infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

Indeed I have, Nurse Morstan. [everybody bein' so polite] How've you been?

A different type of busy. Perhaps John and I should try the Vegas route, it seems simpler than attempting to keep a wedding party together here.

[He reads this once. Twice. Five times, focusing on her wording. There's something specific, and specifically off about it. Or maybe, just maybe, Will's missing Abigail so much already he's inserting her where he could argue she totally was in an attempt to fill the void. Maybe Mary's not hinting that she knows more than his changed career at all.]

Vegas was nice when April and I went. Depends on if that's your thing, though. Is it?

[Is that what you were really asking after?]

[ Why so paranoid, Will? ~~Is it paranoia if it's true?~~ ]

No.

[ There's a delay before she adds on. ]

I wanted it to be traditional, but I suppose that was wishful thinking in this place.

[because his baby doesn't build coffins, she goes back to rest 5eva in one :C]

Why can't you do traditional?

Very little that's traditional about the situation. John's already married me once.

[ The doctor really thought he could have kept that from her. But really, this isn't about the wedding. ]

Add to that people keep disappearing, and little's getting done. No bridesmaids?

[oh no, right in the feels

Things Abigail Hobbs will never be: a bridesmaid, a bride. Because she's probably super dead.

Oh no.]

Who disappeared that you were thinking of having as your bridesmaids?

[ Really? Maybe she's wrong. That would be nice. ]

Abigail.

Maid of honor, actually. I had already asked her.

[why the FUCK would anything nice ever happen]

It's only been three days. She could come back.

[ Well damn. ]

Yes of course.

[ How common is that? She could ask Will now but that would seem needlessly cruel. Better to ask John. ]

Is that why you haven't talked about it? She could come back?

[It happened once before with Abigail! Which means...it probably won't happen again, because that's their luck. And the last time that happened back home, uh.

Hope fades.]

That's one reason I haven't gone telling anyone, yes. No need for missing posters again. Not that there was a need for them in the first place, but that happened because I didn't keep it to myself.

It shouldn't be your responsibility.

[Why, because he's been so bad at it in the past? Huh??? Whatchua sayin, Marigold!?]

Everything that has to do with Abigail absolutely should be my responsibility.

[ No Willis, you've just chosen shitty co-dads to look after her with. Maybe possibly. ]

I mean, it shouldn't be yours alone.

[don't give him that face you lying minx]

Why?

[ Maybe she won't respond to that. It's a long time before she texts again. ]

I want to talk. I think you need to.

[He does. He really does. But Will's really good at doing what he needs to do, and talking about feelings? Feelings about Abigail Hobbs? When the last person he discussed her with at any real length was the one who shattered them all?

Things get more difficult then.]

I saw how you reacted to Abigail asking who else was dead. [The first thing she said, at any rate. He doesn't hack, and he doesn't snoop unless it seems absolutely necessary. It didn't. Mary and Abigail could handle themselves. If not, Abigail would have brought it up. But it still stood out to Will, just that one word. Sorry. He doesn't need that. He does not need that. Abigail does not need that. Even if it came from some sort of facade, bluebird taken into account, neither of them need sorry. It does nothing. It changes nothing.] Are you certain you want to talk about this?

[Or is she just being polite?]

[ It had been a loaded sorry, though any Brit would have simply taken it as an exclamation of surprise rather than a heartfelt sorry (truly she can't deny that it was both). The conversation that followed made it clear her feelings (or the feelings she had felt like making public), and she was more than aware at the time that Will would be following it. His connection with Abigail is something special, something nigh-untouchable, but Mary's been privy to other odd connections (Sherlock and John), despite the disparity in dynamic. ]

Well not through text.

[Good thing Will is only played by a Brit and Mary ain't a Brit. Fake Brit! Fake Southerner! Everyone here is lying!]

Your place or mine?

[One does not discuss something as special and nigh-untouchable as dying in each other's blood (sort of) over coffee in a public place, after all.]

[ Who's a what now? Can't keep track.

Better to make this Will's turf ~~especially since it makes it easier for Mary to snoop~~ because she is clearly the intruder here. ]

I can pop by your place. Now? Later's fine if you're busy.

