infomodder | ic contact 2 mask or menace

[That is...both reassuring and absolutely not reassuring. Facing legal troubles? A walk in the park for Will Graham. Facing the potential wrath of his fellow Baltimoreans and those they had on a leash? A hellish shitshow.

It hits him, again, that he's essentially partaking in what he had once been locked away for. What he'd been accused of, working cases while making them, the world assuming he'd either been broken and wasn't aware or that he really, truly enjoyed making himself number one. Here and now, he had someone else involved to discuss things with, like Hannibal once had. Someone to get vital details out of so he knew the next play to make.]

Gotcha. [He nods, runs a hand over his chin.] I was a criminal profiler back home, got a background in forensic science. Worked with the FBI. That's how I go about...looking into matters like this. That's my approach. [The scientific one. It's not always beneficial when he's blinded, but oh well.] Is that...where your training with all this lies, too, or. Something else?

[It's good to know his friends; it's better to know his enemies. More often than not, those two cross paths.]

Ah, no. Nothing like that.

[ Comparing credentials? There's a very slight, embarrassed pause -- he leans back some, looking away for moment, around, then back again -- as he realizes he doesn't really have any to match up to Will's. He doesn't even have an equivalent of a high school degree, for Falcon's sake, much less a background in science. But then, when did the supernatural ever care much for that? He certainly wouldn't have minded one, though, even with magic. ]

It's just what I've always done, I suppose. Turned out I had a knack for finding people, missing or otherwise. Things, too. So I kept doing it.

[ Like a dog playing fetch, more or less, although sometimes the endings called for something more brutal than simply bringing the mark back. ]

Oh.

[Quiet, but not in that "ah, yes, an uncultured plebeian" way. Just the opposite. The "oh" of a man who realizes his approach may have been somewhat possibly just a tad tiny bit socially awkward and he should have known better, really. But he isn't using it to judge, or to condescend. Some worlds don't have schools. Some worlds don't have the means for indoor electricity and plumbing, for fuck's sake, of course everyone he comes across didn't have the same opportunities even a poor swamp boy like Will clawed his way to.]

You're lucky. Too many hours in a cramped little room with a bunch of people you don't know and may never want to know is never preferable to learning in the field. Or having an innate knowledge of how to do what needs doing. [His smile is strained; not from it being fake, not from his words being empty, but from them being quite personal.] Any more questions?

You might think differently if you knew how many small, slime-filled spaces I've crawled through while earning all that in the field know-how.

[ The only time monsters lived somewhere not falling to pieces or filled with mold and giant rats were the times he had to deal with vampires and. even then, only the rich ones. Terrible, absolute horror on maintaining any level of style. But he does get that, sort of. If he'd been normal, only human, then maybe the little rooms filled with people would have been more tolerable, but... That doesn't really matter anymore. He's better off focusing on the task here and now, not thinking wistfully of what-ifs.

Other questions, he has to pause, think, then he slides off of the stool to stand again. There wasn't much more besides having a little meet and greet, really, and it didn't sound like Will had all that much more to offer than what Nicolas could have already assumed. ]

Only how much you'd like to be kept, um, in the loop on. The doctor passed along a bit of the heart he got. It's old, but I may still be able to get a trail off of it. At the very least, we may find where the poor sap it's from got dumped in the end.

[Will laughs—more rush of air than real laugh, but close enough. Ah, yes, crawling in the shit. A real good thing to put on any resume...if the crawling was legal, of course.]

Sure. [Casually, Will rips off some receipt paper to scribble down his personal number like nothing at all out of the ordinary is going on or being discussed. Like he isn't inwardly going over what the hell that really means, should this guy just stumble across a living, smartmouthed Dorian Gray.] Here. Feel free to call whenever, don't really have office hours for this sort of work. Well, you know. This isn't a 9-5 job.

[Sometimes the crawling in slime comes at, like, 3AM. It is known.]

[ Of which nothing Nicolas has crawled through is, technically. Let's just say his resume would be incredibly devoid of nice, normal, legal jobs... ]

Yeah? You sure? [ While he knows that's the truth, he can't imagine most people enjoy phone calls at four in the morning. Still, he'll take the slip of paper, pocket it for safekeeping. ] Alright. I'll let you know, just after Chilton.

[ The client still comes first, unsurprisingly. ]

And thank you, for taking a moment to speak with me.

[What is a mob to a king? A king to a god? A god to a nonbeliever? The law to literally any of those + garou? Nothing. That is the answer. The law ain't shit, bro.]

I'm sure. [It'll be like home all over again! Getting calls at four in the morning like "Will get your ass dressed because we found bodies missing organs in a hotel room and the FBI doesn't give a shit about your sleep or well being but we will have some coffee in the car" a true staple of Baltimore. For once, Will smiles, broad and human and perhaps not really fitting the situation but oh well. He reaches out for a part handshake while Gunther raises his head and blinks a few times. So much shaking, it's like they're all dogs here.] You're welcome. Not a problem, at all. Glad you stopped by.

[Because now he knows what he'll be doing as soon as he's sure the guy is gone, which is waking up Dorian and being a little shit in his ear. What a great day!]

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