infomodder | IC Contact [Asgard]

[The snake was good. So good. No one could see him for what he was, and he found Will in darkness. He promised to be his paddle, his gauge, someone he could rely on for anything. He came to his house early in the morning, later in the evening. He felt like he was overstepping, but Lecter had been nothing but kind. Will, believing he was meant to be lonely all his life, had begun to think of someone, someone in this great wide world as a friend. He'd called himself that to Will, right before he'd planted a seed in his head—if Will didn't quit or find out what was truly wrong with him (most likely some sort of mental illness, which was terrifying), he might black out one day and lose time, only to wake and find out that he hadn't hurt himself.

One day he would snap to and see a totem of his own bodies. So many people slaughtered because he hadn't stopped his work. And then, he'd been put away for the murders of many, many he'd be accused of eating, and then Abigail Hobbs. He had done what he stopped her father from doing, and been haunted by him ever since.

He was not mentally ill. He was sick, driven sicker, driven to doubt his sanity...faded, feeling crazy, and in that darkness? Hannibal Lecter had been there, making himself out to be the best guide. But when blinds were open and he had light to follow, cloth was wrapped around his eyes. Any hint of sun was taken from him by that man who offered himself as his support.

Oh no, the snake in his home was not easy to see. He couldn't see it until it was too late, and no one else ever would. Inside a cage, what could he do, other than puzzle it all out, find his memories, and eventually destroy Hannibal Lecter in every way, no matter what it took? Not matter if, in the end, Will held a gun to his head while Hannibal pressed himself over him, gut in his stomach, carving him up. He would have enough strength to pull the trigger, motivated by...everything negative.

In the end, Lecter would pay, even in the price was high for Will himself.]

I've paid steeper prices. [Abigail Hobbs' life is steeper than his reputation. They had secrets. No matter what it took, he'd keep them. He'd take them to his grave. Only Lecter would be the one to out her as the lure. As for silence? Who would believe Barty over this awkward dog guy? He's proven himself...untrustworthy, and not just to Will. The upside to it. The downside being that Will...couldn't really lie. Not easily.] What trust I can give is few and far between. I do not trust easily. My ability to trust may very well be at nonexistent levels now. No, I have no trust for Barty, but I've no trust for just about anyone else here. Not about the snake, not about what waits for me back home, not about the full extent of my job with the FBI.

[Teaching is one thing. Being a consultant in the way he is? Not happening. He can say he does his job in a unique way, but not really much else.]

Too poisonous for your own good. Ate you up inside? It happens more often than not.

[Will's not poisonous (really, but the poison in his body that has come from work and being around a snake too much is doing its own toll) and has no intentions of killing himself.

He has things to die before he can let himself die. That is, catching the snake that not only got away, but destroyed him and will continue so no matter what Will does. He could cry.

Get on his knees.

Beg.

Pray to him like God.

It would matter not one bit. Lecter is curious. What Will might plead for would be taken into account, he would believe, but if Lecter really wanted to do it, was curious enough?

Will would be powerless to stop him.]

Edited (HAHA DONE SORRY BYE) 2014-04-19 04:09 (UTC)

Unfair to dismiss outright, of course, though I believe it goes without saying that information from such sources bears a deal of consideration for more than its surface weight.

What Crouch may have seen and heard in your mind -- or you in his -- interests me keenly. It is quite potentially vital to know. However, arguably, it is also not my concern. For that reason, I will not push. I trust that if you find anything of pressing note, you will act upon it to the best of your ability, and that you will inform me or otherwise share if you feel it reasonable.

To be frank, my hesitation lies more within that which Crouch might do with what he has seen, and whether he will seek further contact upon that account, in the guise of getting along. The two-way nature of such connections are, in our own world, imperfect; so easily dominated by a matter of will that they are conceptualized by beginners in offensive and defensive terms.

Vulnerabilities and quirks of thought are exploitable with mental magic, paths of memory may even be surreptitiously followed by the wielder. A mind that operates upon loose structure is as dangerous to own as that of a simple block -- one must be keenly aware of the ways in which they think in order to effectively counter.

You say that you detain the murderous by assuming their point of view.

Empathy is a messy business, Mr. Graham, even in matters less grave. [ Pun? You decide. ] If you hold any doubts (however momentary) of who those memories belong to, I would be very careful of the ways in which you continue contact with Bartemius Crouch.

Edited 2014-04-21 11:43 (UTC)

[He cannot believe what he just read. Granted, Albus can't know how many buttons he's pressing right now, but any part of Will that was previously willing (pun? you decide) feels like it's flown far, far away. No one lectures Will Graham on empathy, who he chooses for company, manipulation of the mind, and then gives him some sort of bullshit advice on what methods he should take when dealing with the murderous.

He's a grown man. He's a profiler. He's got this.

Kind of.]

