[Will was sick, very very sick. Or, he had been. Here, he was getting the help he needed. His brain was growing back to its regular size. He was getting clearer and stronger with each passing day, the only thing that reminded him of time lost and extravagant murders being nightmares and the way he caught himself looking at meat sizzling in a frying pan. He did his work with the school, he came back to his room, he repeated the process.
He'd gone from the one dog (a little, mostly Pomeranian thing, promptly named Samantha) and one alone to two now, this one far uglier than his first. An ugly thing with a face that looked like she'd run straight into a wall, the kind of ugly dog he'd never have been able to give away back home. Not too large, but he couldn't tolerate too large in his room. He hardly wanted his suitemate, already so out of place, to feel crowded because the man who shared her bathroom was obsessed with dogs.
He wasn't! It wasn't him being sick, it was him being...it was...it was Will being Will. First people had just dropped them off near his house. Then it had been idly cruising the roads with the hope that he'd find a new member of his family running around in need of food and drink and love and—
It wasn't an obsession! He only had two this time. Just two. He'd keep it to two.
Unless he found a very small third.
But only three!
He'd been baffled by all the gifts he received and, of course, kicked himself in the pants for having not thought to give any himself. Even poor Abigail hadn't received anything from Will Graham, though what could he give her? Assurance that whenever he returned home, he'd put Hannibal away? Earrings? What did he get a teenage girl?
The sound of footsteps down the hall wasn't all that odd, but for the time of day, he wasn't really sure who it was. He'd done enough meeting and greeting to know the basics of his housemates and when they came and went, but he couldn't quite wrap his (burning) mind around who it was this time. He pushed aside the little desk he'd made for his fishing lures, got up, and went to his door, opening it and looking out like a man who was trying not to be overly nosy but honestly couldn't help himself.]
You lost? [He couldn't place the face, and knew he didn't live there. Unless—] Or, ah, did you just get here? In Asgard, I mean, are you a new arrival?
get out jaime
He'd gone from the one dog (a little, mostly Pomeranian thing, promptly named Samantha) and one alone to two now, this one far uglier than his first. An ugly thing with a face that looked like she'd run straight into a wall, the kind of ugly dog he'd never have been able to give away back home. Not too large, but he couldn't tolerate too large in his room. He hardly wanted his suitemate, already so out of place, to feel crowded because the man who shared her bathroom was obsessed with dogs.
He wasn't! It wasn't him being sick, it was him being...it was...it was Will being Will. First people had just dropped them off near his house. Then it had been idly cruising the roads with the hope that he'd find a new member of his family running around in need of food and drink and love and—
It wasn't an obsession! He only had two this time. Just two. He'd keep it to two.
Unless he found a very small third.
But only three!
He'd been baffled by all the gifts he received and, of course, kicked himself in the pants for having not thought to give any himself. Even poor Abigail hadn't received anything from Will Graham, though what could he give her? Assurance that whenever he returned home, he'd put Hannibal away? Earrings? What did he get a teenage girl?
The sound of footsteps down the hall wasn't all that odd, but for the time of day, he wasn't really sure who it was. He'd done enough meeting and greeting to know the basics of his housemates and when they came and went, but he couldn't quite wrap his (burning) mind around who it was this time. He pushed aside the little desk he'd made for his fishing lures, got up, and went to his door, opening it and looking out like a man who was trying not to be overly nosy but honestly couldn't help himself.]
You lost? [He couldn't place the face, and knew he didn't live there. Unless—] Or, ah, did you just get here? In Asgard, I mean, are you a new arrival?