infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

[After the wreck that was last month's swear-in, Harrison decided to sit this next swear-in out. The technology expo was something he had interest in, but with Raina gone on vacation he has a little heavier workload at the imPort cellular research lab to keep up their deadlines. Not a problem really. He feels bad for not being there to see Cisco's display, but he's confident the man will win.

So after wrapping up some work and waiting on test samples for others to be produced, he thinks he's earned a little break. While he can't get drunk, he still enjoys the taste of hard whiskey and bar fries are pretty delicious as well. He picks out a relatively quiet place in the city, certain that most people won't look at him and think he's an imPort when the majority of them are converged at the Swear-In tonight. It isn't that the stigma bothers him, but he gets annoyed at how much it bothers others. Once there he sits by the bar, makes his order and waits while emptily staring at the television screens.

Looks like it'll be a quiet night.]

[Will generally stuck to not going to them in the first place, and the month before last had reminded him how damn fortunate he was to have the handy "excuse" of not caring about being sociable. Others in the house are free to go as they please, of course, but Will's staunchly not going to be moved from his position on staying the hell away from any large gathering. Not tonight. Not if he can help it, at least.

He's under similar thought process—with the majority of them in one place, Will can go entirely unnoticed. He still slaps a wristwatch over his tattoo to prevent the dim lighting from giving him away, as per usual, but it's the first night he considers not even doing that. Slightly worn jeans and a red plaid shirt rolled up to the elbow, some things never change. Not really uncommon, could blend in with a crew going out for rounds after spending all day cleaning and fixing boats. That scruffy, lean Florida Everyman look enters a bar expecting nothing out of the normal and finds a familiar figure he hadn't expected and, when he figures out who it is, realizes he doesn't actually mind who it is. There's no deep connection that draws him in like a friend, but there's nothing that makes him want to turn and leave, or pretend to be someone else, there is nothing repulsing him. One way to find out if said feeling is mutual.]

Fancy running into you here, Doctor. [He doesn't actually know the full extent of what he just said, of course, but he leads with it just the same as he slides into the spot next to Wells with a slowness that befits someone two decades Will's senior. He could have some issues, he could be sending out cues he'll fuck off if Wells would rather.] Fancy having the same preferences when it comes to hard liquor, too.

[Airy, amused. For a man with shadow powers, he sure is attempting to keep this light. At least to start.]

[Though he watches the television screens like a zombie, his mind remains aware and acute of all surrounding elements. The bartender cleaning glasses, a person a few seats down from him looking like he may have had enough, a couple in a booth having a heated debate about their favorite sport teams. He equally becomes aware that someone is approaching the bar, though he heeds no mind to it. At least not until he hears a familiar voice.

His head turns just as Will sits next to him and smiles, both surprised and pleased to see Will again. Though he's not feeling very social tonight, he won't turn down the conversation over that.]

Hello Will. Not attending Swear-In tonight? [Pointing out the obvious yet, but most imPorts attend Swear-Ins so it's a curious thing to mention.] Good news is Heropa is a little quieter tonight because everyone is in De Chima.

Don't see a point in going and I always see a point in staying away from large groups of people.

[He admits to what could easily be taken as misanthropy with a shrug and near-rolling of his eyes, muttering a lazy I'll have the same as he points to Wells' set up when the bartender veers closer. It's all casual, perhaps too casual for someone who last time nearly got a pair of antlers through him their last meeting. But hey, they both got out alive and just fine, what's the point in acting weird about it now, right? Like worse hasn't happened. That would simply be rude, very tasteless.]

You've been doing well?

[...the first few questions that feel like basics to warm up a conversation leave Will Graham the same way sour milk comes out as soon as taste buds register the curdled state. But he's still putting an effort out there, even if he probably doesn't need to with Wells. Which is a bigger display of politeness, really, as it all but yells at Wells to pick the pace or topic so Will can follow along.

He knows how doctors can be, okay?]

