infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

[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.]

[ She'll do just that after stepping inside, though the blouse beneath is no less nice, she doesn't care enough to keep it away from any animals. She just about misses the hook when she gets distracted by a walkway in her peripheral, her mild gasp of delight as genuine as the way she immediately pushes up onto her toes. The coat and bag are then quickly discarded on the hook so she can move around to see where little steps are.

If the timing weren't inappropriate, she would be snapping pictures to show John, because it's far too adorable, even as a work-in-progress. Spotting a raccoon instead of a cat first, however, grounds her smile once more as she returns to where her bag hangs to pull out a few more treats for the animals. As Gunther has been so enthusiastic, she'll have a second one for him. Any look tossed towards Will is unabashed endorsement for such projects, even if it might result with something furry inevitably landing on her shoulders one day. ]

I've never seen anything like that! It's lovely. Was it April's idea?

[That earns a smile, human and real, the kind that doesn't usually look like it fits his face. This isn't approval that he sees, doesn't crave validation of their choice to turn the place into a sanctuary for animals as much as it is for April, for Will, for the others in their lives they would gladly allow the guest room as needed. No, what Will takes from this is acceptance, which is worth its weight in diamonds, gold, silver, everything precious and costly would be tossed aside. This is far more valuable.]

It's...they'd [indicating a fuzzy bandit] made their own sort of walkways, back when she lived in a regular room. [The funny thing is now that Mary's handing out treats, Will Graham might as well not exist to the animals nearby. And the funny thing is that Will Graham doesn't give a shit he's being ignored by the mouths he provides for.] We just...amplified that idea, once we got a bigger space.

[Yeah, yeah, ignore him, he'll ignore them, too. Watch him masterfully step over Gunther without getting his leg thwapped by that hyperactive tail. It's almost as though they've all lived together for so long they can predict every movement long before it comes.]

Should we have something a little stronger in our coffee today, you think?

[Half-and-half. It's half coffee, half booze. The joys of adulthood in full action!]

[ If she wasn't with Will, Mary might dare to look sheepish as she straightens and wipes her hands off on her trousers, but instead she looks sheepishly coy. No, not about wiping off her hands, who (but Will Graham) wants dog slobber and raccoon fur with their coffee? It's for the next treat she fetches out of her bag, a small bottle of Bailey's irish cream quickly tossed in Will's direction. ]

Of course I wouldn't turn down something stronger.

[OH SWEET BABY JESUS

That smile grows, takes away some of the tiredness and pale features, replaces them with happiness and a more youthful look overall. It's like Mary's spoken straight to his heart and soul, and he catches that bottle without hesitation, the dog who wouldn't let a single frisbee drop. He stares at it for a moment, approves even as he considers what else they have, and reaches into the cabinet. He pulls out two mugs, Will's more battered compared to the one he fills up three-quarters of the way for her. But that's to be expected, the guest always gets the good stuff.

The good stuff this time around involving a bottle of spiced rum that looks to be more expensive than anything Will wears, set on the dining room table, or what passes for it. It wouldn't pass for one in Hannibal Lecter's book. The chairs to go with it aren't from the same set, either. They fit just fine, but a good eye will notice they were never built together.]

How's that? [The rum, he means. Though, of course, he puts her own addition on the table as well, won't be at all offended if she goes for it instead. But that's it, what he sets out. Spiced rum, her luck of the Irish, their mugs. Great host work, he can sit back down. After a look in the animal's direction that gets across the message of knock it off, give her room to breathe, of course.] Best we got in the whole house.

[ A prepared Mary is a welcome Mary, a setting she has now established and cemented quite quickly. With the animal's acceptance, everything else just comes naturally, especially when there's alcohol to help things along. But it isn't all analytical — she's pleased to see Will sport a genuine smile, even if it's going to be short-lived. Spikes of stress are not overtly unhealthy, but prolonged exposure is only going to lead to medical issues he especially doesn't need, as any good nurse (or psychiatrist) knows. A two-minute break from the dark pit of one's mind is never to be undervalued. ]

Oh, spoiling me now or buttering me up?

[ She'll opt purely for the rum, as the Bailey's is a gift for the house, but she'll keep it light, the cup hovering over the table so as not to risk spilling on her shirt should some spontaneous creature decide to check her for more treats. She'll remain perched on the edge of the seat, but so as not to appear anxious or hurried, she'll shift the chair so that she's sitting sideways, her other arm draped across the back.

Every mismatched item is noted, the kitchen's layout memorized, any visible weapons and exits catalogued...and another little pathway appreciated; Then back to him as she toasts the mug in his direction and tries a taste. Coffee and spiced rum is new, but she's going to have to chirp out a whistle in approval here. It's noticeable even with the bit she added. ]

What do they say? Smooth?

[Buttering up...he has no comment. Not yet.

Mary can go light, Will won't judge her. But he won't follow in her steps simply for propriety's sake. His turf, after all. He doesn't have to walk anywhere after this, and if he expects Mary to feel completely at ease and welcome, then the least he can do is just be himself, drink what he'd usually drink, spike that coffee like there ain't no tomorrow.]

I'll drink to smooth. [Agreeable, a fitting descriptor, any excuse to down booze. There he goes.] I won't insult you or waste your time by filling in as much as small talk as I can...we both know why you're here. [No accusation to his tone, propping up his elbows on the table and leaning forward.] I know Abigail and you spoke where I couldn't see it, she didn't tell me everything. I didn't want her to. But... [His brow crinkles.] ...I don't know where you stand. What you know, I should say.

[Deets for deets.]

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