infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

[A liar.]

Let's go for orange cream, and give me about 20 minutes or so to get over there.

They won't be done that soon!

[ She is a liar, not Supergirl. ]

We're not making them together?

[ ~~w o w that's cheating. It's not like she's going to gut him in the kitchen-- well.~~ ]

You'd like to? John usually avoids what he can.

[ But then Will has offered cooking tips before. This time she can give the tips! In between the gutting. The cupcakes of truth.

Then she can have a few extra cupcakes for John when he's back from his work. She's already through with hers, thank bless. ]

19 minutes.

[why don't they make blood muffins instead?]

I'd like to. And 19 it is. If it takes over a half hour, call my work. I've been hit with the disease and won't be in for a while.

Oh let's hope not.
Kitchen door is open.

[ Because if there is an airborne virus around, she has it already with her line of work. Oops.

Let's make sure there are no stray weapons lying around before Will comes over, maybe! Of course almost anything can be a weapon, but they won't be needing knives for cupcakes. ]

[Oops.

Will makes it in record timing, decked out in his usual casual wear. For here, at least. He can't get away with the same obnoxious vests for ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING REASON as he could back home, it seems. So he's all jeans that are meant for beating around the house, plaid shirt that used to be a darker red but has since faded, this time without his sleeves rolled up. Disease! Virus! Better cover up. He's even wearing socks with his deck shoes, bless his ridiculous soul. Kitchen door is open, huh? Well, if that's meant as mocking, no problem, Will can pick the lock just the same. If it's not, less problem, he can let himself right in. He quite likes it when the cages he'll be confined to for any given time come with the ability for him to actually leave.

But for all his apparent mess, she'll probably note that he's gone without the watch he generally wears. And if she's ever noticed a suspiciously wedding band-like ring on one particular finger before, that's missing as well. All those little bits and ends that catch disease and hold it, the ones that aren't necessary, are nowhere to be seen. His first stop, even, as soon as he hits the kitchen, is the sink. That's the time he rolls up his sleeves and takes to the hot water and soap like he's about to go into surgery himself.]

How you doing today, Mrs. Watson?

[He'd give her a hug, or a handshake, or maybe even a kiss on the cheek...but not until he washes some of the potential filth off his hands, of course. Ain't right to touch another man's wife without at least bothering to clean up!]

[ Mary's also in jeans, though hers are designer, as is the red blouse, but it's already covered in an apron because even if Will wants to help, she already has everything set up and ready to go. There's even another apron draped over a kitchen chair just for Will (guess who it belongs to). She's not wearing a speck of jewelry herself, but that could be due to the fact that they're about to bake, and she had still gotten the chance to freshen up after work. Obviously there has been a lot of cleaning going on, but she wonders what point there is. Even wearing masks at work seems like such an empty gesture. One she still looks grateful for as Will washes his hands. ]

Standing on both feet and seeming quite healthy, I'm happy to say. Missing Dr. Watson though. He went off this morning to help in researching a cure. I didn't want to leave my children behind.

[ And they suspect Armstrong will want to lock that quarantine down once someone walks through the doors. Who knows when she'll see him again. Clearly John's inbox will be getting a lot of loving while he's away. But couldn't she use a hug and baking session? It's like her husband went off to war right after the wedding! Such is life. They are fuckin' pros. ]

And you? You're looking well.

[ YOU READY FOR SOME BLOOD MUFFINS? ]

[How could he not love her apron? He'd been surrounded by a shop full of horrible fishing puns and wordplay for nearly a year, it's apparent the second he spots what her apron says that he absolutely adores it. Even if he ends up smiling more at the sink than her, it's still there and that's what matters. Just like how Mary's on both feet and quite healthy. Missing John, well, of course she is. But at least she's not missing him from her own sickbed.]

Doing all right. [He wipes his hands on the nearest towel, assumes that she's probably washing them nightly (or more frequently than regular) due to the issue going around, and doesn't think much else on it. Just like he doesn't think much on whether or not that other apron has been left out for a reason, simply plucks it up, smiles again at the words across it, and tosses it over his neck with the ease of someone who's experience with sous chef work didn't involve knowingly cooking the meat of other human beings. Like cooking and baking is not at all a sore spot for him in any way.] Can't say I've gotten married recently, though.