[It's certainly a bit casual, after only one meeting, but he doesn't really mind. He could use some socialization and practically everyone is at Swear-In tonight. Speaking with native people to this world doesn't interest him in the least. There were times he could barely care for the people back in his world, the ones he deemed unimportant to his life and his plans, and here it's even harder. These people look at him and only see the tattoo on his wrist. He doesn't seem them as important in return.

He flashes a little tooth when Will orders the same whiskey as he does, and tilts his head for a quick moment.]

I've been fine. The summer semester at the local university is almost over, so I've been more swamped with work. Preparing finals, calculating grades, waiting with glee [no enthusiasm in the word] over student reviews.

[Most of which he hopes are good, but he's certain he'll get a couple nasty ones. Such is life.]

What about you? Any big life changes since, I don't know, two or three weeks ago? [His voice is a touch dry, not really thinking anything major happened, but he wants to ask out of curiosity.]

Edited (formating) 2015-08-16 07:22 (UTC)

[That little tooth is returned—Chilton has, in conversations unbeknownst in their entirety to Will, stated that Will can act more as mirror than man. It's true, shows now. Going tit-for-tat while maintaining the ability to be a reflection of others can be unsettling, but it passes quickly enough and Wells earns a cringe at the idea of student reviews. Will's lack of enthusiasm for those aren't a reflection of Wells', it's all him. Been there done that never looked at them after his lock up.

But how much does he want to let a man whose shadow come to life with the immediate response Wells' had know? He could be playing with fire here, but when isn't he? Looks more suspicious and more like Will has no confidence in his abilities to maintain a pleasant home if he turns cagey, which can be as much of an invitation as freely given information. Information that comes from Will is something he controls, however, and since choice is a rarity...]

Had a birthday barbecue and finally got my own office at work. [Crane's office, once he flew the coop. Will is going to redecorate it so much no one walking in will ever be able to connect it to Crane unless they knew it was his before. Goddamn pain in the ass, that Jonathan Crane.] Other than that, not much. Can't say I envy having to deal with students or their reviews, though, you have my sympathies.

[He's quick to snatch up the proffered whiskey, nodding to the bartender before he takes a sip, eyebrows raised in Wells' direction. See Will drinking, so eagerly? Yeah.

That's what students do to a person. Gray hair, aching joints, and alcoholism.]

Congratulations on the office. [He says, raising his glass a little (a mock toast of sort) and lowering it without drinking a sip.] And it's not so bad, honest, I'm just being a tad dramatic. I'm just used to being on the bad end of reviews.

[For a lot of reasons, some he cares about and others he doesn't. He's only taking into consideration because bad student reviews could get him fired and he wants to avoid that. This job isn't as stimulating as his former one, but he's enjoying it for certain reasons. Captivating an audience, granting his knowledge onto the future of this world, and getting the power to pass a certain judgment upon students. There's a lot to like about his position for sure.]

Was it your birthday or someone else's?

[A mock toast is really right on point when it comes to having absorbed Crane's office. He can't even bother to pretend he's offended by the lazy nature of it when that's exactly what he deserves for his office, how fitting. He can drink enough for both of them anyway.]

Not mine. A friend from home. [Except he says those last four words with complete fondness, an attempt to categorize something much deeper without getting into said depth and failing.] You could always buy yourself some good reviews. Call it extra credit.

[He's kidding, really. Completely joking, teachers have ethics and must stick to them. Otherwise, how does the next generation learn both their classes and how to be somewhat decent people? It's a better joke than inquiring about why he hasn't changed tune to stave off those bad reviews, much more polite. And there's always going to be Those Students who review their teachers in horrible lights regardless of how good they truly are. Will ran from the field to a classroom, which only served to prove how much he hated field work. If teaching was better, just showed that shit was terrible.]

If only I were so unethical. [Hah.] I don't believe in extra credit of any kind. Doesn't make me a popular professor I know, but people get what they put into their grade. I'm a fair man.

[If people worked as they should, they should be rewarded. He worked under this model for the last decade with his employees at the lab. They did as they should and he would praise them, consider promotions, give them a little special attention. There's really no great science to knowing that people want to see their efforts acknowledged.