[BED OF LIES

Everyone's an intruder when it comes to Abigail and Will, no worries.]

Now's fine. I could use a break. Should I make some coffee?

Please.
Be there in fifteen.

[ Coffee with Bailey's pls. ]

[Mary is probably bound to notice that the dogwood tree planted in the front yard is a new addition. That much is quite obvious, as is the fact that whoever planted it clearly had intentions to do more to the yard that never quite made it to fruition. It's not a mess, but it's unfinished, a process that started and was entirely interrupted instead of just a slow and steady process. But such disarray is probably to be expected, and not easily noticeable by anyone who looks at a yard with a freshly planted dogwood tree. In fifteen minutes time, Mary won't be the only one taking in that dogwood tree and the the signs of a yard that was almost dug up in spots before they were covered back up, filled back up, and left until later. No, Will's sitting out in front of the door on a cheap plastic chair, the matching chair empty and across the way, providing additional shade to the bearded dog curled up underneath it. Will, all baggy jeans one might expect exist in his closet still to just beat around the house coupled with a plaid shirt that looks almost brand new by comparison, seems rooted to the chair. Tired, paler than usual. Makes sense he shifted his seat to get a bit of that sun on him, he knows how badly he needs it. Polite society might dictate he rise to greet her, immediately get up as soon as he spots her, but Mary and Will aren't complete strangers, and he feels that she'll give him leeway. He'd do the same.

So he waits, that coffee set to finish by the time she arrives, looking to a passerby like someone who's enjoying the weather and sitting outside instead of...well, the truth of the matter. All the truths of the matter.]

[ She chooses to walk rather than take the vespa, using the wedding as an excuse for the exercise, when being fit in this world seems just as important as it had been when she was an agent. Her sneakers are high-end, though, like her grey coat and shoulder bag, though the bag is a bit worn by now from use. Thumb hooked through the strap, her head tilts while she appreciates the tree in a quiet passing. She smiles for herself and nobody else in that moment before continuing on, her expression settled into something closer to a mute sobriety as she heads up to the porch.

At least he's getting fresh air, and of course she's got a biscuit in one hand for the dog as she immediately crouches to hold it beside the chair, greeting him before she greets Will. With a glance up to him, she'll take a quick note of his sorry state before glancing to the screen. ]

Coffee ready?

[ She's ready to stand and go help herself, though not without some form of permission from him. She already knows how he takes his coffee, after all. ]

Edited 2015-03-23 06:14 (UTC)

[Gunther had been attempting to be a good, quiet boy, the dog who came outside to provide some company and enjoy the weather, too. He hadn't done anything other than look in Mary's direction as she walked up, no barking, no quickly getting to his feet and making a scene of it all. For once, he and Will were both aligned, physically speaking, rooted to their spots without a desire in the world to move elsewhere.

And then she has a biscuit, which destroys that. His tail goes wild, smacking against the legs of the chair, pushing himself to a half-stand in order to meet and greet and, of course, eat. Though for all his excitement, he manages to not thoroughly coat her hand in doggie slobber. Unless that's what she wants, of course, and then he'd be perfectly content to oblige, like any good dog should!

Will watches with mild interest, pale face breaking into a more sincere smile than usual. He approves of the interaction, finds Mary's forethought charming, and uses that as fuel to get to his feet. Using the armrests of the chair, of course.]

Should've finished brewing in the last couple of minutes. [So it should've had time to not only brew, but sit long enough that it's a nicely hot. This is his design.] You might wanna hang your coat up by the door, I should add.

[He says as he opens the door, gestures for her to step in first. The planted hooks next to the door seem to be unused, but April and Will have dealt with random bits of fur on their clothes for quite some time. The place itself isn't messy or appalling, but it does contain a population of fuzzy little creatures and he feels it good she have some warning. The house is more of a work in progress than the yard, though neatly so, being turned into a veritable paradise for the raccoons, the cats who'd want to follow them along their trails. Will's not at all ashamed for their house to be seen, however odd the additions might seem. He's actually proud more than anything else, won't make apologies. Doesn't feel he has any reason to, and feels comfortable enough with Mary to let her have everything in full view. Sharing, like friends do.]

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