[It doesn't take him long to tie the knot behind his back, shuffling over as he does so. But with the removal of her jewelry, he has been denied the obligatory reach-for-the-hand-to-inspect-the-goods, so he awkwardly goes for the shoulder-hug. Awkwardly meaning that comfortable sort of Will Graham awkward, of course.]

Congratulations.

[Will you smell like happy dog.]

[ Happy dogs probably smell much better than sad dogs, so she'll bask in the happy for the moment she's allowed it. He won't be happy by the end (but all of his dreams die in kitchens). When returning the hug, she almost moves to hug him the same way Freddie had, but instead opts for a more affectionate option, one hand even lingering to pat against his back before parting, as if to comfort him in advance (or perhaps retroactively). ]

Thank you. Sorry you missed it, but we actually used those tickets you gave us for after the wedding. John enjoyed himself more than he let on.

[ Will and April should be getting some thank you gifts for that soon! Aren't the Watsons nice. Aren't they pleasant. ]

But now there's plague and we all might die in a week's time. So there is that.

[ Pleasantly sarcastic, while pointing at the counter with one hand and the kitchen table with the other. Look at her little stations! ]

What's your fancy, batter or frosting?

[Everything dies in the kitchen, only to be consumed and reused. The feast is life, after all. You put the feast in your belly, and you live. What happens to the feast, then?

That hand on his back doesn't feel like comfort or apology; it feels like welcome, and Will Graham is quite starved for that sort of thing. Opening arms, almost loving, aren't what he's very used to. Back home, at any rate. Here is somewhat different, but he's still adjusting to actually finding it normal coming from anyone who is not April Ludgate. Let him enjoy it, all right? He's just going to revel in it for a second before he pulls away, that dumb smile on his face is only growing, and not even mass death thanks to plague can completely wipe it off his face.]

I'd probably do better with frosting. [He...may have issues with batter...and frosting might require more manly man strength if she doesn't have a beater. He can be more helpful, with his inherent masculine power. Definitely. Boys rule!] And glad to hear the tickets got used. That aquarium's the best one I've seen in the area, bar none.

[Guess who did some asking around about how the animals were treated, and the first guesses that are not Will Graham don't count.]

It was a delight. The gift shop was most memorable, oddly enough.

[ Such a smile should shred at her heart and cause her now to hang her head in shame. But no, she grins and taps playfully at his chin before turning towards the table, because friend. The frosting is indeed the easy option this time. It's technically two parts, but since the white chocolate ganache needs to be handled at the stove, Mary might as well take that on (surprise it's not just orange).

There are index cards set up with the whole recipe on it if he's curious beyond his special area. ]

This is simple enough. You just need to zest a couple of oranges, then beat the zest with the cream cheese and butter until it fluffs. Might be a few minutes. They've already softened, but if the frosting is too thick, add a tablespoon or so of orange juice. Just not too much. The icing sugar should be sifted in, and I'd go by taste since these are for you and April.

Edited 2015-04-22 02:17 (UTC)

[Did he just get tapped on the chin? Aw yeah, the dog in him is so pleased. And the sous chef who is totally not traumatized in him understands those directions easily, though the index cards do get a cursory glance. Mostly to make sure they're all recipe-related, nothing out of place. Like, say, a note from John to Mary or vice versa that she forgot to put away. Something domestic and worthwhile.]

What, you don't want even one? [His first stop is taking to those oranges with all the zest in the world. This is the where the manly physical prowess comes into play, she definitely needed him to stop by. So difficult for tiny lady fingers. Heh. TiraMarysu.] April and I might be able to pack away a good deal of food, but that doesn't mean we can't share.

[Because sharing is caring, and that's what friends DO, Shrek.

They ~~forgive each other~~ CARE.]

Oh, I really have been partaking far too much as it is... So has John.

[ They're very much recipe-related, with handwriting that's tiny and neat but has flourishes sneaking from the t's and y's. At the bottom of the last card, the last step is "Serve to nearest and dearest." This is at the bottom of all her recipes, bee-tee-dubs.