He takes a moment to sip slowly from his drink, savoring only the brief bitter taste that evaporates seconds after it makes contact with his tongue. Sometimes hyper-metabolism isn't all it's cracked up to be. Yet he keeps coming back to it, even when it's not his special brand that can actually produce a light buzz. He puts the glass down when done and sniffs.]

I hope your friend from home had a good day then. Sometimes it can be a little bleak here and spending a birthday might not always be fun, when you consider what it could represent in this world.

[He's spent fifteen birthdays in a place that wasn't home himself. He hated all of them.]

[Will's bar fries slide out in front of him and he stares at them like every single of one of them is completely burned. That dropped, lost appetite completely possible to see on a person's face, it's written all over Will's. From jovial enough and completely understanding of professor problems to suddenly withdrawn and borderline sick, it's an oddly quick change. Leaves quickly, too, but there long enough to be noticed. He can't really say what he's thinking, not because he doesn't trust to put it out there but because if he says it out loud it's true, so he licks his lips and goes for something different.]

Birthdays here are good, for us. [Those fries are still toxic muck, but Will perks back up enough to lean against the counter and wave his glass, try to play it off, looking from Wells to the TV and back as he speaks. Casual, normal evening.] For her more than me, but that's not because of here. It's a...wherever thing. A wherever that has Christmas, I should say. So many people think it's appropriate to double up on gifts...be better and less insulting to just give one or the other. Nothing would be better than that, actually.

[A curled lip, oh people, the absolute worst creation. Anything to draw away from the former doom and gloom.]

[The sudden abrupt change is caught, however short it might be, and he doesn't think it has anything to do with the food. Was the topic that unappreciated? He hates to dwell on it, but it's only a matter of fact. However awful it may be, reality can't be turned away from. Then all that's left are sad delusions.

His eyes remain steady as he speaks, only subtlety trying to press for more information with his gaze. The intensity shifts only slightly when Will looks to the television screen, and instead he folds his hands on the bar, going into a state of mind that he can only describe as "doctor" in the fullest. This is who he is when people need it of him and when he needs it of himself in the moment.]

Everyone automatically assumes more gifts are better, Will. It's less to do about what's appropriate and more to do with what seems natural. That everyone should want the most they can get out of life. [And maybe that's just the fault. Not everyone is willing to maximize their potential and life to the fullest. Not everyone wants it, for reasons beyond him. He pauses, mouth part open, and slowly smiles in a tease.] But if that's how you feel, I'll keep it in mind when the holidays come around.

[Yes he gets people Christmas gifts, he's not a total monster and he actually happens to enjoy the holiday.]

[Will is very accustomed to doctors, though his standards for what makes a good doctor are slightly different than most as the majority of doctors he deals with are psychiatrists. The good ones don't use their power to destroy lives or take too much interest in him and his pure empathy (Alana) and the bad ones are...well, they run the gamut from true monsters (Hannibal) to the lesser ones (Chilton) to simply anyone who finds out what Will uses his empathy for and thinks he should be some case study. He's generally on edge, in one way or another, around them, and for a moment, when Wells starts speaking about everyone as an undoubtedly learned man, Will bristles. Looks at him with furrowed brow, borderline incredulous. But no, Wells isn't into the psychiatric, is he? And he doesn't know about Will's issues enough for anything too doctor-y to actually be a threat, as far as Will knows.

But damn if there isn't a moment where it looks like Will is almost offended. His mind goes quickly to its own better place, applies a balm, and Will looks at his bar fries like a man who knows he should eat but currently finds that a bit of a problem.]

More gifts would be fine, it's...getting one wrapped in Happy Birthday paper but saying Merry Christmas instead. Not that I'm torn up about it, that was reserved for the teenage years. [And not even for very long, if that wrinkle of his nose is anything to go by. Growing up poor did its number on Will before he could get too much of a big head about what was and what was not just owed him.] You're expecting to still be here for the holidays?

[That's refreshing. Unexpected. Will's clearly accepted that he has a place in this world and hopes it to be a longstanding one. Not the same with many others. Finding someone who isn't eager to talk about they'll have figured the Porter out by the holidays and get the hell out of here is...well, nice.

