infomodder | IC Contact [Asgard]

[There's the soft sound of her struggling to keep her breathing under control as she listens, staving off a reaction she hasn't fully given herself the chance to handle yet. She never sat down and let herself deal with what had happened, after getting here. Shock wore off and she didn't let herself think about it any more.

But she's not in private, even if she has enough distance from people to be sure she's not being overheard, to be comfortable talking. Being seen is a different question. And even if she was going to give in, break down over her death and Lecter's betrayal, she wouldn't do it with Will on the other end. She doesn't need to be overheard.

So she latches on his offer to not tell him as a cue to leave it behind. If there's anything else she feels like he needs to know about it, she can leave it for him later. And by the time he stops, her voice is nearly steady again.]

Okay. [It's quiet, and she's not even sure if he can make out her voice at that volume. She swallows and takes another breath before repeating herself.] Yeah. I think you're right. I don't know if you've said anything, but....

[And if he did, she wants to know; whether to avoid the people he's mentioned her to, or to at least be aware of them, she could decide later. But she's not even sure how to ask for that, so she trails off, pauses and picks up a moment later.]

I haven't. I didn't really tell anyone... anything about home.

[But he could probably have guessed that much.]

In love with him? To my knowledge, no, however I believe we've already discussed its patchiness. Any such infatuation would at the least seem unrelated to the scenario that you describe, Crouch appears to take too much of his own initiative.

I've attached the recipe. I believe that you'll find it better-suited for heartier fare than those of larks or sparrows; chicken eggs are ideal for their large, rich bearing -- the eggs of wild birds are more fragile, and best when poached or otherwise delicately handled. You'd do well to look in your house's icebox, or to alter your plans accordingly.

[ you fucking american heathen ]

Edited 2014-02-13 01:28 (UTC)

All right. I've got some homework to do and then I'll see how to balance things out. I've got some things to work out before I go any further and if you don't find yourself understanding it when it happens, don't be shocked. I don't expect anyone to, and if they do, then I'll be pleasantly surprised.

[Things he's not counting on: Sherlock Holmes.]

Trust me, I know how to make a scramble with whatever eggs are around. But don't worry. I was kidding. I'm pretty much a pescatarian here in Asgard. Everything else seems to have lost its flavor.

[Even fish loses its flavor. Will Graham isn't eating so great here in Asgard, and he's still not sure if his clocks are on point or if he's looking at blank paper. Issues.]

That means I'm mostly a seafood kind of guy, no other meat. Not that poultry is meat, of course, but there's comfort in fish more than there is in chicken or turkey or quail.

[lbr — Thanksgiving was just another day at Casa Graham. A day his father had to shuck him off to someone while he worked, take him to work, or sit around waiting to get a call that he had a job just come in off the shore and was needed.]

Talk to you later.

[She's not the only one who hasn't given herself the time to break down over Lecter's betrayal. His didn't result in death, but he's still got a lot of issues with it. His resulted in Abigail's death, he's sure of it, and if she mentions grieving for herself, he won't say anything about his own. Everything he has to do for her has to be all for her, no need for him to go about inserting himself into everything.

Lecter brought them together. Lecter tore them apart. Lecter made her a ghost, and now they're both ghosts of a terrible past life to each other. As much as it hurts to hear her voice and see her face, he can cope. He's not sure it will be so easy for her (as if it's easy at all), so he'll hide away for the most part. She won't have to see him if she doesn't want to.

He'll haunt from the sidelines. There but not exactly present—isn't that a little like home?

Is there no good middle ground for them? He can't think of any.]

I haven't told anyone much past my job. I did mention you to a woman named Evelyn Carnahan, but just that I knew you. Nothing about how. She's trustworthy. [As trustworthy as anyone can be after the whole issues with murderers in hiding.] She's the only I've told. I won't tell anyone else. Probably best to keep any conversations we have on that network private, and if you need me, you know how to find me. [If you need me—what if she never needs him? Would that be so different from home?] Do you need me for anything now, Abigail?

[ It's clipped. He's just trying to get this out before the magical G-spot camping trip. ]

Riddle gone, expect you've seen. Expect will both see better Crouch's manner of in/dependence now. Spoke w/Crouch, may be moving in w/Merope. Reservations, but better than present situation. Leaving for Ginnungagap, back soon.