Her part is so easy, and it's like clockwork to her. That doesn't mean she does it monotonously, though, the occasional shift or gesture almost seeming to go along with a tune in her head as she turns to her station. Sour cream, you are going to make this thing even more wonderful, come here. ]

You could take them in to work. If anybody's willing to eat strange food right now... But I'll need to be sure they taste all right, so we can split one in good faith before you go.

[ In good faith of so very much. These cupcakes will have layers, Donkey. ]

[Serve to nearest and dearest is better than serving nearest and dearest, thank you very much. Will takes what he can get.

Mary seems to enjoy this, which means that even if Will couldn't get behind a baking or cooking session, that makes it easier on him. All he has to do is tune into her, draw and feed off the way she treats it like enjoyable ragtime clockwork, and it's almost natural for him to do the same. Now they just need the utensils to dance and the plates to sing and it'll be complete.]

As long as you don't judge my taste. [His taste, not April's. He's using minimal orange in this orange cream, if only because too much citric acid tends to aggravate his stomach. Citrus, as far as Will knows, does not count as a poison, so this whole new immunity will do all of diddly squat to prevent any later pain, unless he literally eats so much he could drown in fucking orange juice.] Oranges, lime, lemons, tomatoes, all still make my stomach act up. They'll probably be more orange-ish cream to prevent complications. So if moderation is something you have faith in, sure, let's split one.

[And make out at the same time. True love's kiss.]

[ She clucks in sympathy for the poor state of his aggravated belly. One can never really forget what state he returned in that time, but what about this most recent blip? She mentions him being gone that weekend so casually, but where did he go? A kitchen floor? A grave? ]

Hopefully it needn't be restricted too terribly, unless white chocolate also troubles your stomach.

[ The cups of heavy cream and white chocolate drops are ignored for now, but that can be readied when it's time for the cupcakes to cool, and it will only take a few minutes on the double boiler. Maybe her job is the easy one, look how that just worked out. This is a very simple recipe all around, though, as Mary hadn't felt like making this the focus. Too many details and the meaning is lost. ]

You said you don't think this whole plague thing will bother you now. How did you mean? Did something happen with the Porter?

[There is so little orange and so much cream cheese and butter, but if this is for April and him, he's going to take them both into account. There is slightly more zest than he'd go for himself, if only because he knows his stomach can handle a little more. He's not a weenie. Hasn't been roasted yet.]

The powers that be saw it fit to change what I've had ever since I got here the first time. [Will is really good at beating, go figure.] I made myself a batch of highly lethal pancakes and downed them with a glass of milk and strychnine. Never had a fruitier bunch of pancakes. Went through about an hour of stomach cramps, sweating, nausea. But, as you can see, I'm standing on both feet, too.

[He avoids the quite healthy part, refuses to go there after what he's just said. It could be argued that his methods are the opposite of healthy, and purporting that they are normal, or right, or healthy shows a startling lack of clarity, self-awareness, and general mental well-being. So he removes that entirely. And he's already told Chilton his new skill, why wouldn't he pass that along to Mary? She's a friend. She can be trusted.

She better believe that Will finds her trustworthy, Goddamnit.]

[ So that's what the Porter was doing with him? Why?

Those methods are anything but healthy, but except for a startled and quizzical scoff over one shoulder, Mary doesn't have too much to say about downing rat poison as a way to test new abilities. It sounds like something Sherlock might attempt when curious and bored, but the lot of them are rather reckless in regards to their own safety. Doesn't mean she can't act worried, even if it's with a smirk. ]

Thank God. Could have at least given John an alert in case it didn't go as well as that.

[ The poor doctor won't ever stand a chance in helping such an imprudent patient. At least if Will's survived being gutted and poisoned, a nurse's cupcakes won't be his undoing. ]

Seems such apt timing to have immunity, hard to believe it's a coincidence. Perhaps you lucked out.

[ ~~For once.~~ Finding anybody trustworthy is a fool's errand, Will Graham. All she needs to do is change into him since their hug to learn all about his new power(s), but the question was out of courtesy. No more fixing cups, is it? Can he still breathe underwater? ]

John's power helps him gain immunity as well. I might not stand a chance!