Not nice enough for him to eat his bar fries, though. Taking a drink? Hell yeah.]

[...Was what he said an issue? It seemed like it for a moment, but then it was dialed back. He was only saying what makes the most sense to him. Although, one of the things he's learned in the last decade is that his opinions and brand of honesty aren't often appreciated. Maybe Will is just sensitive? He's not really prepared to ponder that yet, not when this is a second conversation.

So he lets it pass, taking a drink from his glass and makes a small shrug when Will asks if he expects to be here.]

I'm not a...natural optimist, nor pessimist for that matter. Would I like to be able to say that? Certainly, but I don't see any reason to make an empty statement when I have nothing to back it up.

[The road home is never an easy one he finds. It took over a decade to even start coming close to going back the first time and the second time...he doesn't want it to take as long, doesn't want a chunk of his life wasted (people say you don't remember being here, but who can say for sure?), but he likes to be realistic about these things. Researching the porter has brought up very little and his current job doesn't line up with the time to study like back in his world.]

I've heard some people stay here for only a month. Others have been here for years. There may be no real pattern to the whims of this strange device that whisks people to and from their worlds. I'd like to understand it, but I won't bet on it to bend to my will.

[At least, not the way it is now. One day, maybe, but not today and not any time in the near future.]

[So many issues. Full of issues. More than in ten hospital waiting rooms combined, over here. And sensitive? Haha. Ha..ha...

Comfortably in the middle, then? Hm. Wouldn't have known from his shadow's reaction, but there's a lot of factors Will could blame that on and not all of them have to be negative. Still something worth noting, but then again, isn't everything in a second conversation?]

Sixteen months. [That...may sound abrupt, so he points to himself to make it more obvious.] April— [Does he know April? Balls.] —my wife, she's one of those who's been here for years. She was in the City. Somewhere before here. Seen plenty of people come and go. One month, six, sometimes they...come back. I've looked into it, put pen on paper...never been able to peg any sort of pattern. It's just. It is what it is, as they say.

[It's a much safer topic than birthday parties for dead young women, look at how he latches onto it, almost ready to dart off, even. And to ignore the whole bend to my will thing. Little creepy there, Wells. Fortunately, Will is used to much more direct creepy. Open conversations about cannibalism and who gets to come to the table do a number on a person.]

[Sixteen months and a wife as well. Marriages happening within a year of knowing one another aren't too absurd to hear of. The rational side of him, the one he knows best, thinks it's absurd to get married here. The other side, the side of the doctor, is stricken with an old pain. He closes his eyes, a small phantom ache coursing through his nerves, and resist the urge to take a drink when he reopens them.]

I heard of the City. It sounded like a calamity. [He didn't press for more answers, not when the person he was talking with was a young teenager who had grown from being a child in that last world. And he won't repeat it when he assumes Will knows the basics of the story.] I hope you and her are happy together here. That's all that matters, really. Love is found in the strangest of places.

[He pauses for a moment and stares down his drink, before taking off his glasses and smiling. It's not a good smile though - it's clearly pained, in a way he can't disguise. Damned emotion.]

I bet you two get asked 'why marry' a lot? Considering the porter. What do you say?

[His voice isn't judgmental, only faintly curious.]

[Doesn't take an empathetic sponge to realize that he may have just swum from one disastrous topic into another by accident. He watches Wells, only drops the intensity when he speaks, looks down at Wells' forgone drink instead. No one wants to feel like they're being scrutinized when they're having a moment, after all.

He nods when he risks looking back up, back at that smile that reminds him of his own more often than not, an acknowledgment that yes, it's a question they've gotten before. Acknowledgement and thanks, in its own way, that Wells at least words the question a little differently.]

Go in the sun too much, maybe get skin cancer. Walk on the sidewalk, all it takes is that one bad driver to come along at the worst time. Hell, go to a bank. Work at a bank, work any job where you have access to money. There's some sort of danger everywhere, but I don't let any of that stop me from going outside the house. They're all possible, but if I can go out, every day, and move past those obstacles without constantly being afraid of what might happen, then I can do it with this. The Porter put us here, yeah. Doesn't mean I have to let that fact control everything I do. That's no way to live. [In fear, even if he refuses to admit it. He sighs, rolling one shoulder.] April's answer is always a bit simpler. Home's dead to us, this is all we get. After over half a year of dating, it was time to put up or shut up. And it's a little odd to be fully grown adults and still talking about your boyfriend or girlfriend, in my opinion.