["Expect you've seen." He's not sure if that's rude or if he just didn't think it through. He's reading so much into everything these days, it's hard to tell what's really been said to him and what's

imagined

Nothing new there.]

Not going to Ginnungagap ["Guinea Pig" he wants to say] but stay safe. Do you need someone to check in on your bird? Just Y/N is fine.

[The things he does for animals, my what a guy that Will Graham.]

Thank you, but no. Crow comes and goes freely, canary already seen to. Enjoy the week.

[ A copy of Barty's initial messages here is forwarded to Will. ]

I returned to find a gift from Crouch.

[Squints.]

What are you lying to him about? Why won't you stop lying to him about it?

[What the fuck isn't Albus lying about, Will doesn't know.]

At present? That I intend to forget the matter. By omission, that I've presented it to you -- the reasons for both, I hope, should be patently obvious.

Otherwise? I've no bloody idea. It would be a sight less unnerving if I did.

[Unnerving. Haha.]

I figured you weren't telling him about us. [Phrasing!!!!] We met already while you were gone. Really just stumbled over each other more than anything else. I didn't know who I was seeing until it all backfired. What's with those black cloaked floating figures? There were a lot of them hanging around.

[No, he's not specifying. Let Albus wonder if he means a bunch of Dementors ran around Asgard while he was gone. This isn't purposeful, it's trauma!!!]

In Asgard?

[ He's pretty sure that he would have heard of that -- but, well, sources being as they are. ]

If native to this plane, then I wouldn't know. Of my home, the potential origins are unfortunately manifold, but easy enough to distinguish; can you describe anything else of the situation?

[How to say this, how to say this...

...other than not saying it at all. Telling him to ask his boi Barty would be easier, but the poor guy probably has no idea what he really saw.

And also would probably ask Albus why he knew and if he had ever met a cannibal before.

So suck it up it is, the story of Will Graham's life without wizards.]

All this magic stuff we've been dumped with started backfiring and it was really messy. Have you seen a nug? I had one. I accidentally helped kill a nug without meaning to. It was a very stressful ordeal. [He's not about to tell him (or anyone who doesn't know her) about Beth.] So I went out and we ran into each other. Skin to skin contact, and then it was some bizarre mind-melding session. I don't know how else to describe it. He looked into me, I looked into him, and it wasn't on purpose. It's not his fault. Fortunately he didn't get anything in my head about Asgard. We've already talked about Death Eaters, he and I. It wouldn't have seemed so out of the blue, me knowing who he was.

[We might be going on a date, but I have to send flowers first.

2 far]

I'm not about to press a man stuck in prison about what those things were. I didn't want to scare him anymore than he already was.

[ Yes, he thought it might be that. ]

My condolences for your nug. A misfiring of telepathic ability, then. I can't begin to imagine how unpleasant that must have been. Are you recovered?

You need not ask him. It sounds as though he was remembering Azkaban; I had not known whether he spent any time there, but it does not much surprise me to learn.

The figures that you saw are probably best described as spirits. Called dementors, they guard the place and preside over it. Vicious, and not particularly intelligent, they are completely amortal. They cannot be killed, only displaced.

Unhappiness and ill feeling attracts them, and they cultivate depression of the spirit.

Sounds like a defense attorney.

[Better than saying "wow that is really messed up how do you expect people to recover when you drive them even further into depression what sense does that make" but.]

I'm fine. I had to talk to a doctor about some other things, but I'm fine. He might not be. He didn't exactly catch my mind at its best, and I didn't make it much better.

[...]

There's a reason I asked him about Death Eaters and what it really meant. He kind of figured it out. He's not dumb.

[She won't let him hide forever; but she won't seek him out often either. Maybe that's middle ground. Or the closest thing to it they're going to find.

She does her best to remember the name, mouthing it soundlessly to herself, somebody to look out for. To avoid? To something. She'll figure out what something is later. Private on the networks. That she'll have no problem with. The option to keep things private is one she'd probably abuse, if not for the fact that people might ask why she's keeping unimportant things private. Real privacy is still something of a gift.