[ Lord and what is she doing? Wasting time with cupcakes and honesty. Will's puppy face could be the last one she sees before being taken by plague, what a thought. ]

Edited 2015-04-23 02:24 (UTC)

[Cupcakes and honesty and that puppy face that seems so pleased she's not actually reaming him out for having a toxic breakfast. No, it's the mention of giving John some head's up that has the puppy face growing less pleased and content, Will giving the frosting a look that's really not at home with someone facing down delicious, sugary goodness.]

Wouldn't he tell me not to do it, though? [And there it is: Will likes to make his own choices without giving others the options to say don't do that, no, bad, down, stop, I will put you in a cell if you don't cut that out this instance. He obviously trusts in Mary's knowledge of John, if this isn't the case. As much as he trusts Mary herself, or seems to, the Goddamn fool. What's wrong with it, really? She said she stood beside Abigail and him, and he'd seen what she could apparently do with a gun. That's the sort of person he needed.] Defeats the whole point of the experiment if I don't go through with it.

[ She doesn't necessarily argue with that reasoning, in fact she nods, but it's still the sort of thing she ought to say, isn't it? As his doctor, of course John would try to keep Will from doing such a stupid thing. There are safer ways to experiment! And such and such. Poor John does try his best, always his best, to save the people who can't save themselves. ]

Which is why I won't be offering him that morsel of news. For your sake.

[ Her tone is affably mocking, but her expression is less jovial as she stays turned away and sets up the paper cups to fill. What else will Mary do for Will's sake? There's no melodious segue, no proper time, no cue to change the topic to what she must. She's procrastinating the same way she has since January, but can she be blamed for that? Hiding is her most natural state, even if she never wanted it to be. Necessity has bred her; it doesn't nurture her. ]

Did I ever mention my imPort abilities to you? I can't recall.

[ She can recall. ]

Edited 2015-04-23 05:25 (UTC)

[But, Mar-Mar! One does not tell a tiger to change, or hide, its stripes. Be like the tiger—beautiful and deadly and everybody knows it.]

Thanks. [Six letters, one word, but chock full of sincerity. It's not an overabundance of gratitude; he injects just the right amount into it. He rattles it off with ease, too, just as easily as he swims along from one conversation to the next. Comfortable, familiar.] You haven't, actually, but not everybody's always open about theirs. Some of them can be very personal. Why, something happen with yours?

[You know, like that cup repair is personal. He has no clue in his head what's coming, it's obvious. He's even thinking he might be of some help here, that her powers aren't behaving properly.

It's so obvious he's a blind man when he picks up the slice of orange that he'd taken to zest and rips out the meat of it with his teeth like he might do in his own kitchen after he asks, eyes turning towards her, a particularly rowdy section of curls falling over his forehead with the force.

What? He touched this orange. He can't expect anyone else to eat it after that!

Oh, Will. Remarkably bright boy, when he doesn't have a reason to empathize with the dullest, dimmest bulb in the entire city. When he doesn't actually like having scales over his eyes. How could Mary's darkness hurt him when he was so willing to hang out in her shade and make no fuss about it? Had he not been a remarkably good boy?]

[ Personal? Mary's power is as personal and impersonal as it gets. Too easy to step away from herself; too quaint to be anything else (a tiger is an excellent idea). Always and forever, Mary wears the skin of the dead, her steps walking on the foibles of others, and still there's a sheepish grin over her shoulder while biting some stray batter off her thumb. Still she can smile as if she were ten and the world still had fairies and dreams. ]

With it? Well, it's been a...learning experience, but you don't need to worry about me.

[ No, no, don't waste any tears for this one. She refrains from speaking further, but only while finishing up the cupcake pans. There's one knock against the counter's edge with her right hand before she slides them in, then two with her left once she closes the door (like a lucky habit). ]

You might be able to shed some light on a certain dilemma I've had regarding it. ...But first, is that ready to be chilled? Does it need egg whites?

[ And can she sneak some of it, too??? Yes? Thanks! I mean he's snogging with an orange. ]

Edited 2015-04-23 06:47 (UTC)

[Don't tell him what he can and cannot cry over.