[This is all much easier, probably, when Will didn't have anyone back home (other than Hannibal). He has no idea about a future with a wife and a wedding ring that isn't as custom as this, has no idea that if he gets sent back home again he might return with a barrel full of issues regarding marriage. But here and now? Nah, no problem. Easy peasy.]

[He listens to Will's answer in silent, only gently bobbing his head once as the man speaks on the risks that are encountered in every day living. It's true, all of it. Could horrifying disasters happen at any moment, at any time? Possibly. The "possible" aspect is minuscule at best, but still in the realm of what could happen. Isn't the porter a similar risk? He thinks as much.]

A sound answer. Not something easy to keep in perspective. [He means that with honest respect. Risk is always present in life, big or small, and people always look at the bigger ones with alarm. Marriage is one of those large risks. He wouldn't compare it to going out in the sun like Will does, but he understands the point. Fear should not prevent people from living - educate them on how to live, in some ways, but not control them.] Your wife's answer is interesting too, though I can't share her sentiment.

I'm sure you've heard plenty of detractors, but don't pay mind to them. Love is...powerful. People always underestimate it, see it as weakness, but I think that's because they don't understand it. Don't see the value. I think denying love is such a sad way to live.

[Love, for him, has always been mysterious because while he feels it he can't always comprehend it. Logically he sees how it forms, but past that? It's hard. He's grown to have love for a lot of people that he never expected to. He doesn't feel ashamed or weak for feeling it, but he only finds it curious. Unexpected, completely so.

He smiles ruefully and takes a small sip from his glass and lets out a gentle laugh after.]

I must not seem like the type to say that, do I?

[Can he say how Will sees him? Not yet, no. However he knows his actions make impressions, even if they are not seen.]

Edited (I DIDNT PICK AN ICON...) 2015-08-20 03:47 (UTC)

[Will isn't at all offended when Wells confesses he can't share April's sentiments. They might be married (and, in some ways, still considered young lovers, not quite at the year mark yet), but that doesn't mean Will's completely incapable of hearing someone so much as politely disagree with her without wanting to tear into them like it's his duty.

Which is rather along the lines of its power, as Wells puts it, isn't it? Love can consume a person entirely. Epics have been written about the lengths one will go to for love. Love can be enough to die for, to kill for. Some don't need a reason to kill, of course, leading to skewed perspectives. But Will knows what it's like to care, the difference between actually caring and something warped and wrong. And he knows that even those with their warped ideas of love still feel, in their own way, that they do love, it's the same emotion. Perhaps even a superior form of it.]

Why, because you're a man of science? Cold, sterile, unfeeling facts. [People can say anything; what matters is that they actually believe it. Still, Will gives a small twitch of his lips that's friendly, a flicker of a smile. Lightly, because aren't there plenty of cold hard facts to back up Wells' opinion, too?] I can't think of any solid reason why your opinion on this isn't to type. But I've never been keen on types in the first place.

[This is a no judgment zone. Sort of. He doesn't like to be so obvious with it, certainly not share. Wells probably doesn't know exactly who he just ask that question of, either, so really it's for the best. And speaking of the best, Will extends a hand to gently nudge his fries a half-inch in Wells' direction. The most physical sign of "do you want these?" he can come up without asking, without risking changing the topic if Wells feels the need to talk a little more on love and what types, apparently, are allowed to respect and value its power.]

[A wry smile perks when Will begins to lists the cliches associated with scientists and doctors. All true things; all terms that he has been accused of being by his detractors. He intentionally keeps that guard up because it's the easiest way to go on. Especially in a world where the people may as well be museum dummies, all long gone in his eyes, oh but he does care. That's just the one thing he so rarely can ever let on. It's just that his care is selective and picked with careful caution.