I know all about empathy. I know exactly which memories are mine, which are the memories of the murderous back home, and which belong to Bartemius Crouch. You don't need magic to exploit the mind and its memories.

[He just doesn't yet know how exactly true that is in his own case.]

If anything happens that relates to anyone but myself and him, I'll inform you. As it is now, it doesn't relate to anyone else.

[Suck it, you magical bearded piece of bird shit.]

Of course.

[ And if he's a remark or two to make about Will's relation to broader Asgard, he holds it back. There's no reason to continue this conversation for the time being; he's said his piece. ]

I think we're done here, don't you? Or, I should say: I'm done here.

[bye forever albie]

Have a good evening, Mr. Graham.

[It's sent around 3 AM.]

Dear Will,

I hope you'll forgive some curiosity from beyond Asgard's walls. At home, did you ever find your cases following you home? Metaphorically, of course--as nightmares, perhaps, or odd preoccupations?

Additionally, did anything strange occur in the city this evening? Perhaps around 23:00?

From beyond the wall,
Evy

[The first question is a loaded one, but one he can...work with. The second is a difficult. Did anything strange occur, that leads into feelings and he's not really that good with them.]

No, this is perfectly fine. Yes, they followed me home. It's not like taking off a suit or kicking off my heels and unzipping a pencil skirt, what have you. It's different. No matter what I'd seen before, there was always something new and something worse and sleeping eventually became something I nearly dreaded. Preoccupations happened, too. Is this curiosity or do you have similarities with that you'd like to discuss? Something strange did happen, but I'm not sure exactly what. That's not new here. I'm not surprised. Strange things happen constantly. Stay safe out there.

No, I suppose it wouldn't be. After seeing something horrific, it isn't easy to forget, is it? From what you've said, that was most of your work.

I'd like to say it's merely curiosity, but I'm afraid I'd be lying. [Finding the words to explain herself, however, has been proving difficult; there's a reason she hasn't spoken with anyone on the subject before now.]

More specifically, then: Did you lose consciousness at that time?

It's never easy to forget. There are some I might never forget as long as I live. You want to talk about what happened during the fire and how it has been impossible to shake now, is that it? We can talk about that. I may not be able to offer much helpful advice, but I would like to listen if it will help you. Don't need to feel like you're burdening me. That must have been very horrifying. Keeping it pent up may do more harm than good, and if you need an ear for a few hours, then I'd be honored to listen.

[Honored not because it's morbid, but because she chose him. He's not in it for the sick details; he hopes that much is obvious.]

That's what it felt like. I'm more familiar with it than I should be, so I thought maybe I was still sick but if it wasn't just me (seems the case) then it appears Asgard is doing it's thing again.

I'm sorry.

It's silly--I'm no stranger to nightmares, I still have them about everything that happened in Egypt. But this was...they're worse. Much worse.

I haven't spoken to anyone about it, not really, except for the time I answered questions for you. I don't know what I'd even begin to say.

It happened to us, too. I'd wondered if it was some sort of punishment from the gods for going off to Ginnungagap a second time. If you experienced something like it as well, though, it seems that's not the case.

Don't be. I knew what the job entailed when I got into it.

[...mostly. There's also the fact that no one could have predicted Hannibal Lecter.]

Whatever you tell me will be kept confidential, and I needing to discuss nightmares or having difficulty dealing with them isn't so silly. Sometimes they get so bad keeping them to ourselves is damaging. [Telling them to a crappy psychiatrist more so, but there's no worry with Will being like that.] Whatever you feel like saying, say it. Everybody needs somebody sometime.

[He's is 100% banking on her not to have heard that song.]

Guess we're really all in this together.

Lately, they've gone...I'm somewhere--somewhere in Asgard, it doesn't matter where--and everything starts to go spotty again. Everyone else goes about their business as usual, and I die.

It doesn't sound like much when I write it out, but it is. I can never seem to get back to sleep after.

What do you dream of?

[His own memory is getting spotty, things coming and going and then flooding back. For someone who spent so much time fearing not knowing who he was and recently regained it?

It's terrifying.

The reply takes a little longer than the others (which came right after hers) because he's got to get himself together. Or, as together as he currently can.]

It doesn't have to "sound like much" when you write it out. It's enough. There's no need to wax poetic or go on countless, long-winded metaphors with this. Dying while those around you carry on and don't even notice speaks for itself. [He appreciates a lack of metaphors.] I dream of the victims I've seen and how their killers ended their lives. I dream of certain victims more than others. Repairing boats. Tidal waves and water pouring from places it never could. Waking up to find that I've got five times as many dogs as I had when I went to bed.

[That's...as honest as he really should get. Can get at the moment. This is about her, not him. He doesn't want to turn it into a pity party for himself. Of course he'd have some bad dreams about his jobs. Rushing water might seem out of place, but everyone has those dreams they just can't explain, don't they? The dogs...an attempt at making it a little less heavy than it is, at least on his end.]