He watches that lucky habit, corner of his mouth twitching upward in a brief smile. It's homey, cozy, honest, and he likes it. He likes being close enough to people that they'll show themselves in private moments like these without thinking that he might judge them...just as he likes it when people are confident enough in who they are that they don't care about being judged and act just the same. This is perhaps the latter, but he'll take the former. For now.]

It's ready. [Of course she can sneak some of it! Will's lucky he didn't stick that entire slice in his mouth, otherwise he'd have one of those tiny orange smiles on his face. But he has, so he keeps his mouth shut to avoid showing off any bits of citric meat, and hands it over. Look at him, Mary, he was quick, he did it all neatly. A man who's efficient in the kitchen, will wonders never cease!] What's the dilemma?

[Break his heart, Mary. This teacup has been shattered in worse ways. You know. You saw.

He'll forgive.]

[ Indeed a wonder! But Will's always been quick to offer tips in the kitchen, so she isn't surprised at all. No matter how dim he may come off in passing regarding social cues and constructive activities, his attention to detail is what Mary notices instead. There's a ghost of a smile as she lets the saran wrap settle over the frosting, watching the plastic slowly sink as if mesmerized. Only a moment, though, and she'll be moving the bowl to the fridge! Let's get these things out of the way (and sneak a tiny spoonful of frosting) before breaking hearts. ]

You see, it's the sort of ability that works best when it isn't well known.

[ Even if her voice starts out light, there's a somber weight added with each word as she continues. At first she flutters, wiping off a spot on the table here, shifting a chair there (conveniently just beside Will), but her movements gradually slow. A care that's taken with each step and gesture, as if to guide the words along. That much is something she's used to, but what she's working up to is not. There are reasons she must come clean, but she understands the risks involved. Not just of upsetting Will, but of opening the door to poor questions or deductions. But as discussed with Sherlock, it could be worse if he comes to worse conclusions at a later date (if there is much that can be worse than her). She's broaching an honesty that she never afforded John...not even once married, at least in London.

But everything is different now, the threats are different, and yet she is the same. What to do with that? This might not be what she should do with it, but they could all die tomorrow. Why not? ]

And yet, in this case, I feel that it doesn't suit me best to keep absolutely everybody blind.

[ Will's been blinded quite enough in his life, hasn't he? Mistreated, lied to, and tarnished. But so had John, and that hadn't spurned her to willingly give him the truth, and that isn't the reason she allows a peek behind the curtain now. Honesty isn't kind, because she can't see how it can afford to be. Right now, all it can be is necessary for it to prove any worth. That pragmatic application is more apparent in her now businesslike voice as she murmurs, nonchalantly wiping her hands off on a dish towel while leaning against the knife drawer. ]

I like you, Will. I've always liked you. I don't have many friends here, but I do consider you a friend. You see things in people that others can't, things that would make others turn away. Will you promise not to turn away?

[Will listens, notices everything. Standing by that knife drawer, is she? The call of bluebird runs through his mind, and he's keenly aware that the kitchen is the place where everything comes to die, to pass on, to bring life to something else. In some cases, at least. In others, there is no honor. There's only murder.

He also notices that chair so subtly put beside him, how helpful! And after Mary's put everything in its place, Will quietly resigns himself to sit in response to her question. That dog can sit pretty and silently and ignored, but that does not mean he's incapable of going from 0 to 200 in record timing. Does Mary know that? Does Mary realize that Will has it in him, some would say? Does she see that in the wrong ways, like others had? Here and now, there is no danger, to her, is there? He's just a shaggy fellow sitting in her kitchen, legs spread as though he's comfortable and relaxed, hands limp in his lap, wearing a ridiculous apron. What is there to worry over?

He looks her straight on, even. She will bear witness to the fact that Will is soon to no longer be blind. She will watch it happen. She will see how he reacts, and he will see if she finds satisfaction in it. Running from problems has never worked out for him. He can't turn away now. That would be discourteous to Mary.]

I'm not going anywhere.

[There is a heart in him, somewhere, buried under the emotions and motivations of others, the worst of society. Buried under an avalanche of guilt, and loss, and grief, and regret. If Mary can find it, it is hers to skewer, or roast, or massage new life into.]

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