Getting attached is just too messy. He can cut a thread, but he doesn't like feeling something when he does it.

When the fries get nudged over his eyes flick up to Will for a moment, a silent ask if he's sure, and then takes a couple between his thumb and index fingers. His own small basket of fries is just about gone, but he's not full and he can tell when he bites into them and has to restrain from beginning to binge himself on them. Never really satisfied in his hunger and if he eats too fast it might look strange. Appearances have to be kept up when people are watching. Once he swallows he speaks again.]

Types are just the easiest way people categorize the world around them. I don't particularly care for it either, but even I fall prey into using them before I think twice. It's not something I'm proud of. [He cants his head and puts a hand to his chin.] Maybe that's just the problem in the end. We put someone into a type and we expect them to meet all those qualifications. When that doesn't happen, we feel betrayed. It's not pleasant, but you can't quite blame that on the person you categorized in your own head.

[Maybe that's why everyone got so upset when they learned the truth and couldn't quite forgive him. They were expecting what he wanted them to and couldn't live with what the reality is.]

[He gets another nod, another nudge. Everyone likes the guy who gives them free food, after all, and Will's content to finish his first drink and set it aside for a refill. Will gives a roll of his eyes, a don't we all at confession of falling prey. No matter how self-aware a person tries to be, missteps still happen. Mistakes are made. To err is human and all that. But the rest of Wells' view renders him less expressive, boils him down to something quiet, contemplative, and oddly at ease. Like he's speaking to him more personally than Wells realizes, whether or not he's still in doctor mode.]

Don't put your hand on a stove top and blame it when you get burned just because the coil wasn't red yet?

[He says lightly. Cliché it might be considered, his voice connects much more than just pulling out a trite phrase. He hasn't just been burned before—he knew it would happen and did it anyway. Some had been thrown across Hannibal's fire without any clue. Will had essentially jumped into the frying pan, and even though he blamed Hannibal for his actions (mostly), he couldn't deny that he'd known the danger and went ahead and done it anyway. Not that he's going to spill his guts about Hannibal, but if there's anyone who might have some empathy for those who put up pretenses about who and what they are while being the opposite, later to feel their own sense of betrayal...Wells is at the bar with him, for better or worse.

If that gives Wells the impression that Will's stag being docile and harmless was due to practice or a front in and of itself, and perhaps Will is the not-yet-red coil ready to burn people to a crisp, he can't help that.]

Edited (that's not what singe means) 2015-08-24 20:51 (UTC)

Or don't take a bet if you're not willing to pay out.

[He picks up a couple more fries and plucks them into his mouth, smiling as he chews and savoring the lightly salted flavor. It's certainly cliched, but who can frown down upon a cliche every now and then? They exist for a reason and Wells thinks it's just one of those quirky things about the world. He takes the last sip of his drink once done chewing and taps a couple times on the bar, alerting the bartender to come and refill.]

Are you sure you don't want of these?

[He questions innocently, pointing to the fires before taking his glasses and sliding them back on. It seems like such a waste--

However his thought, and perhaps the answer to his question, may just need to wait. All of the sudden the sitcom re-run playing on low volume in the bar is cut off, the screen turning blue and a graphic title card blasting through with the words "BREAKING NEWS" alongside the channel's news logo. A reporter, well dressed and stone-faced in the way one must be when delivering a major development, appears sitting at the anchor desk and a subline appears on the bottom of the screen.

Bombing at De Chima University.

The bartender, after a moment of stunned silence, grabs the remote to bring the volume up so that the handful of people inside can hear. From there the reporter begins to list the details, panic absent from her voice (forcibly perhaps) and make clear the situation. Bombs releasing what is believed to be toxic gasses all over the university campus, during the dual Technology Fair and imPort Swear-In. The smile is already gone on Wells' face, his expression grave and wide-eyed. Not panicked, but momentarily shocked.]

Edited (details) 2015-08-24 22:12 (UTC)

[Cordial fades into tension, worry. Will's expression is just as grave as he turns his attention to the television, jaw set. Fingers have been snapped, pointed to a bloody mess, demanded his full attention, and he gives it immediately. What might be expected (or hoped for) with anyone in law enforcement, Will sees distress and keys in on it completely. Then again, the people he works to put away also key in on distress, but that's neither here nor there.