[Evy notices the difference in timing, and she regrets it; perhaps that was too forward to ask.

But he responds eventually, so it couldn't have been too intrusive.]

I'm sorry. Those sound like horrid things to dream of; it must take courage to continue your work in the face of things like that. [They certainly put "I'm doing the weekly shop, and then I can't breathe" to shame. Imagine dreaming of murderers' victims regularly.]

That last one sounds like it'd be rather nice, in its way, though. If one must dream of something...

[Not forward, but this is bad. This is about her nightmares, not his. He wants it to stay about her as much as it can. Asgard might be one hell (Hel?) of a mess right now, but he doesn't need to let anyone know

how much of a personal mess it is

It's not all about Will Graham anyway.]

It's just part of the job. Having a psychiatrist isn't so uncommon. [His? Pretty damn uncommon.] So if you're thinking about all of this, it must be bugging you really badly. Is it making your trip difficult? Are you having a hard time of it?

[She'll take the slight change in subject, in part because she doesn't notice--Will's answer set off her own internal "this is bad" sensor, and that's where her focus is now. Evy doesn't want it to sound as though her dreams are bothering her that much; she's put a lot of effort into proving to herself and everyone around her that she's fine.

People die in Asgard constantly. She doesn't want to be the one who can't manage to move on from that fact.]

No--no, nothing like that. [Lies. She's been extra tired at least one morning because of them.] I was reminded of them, though, and I was curious about your experiences.

[Curious at 3 AM. Yep.]

["Curious" at 3AM. Curiosity isn't all bad, no, but it rarely happens just for its own sake, in Will's case. It swings negative or positive, but curiosity is rarely neutral.]

Something happen to remind you of it?

[What's going on over there? He has no idea. If it's not that, then he has to assume that she really did just need to talk about it to someone who, what? Might understand, all his death business taken into account?]

I had one.

[That's probably explanation enough, she suspects. She'd needed some way to deal with it that wasn't sitting awake for hours, considering how long a walk she had waiting for her in the morning,and writing to Will was the best she could come up with at the moment.]

[Had one too far away for him to be of any help other than a talk. Couldn't come over for something to eat and drink and actual human (ish?) contact. She had to have plenty of people around her to get that from, to sit near or just exist near and know she wasn't alone.

If she had that ability in the first place.]

Do you know when you're coming back? I moved out of Sigyn so I could sort of properly entertain you for dinner or breakfast or whichever.

[This hasn't been an easy hike, and the last thing she wants to do is wake anyone from their needed rest in the middle of the night. But being surrounded by sleeping men and women (and the occasional child) has only served to make her feel more isolated, rather than less.]

We'll be out here a while longer, I suspect.

But when we return, I'd like that. Where are you living now?

[Surrounded by people and yet completely alone.

Ah, yes, the things they can discuss in regards to that.]

Odin, actually. Dr. Whale is one of my roommates. He's one of Baldr's. We met shortly after he arrived. The other one is a man named Athelstan from a very very different period of time than either of us. He was my suitemate in Sigyn and I couldn't leave him behind. And a few dogs. You can bring your cat, if you want. They're well-behaved.

[One just happens to be enormous is all.]

Athelstan and I have met, but I'm afraid I don't know Dr. Whale.

I don't know how Amewbis would take being brought to a strange place filled with dogs. We might have to have one over to him first--acclimate him to the idea.

[It hits him: if Evy comes over, she might be in a house of three men. Is that an issue? Should she come over at certain hours or...?

That's probably more important to figure out than whether or not three dogs can handle a cat.]

He's a good guy. I'm a little worried about how he'll deal with some of the people here from eras that aren't like his. It seems like an extra cherry on the being smuggled away in the first place sundae.

[Note to self: make Athelstan a sundae]

Fine by me. He's probably bigger than Samantha, she can be his introduction. Did you leave him with someone when you went off? Should I go check in on him?

[Evy would be pretty sure it doesn't really matter, provided everyone present is a gentleman--and while she doesn't know Whale, she doesn't think she has any reason to be concerned with Will or Athelstan.]

It must be a great shift in thinking for him, coming here. When we spoke, it seemed as though it would be easier to count the things he didn't find baffling than the ones he did. But he seems a decent enough fellow.

You know, I think he is the larger of the two of them. A few days after I return, perhaps, we can introduce them; I doubt I'll have much energy for it immediately after.

Oh, no, he's fine. I've asked a Mr. Farrow to watch him whilst I'm away.

IC Contact [Asgard]

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Re: wow rude!!!! he doesn't know her maybe she's still alive. just not alive in his life. a bloo blo

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is that will's cobra neck icon. go talk to moran, will.

[day 442; text; private]

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