no where to be found on their date on the train. While using making out as a way to kill time, or improve a bad day, or just generally because, was fine (more than fine, awesome and a fantastic use of time, actually), she isn't totally sure how she feels about him re-purposing the activity as a new deflection. Mostly because it's going to be an effective one. Getting a straight answer out of the jerk was already a feat, and she's not entirely sure she can manage to turn down constant offers like that whenever Will doesn't want to talk about something. Really, there is a chance they may never get past the start of an awkward or difficult conversation again.

Today, though, Abigail being in peril on multiple screens just over her shoulder helps her focus. Along with the raccoon now playing solitaire while munching down on treats (getting crumbs over everything), who isn't really a major factor, but would make the processes just slightly inconvenient.]

[That is less fair when Will is the one who can easily see those screens he's supposed to be keeping an eye on. It could be seen as playing dirty, that question, but perhaps April's in return is even dirtier, all things considered. The bed and all its crumbs are probably the least dirty part in this equation, and Will casts a glance at the fiend causing it without an attempt to be subtle.]

What kind of question is that?

[How far is Will willing to go to re-purpose the activity known as making out in this situation? Pretty far, it seems. Far enough to take up the semi-pornographic cards in one fell swoop and toss them to the floor, ruin the raccoon's game while telling him where he can take it, and brushing aside the majority of those crumbs. Not enough? Not enough to prove total commitment, which is what has him leaning forward instead of back, on all fours with both hands planted on either side of April as if he is completely unaware of anything else. Only got eyes for her, that's what it looks like.]

Have you looked in the mirror lately? There's only one possible answer to that question.

[Still nothing in his line of vision but April, April, April.]

[ And she doesn't move an inch away, even as all that is in her field of vision is a cheater, cheater, cheater. In fact she does the opposite, arms wrapping around his shoulders to help pull him closer, giving up on the whole sitting thing and just lounging back on the bed under him. Because, damn it, yes she knew how hair had looked lately. And, clearly, she had minimal objections to how he was looking these days, too.

But there was just one. Tiny. Thing. And, possibly hard for him to see considering he's close enough now his features look more that a blurred blob than anything, she has nothing but an annoyed expression at the fact she can't just shake it off. They should just make out. Screw it. They should...

God. Right now her life was the hardest of anyone on the planet, and that was counting the starving children and people kidnapped by psychos so don't even start. ]

So say it.

[Cheating, as long as it stays between the two of them, isn't so bad, is it? Nobody comes around with fleas or worse, and she can easily get him back later with...well, pretty much whatever. An offhanded comment, some public display, just about everything is fair play when Hannibal Lecter is nowhere to be found. Her arms around his shoulders are met with relaxing, not tensing, as if it was any other night they were winding with a little winding up. For all intents and purposes, his body language reads as in it to win it, in spite of the circumstances. Nothing can throw him—

—not even that. Up go the eyebrows, his lips twist into half of a smile, and if those three words had been "do you dare?" his face was answering that yes, yes, he did dare.

April's life was so difficult, he could feel that, could empathize, could also hold off on the juvenile, immediate reply that threatened to come out of him and make it more difficult: It.]

Say what, yes? I wanna make out with you? [Dangerously close to not being able to say anything at all, mouth too busy with something much better. Never mind that Abigail Hobbs is in something like dire straits and they were just talking about Frederick Chilton, of all people. He's going for it.] Yes. [He can just reach out and turn the communicator on its face if it gets to that point. Or she could roll him over and make sure eyes don't wander. It's not impossible to manage.] I really wanna make out with you.

[There was a moment where he almost said "I do" but those two words in a relationship of this sort are better reserved for...not this situation. The sexual aspect, not the sexual aspect while a hostage situation goes on and one member tries desperately to not whine about a future jailer. He goes with "really" in its place and unless April contests that, life won't be too difficult any longer because Will's proving he says what he means.

And, possibly, that he's in need of a shave. But if April doesn't mind the scruff, who is he to get rid of it with any consistent frequency?]

IC contact [Mask or Menace]

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