Will waits until the reporter gets what she has out, enough to go on. His eyes narrow as though he could pick out any familiar faces in the crowd, should the camera swing a certain way. His glass is clutched then set aside, completely ignored. In a low, gravely voice, he addresses Wells without turning to look at him:]

That's us. [Their little group, he means. Detective skills are truly strong with him today.] Should we go, see if there's anything we can do?

[Porter technology is great, they could be there quickly enough that they might prove useful...but they could just as easily get caught in the fray, couldn't they? Perhaps that's the point. Attack and make sure to draw in the others who haven't attended. Abigail and April had no intentions of going when he left the house. Chilton was on vacation. The three he felt the desire to protect the most were out of the picture, what reason did he have to go tearing off from this bar stool not knowing if he'd be of any use or end up making the mess worse? Time to defer to the doctor in the room. That had never gone poorly for Will.]

[His eyes turn to Will when he brings up the word "us", but his concerned dark look doesn't drop. With the shock fading away, his mind begins drumming through the people he knows are there. Cisco was planning a presentation all week long and Barry must have gone as well. There are other people there that he knows, he is sure, but none of them really come to mind as important. The latter can take care of himself, he's the Flash, but Cisco has barely even practiced using his powers...

There's a cold chill he isn't expecting to overcome him at the thought of the man, the boy, getting hurt. He finally opens his mouth, his face visibly tense, thinking Will may not like what he'll say.]

What could we do, Will? [His words are sharp, but his tone is oddly soft. Artificially so, an attempt to soften the blow as he delivers it.] Neither of us have an ability that could be of use. We'd more than likely get caught in the chaos of things. And I'm certain there are imPorts already there who could take control.

[In his case, it is a lack of want. He has no interest in playing hero, not when he already chose not to go in case something like this would occur. The only person he can think of right now, the only one he feels a genuine dread over what could happen, is Cisco. Cisco who is the closest thing he has ever had to a son. However he's already disavowed himself from taking care of him in these matters. Barry is there, so he will have to trust Barry can help. And while he can't trust Barry in a lot of things, he can trust Barry to be a hero at the least.]

Do you have people there you need to get to? I can drive you to the porter. [He thinks he should make the offer at the least. He won't go, but if Will needs to then so be it.]

[Oh, quite the opposite, this approach is such a sweet melody Will has trouble believing he's hearing it at first. He is so used to being in the fray, whether of his own accord or having it flung at him. This is new, this is refreshing. It's like Will's spent a life in silence and suddenly heard a harp for the first time, the way he turns his head to look at Wells is so struck. Confusion, awe.]

None of my people are there.

[Blunt, airy. For someone in his job, that might be considered a terrible answer, but it's the honest one. He sees Wells' logic, too, and agrees with it. He's simply not used to being told it's okay to sit something out. It's okay for him to be on the back burner and let people with better qualifications handle it. Coming from a world where he was the top dog of criminal profilers, he was always on the front line in one way or another.

This is the sort of altar he can get behind visiting more often. Who knew?]

You're right. There's no point going in now.

[God, is he even speaking a real language? His tongue feels thick, drugged, and he casually reaches out to scoot his glass forward. Bartender can give him a refill and listen to the news, yes? Will's a good tipper, and Goddamn does he need a drink.]

[The answer does surprise him a little and wonders what it says about Will's character. A lot of his expectations have been subverted slowly, equally intriguing and frustrating, as he tries to get a hold on who Will is. He's no psychologist and people are complex things to him, often difficult to understand. His hands lace together on the table, just as the bartender comes to refill both their drinks (though so clearly unfocused now, a little too shocked still) and he breathes in quietly.]

Do you think it might have been an imPort? Or is an outside group more likely?

[He hasn't been here long enough to have a full scope on all the potential threats out there, so he defers to Will for more information.]

IC contact [Mask or Menace]

action; some heropa bar during swear-in (8/15)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)