And then she's silent, for long enough to be considering. Almost long enough to come off as a little unsure.]

No.

[She doesn't need anything, not really. What she wants -- well, she's not comfortable asking him for what she wants right now, and she doesn't exactly want it from him, even, just from someone. Things are too heavy, there's too much between them. She can't ask him to come distract her from thinking about home and how dangerous things are here, she can't ask him for a hug or to tell her it's going to be okay. She could -- he probably would -- but it would just be... weird.]

I'm okay for now. [She's not sure how convincing she sounds, but she tries.] I'll let you know if it changes. And, um, you know where I am, too, so. If there's anything.

[She can't imagine he'd actually need anything from her, but what does she know?]

[The silence worries him. They've just told each other pretty heavy things, after all. But Abigail knows, she knows the truth, she knows who killed her, and apparently he confessed. That's more than Will got from him. He just danced around like he always had, danced around and tried to get Will to question his sanity again. It didn't work, and it wasn't going to, never again would he let himself fall under Lecter's sway. Right? If he showed up, armed with the information Will has now, there would be no way he could...

He wouldn't...

No matter how much Lecter might try to get him feeling back on top of the world, it would all be a lie. For nothing. He had Abigail's words now. It was all he needed. The silence—would she say anything or just—

Oh.]

Hopefully everything stays okay. [Hopefully you don't need me. It's a sad thought. Him not being needed, her not needing him, the two of them stuck in the same place but avoiding each other. Not so different from home, and he can't go about giving her the means to make fishing lures after all that talk of hunting and fishing and what he said.] And...yeah. I know where to find you if something comes up.

[He hesitates to say it, thinks about ending it there. But to leave her with such empty words, he can't really bring himself to do it.]

We'll be fine here, Abigail. Both of us. [Lecter's not here. He can make a promise. It won't be empty because it's just the two of them. Hopefully it'll stay that way.] I'll make sure of it.

[I promise you goes unsaid, and perhaps it's for the best. If things change

if anything changes

at least he didn't say he promised.]

Let's discuss recipes.

[How tasteless.]

[God, what? What? What is going on? Christ. He's been contacted by few people since his time here, and as much as he likes being left alone, he does desire Abigail to drop him a line every now and then. Once a week, at least. But he's not her dad, and just because he killed him doesn't mean he gets to be him.

Still...it would be nice, even if it was something he didn't know how to react to. This?

Jesus. It's worse because not only does he read the words and despise them, he reads them and the voice in his head saying it? Not his, and not the one he'd want to discuss recipes with, either.]

Sure. Where do you want to start? You could do by meal, like breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We could do by ingredients or baking, but my little book of desserts is mostly stuff already made that I just have to heat up. I might not be so helpful there. Where should we start with our recipe conversation?

[Let's start with your mother.]

Meat.

[Enjoy the nice break of monotony, something to fend off any possible boredom. Let's do some rhyming next.]

There's lots of kinds of meat. You'll have to be more specific. I haven't had any meat since I came to Asgard, so I can give you recipes but I can't make them on my own. I'm on a seafood and poultry only diet in that regard. So what's it going to be: cow, pig, deer, rabbit, what?

I'd go with 'what'.

What else?

[Did he walk into that? Probably. He's walked into worse, but still:

damn it.]

sheep raccoon opossum beaver squirrel turtle alligator goat nutria snake pick one

What of those have you eaten?

All of them.

[Sigh. SIGH.]

Fried alligator on a stick was an attraction at a festival I went to once. The others just kind of happened. Where I grew up, it wasn't so weird. Except the snake, that was weird. Which ones have you not eaten?

IC Contact [Asgard]

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backdated like whoa, private text

i just imagine will deleting this immediately to the bracelet trash. spam folder, even.

'bullshit' filter straight to spambox

backdated a bit, private text

SPAM FOLDER 2 TRIGGERING

tw: condensed tinned meat

does the tw mean teen wolf i'm confused

tw: tw

will graham/derek hale otp

'wolfhound'

better than hms wolfstar lbr

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text from 'fingerlickin' good'

loki you little shit

text from 'fingerlickin' good'

forever and ever, etc.

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