[Will's watched, of course. He hasn't said anything, because what should he say? He doesn't know the full story, and without the full story, he can't make an accurate assessment. Of course, it's arguable that Will knew the full stories because of his abilities or because he was the one to kill in the first place. But still: without all the information, what is he to do? Jump right into a fight that he doesn't belong in off the words of—
—but isn't that his presence here in the first place?
There's no interrupting on Will's end. Albus leans forward, he leans back, but he's not intimated. He just doesn't want to show too much interest, because he's already spoken of his career. To lean forward, to look eager and hungry—he doesn't need that reputation. It's not until he's sure Albus is finished that he finally smiles, pathetic bastardization of a smile that it normally is.
There's been some poor communication here, and it's all Will's fault yet again.]
You're right that there are two sides to every story. You're right to preface what you've told me with that, because that is part of what I have been trained to do in my work back home. [His lips twitch again, and then there's nothing like feigned happiness on his face. Just misery, but he finally leans forward, rubbing his hands together.] I don't work with life, Mister Dumbledore. I work with death. This...this isn't what I know. I see life after it happens, never before. I have been guilty of being in a group of people who. I have done work. [He cringes a little, shoulders tensing.] Encouraging hidden killers out in the open. Provoking them, if you will, to kill again. Then I see the new bodies, I get new information, and it starts again. You want eyes on this poor girl? Not very close. You don't want my eyes. My eyes don't work like that. [Perhaps he's said too much. But it could come across as him being uncaring, unwilling. It could come across as him just looking for a reason to get out of it, and there's—well, there's a bit more to it than that, and the next excuse for a smile is because his lips cannot frown that much.] This all must sound horrible, I know.
[Which is, obviously, difficult for him to do.]
The last time I tried to keep my eyes on the living, it didn't turn out so well. The last time I kept my eyes on someone, they lived in death as much as I, as much as anyone else who claims to eat death. It's highly likely I'd do far more harm than good. Unintentionally. I. I can keep my eyes on the situation. I will, if that's what you ask, I don't mind it. I don't have much else to do. But if you're thinking my work back home would make me great at this, it doesn't. [It's hard to talk about, and it's so obvious. It's so obvious, and he hasn't spoken of anyone to it. He can't tell Evy, poor soul, already so entrenched with the dead coming back from the life. He sure as hell can't mention it like this to Abigail, because he doesn't know, really, her last memories. Albus speaks to him of a man who cannot love and feels entitled. He speaks to him of sociopaths, or what they might label this Riddle as. He speaks to him almost like those he knew before he came here. He wants to speak of it, wants to confide in someone, and yet this isn't all about him. There's a young woman in trouble, and the last thing any young woman in trouble needs is the failure that is Will Graham, even if there's no cannibalism involved (hopefully). A deep breath, one he almost doesn't release.] I'll look, but don't expect me to be of much help. Don't expect me to look too hard. This isn't me refusing to help. I can't help like others could. From what I know of me and what I might never be able to fully reveal to you is that my being involved too deeply? That's very problematic. If you feel I led you to believe otherwise, I apologize. I just do not believe there are some things that should be discussed in full view, which I assume you do, too, since you're here now.
[The odd thing about Will's dogs, even if he's only had them a few days? They know his moods. He's not hard to read, not to the canines. Things get serious, they lay low. They do not run or bark or try to lick hands and distract. They sit, they stay, they listen. Perhaps they understand. Hopefully if they don't understand, the other person currently in the room does.]
no subject
—but isn't that his presence here in the first place?
There's no interrupting on Will's end. Albus leans forward, he leans back, but he's not intimated. He just doesn't want to show too much interest, because he's already spoken of his career. To lean forward, to look eager and hungry—he doesn't need that reputation. It's not until he's sure Albus is finished that he finally smiles, pathetic bastardization of a smile that it normally is.
There's been some poor communication here, and it's all Will's fault yet again.]
You're right that there are two sides to every story. You're right to preface what you've told me with that, because that is part of what I have been trained to do in my work back home. [His lips twitch again, and then there's nothing like feigned happiness on his face. Just misery, but he finally leans forward, rubbing his hands together.] I don't work with life, Mister Dumbledore. I work with death. This...this isn't what I know. I see life after it happens, never before. I have been guilty of being in a group of people who. I have done work. [He cringes a little, shoulders tensing.] Encouraging hidden killers out in the open. Provoking them, if you will, to kill again. Then I see the new bodies, I get new information, and it starts again. You want eyes on this poor girl? Not very close. You don't want my eyes. My eyes don't work like that. [Perhaps he's said too much. But it could come across as him being uncaring, unwilling. It could come across as him just looking for a reason to get out of it, and there's—well, there's a bit more to it than that, and the next excuse for a smile is because his lips cannot frown that much.] This all must sound horrible, I know.
[Which is, obviously, difficult for him to do.]
The last time I tried to keep my eyes on the living, it didn't turn out so well. The last time I kept my eyes on someone, they lived in death as much as I, as much as anyone else who claims to eat death. It's highly likely I'd do far more harm than good. Unintentionally. I. I can keep my eyes on the situation. I will, if that's what you ask, I don't mind it. I don't have much else to do. But if you're thinking my work back home would make me great at this, it doesn't. [It's hard to talk about, and it's so obvious. It's so obvious, and he hasn't spoken of anyone to it. He can't tell Evy, poor soul, already so entrenched with the dead coming back from the life. He sure as hell can't mention it like this to Abigail, because he doesn't know, really, her last memories. Albus speaks to him of a man who cannot love and feels entitled. He speaks to him of sociopaths, or what they might label this Riddle as. He speaks to him almost like those he knew before he came here. He wants to speak of it, wants to confide in someone, and yet this isn't all about him. There's a young woman in trouble, and the last thing any young woman in trouble needs is the failure that is Will Graham, even if there's no cannibalism involved (hopefully). A deep breath, one he almost doesn't release.] I'll look, but don't expect me to be of much help. Don't expect me to look too hard. This isn't me refusing to help. I can't help like others could. From what I know of me and what I might never be able to fully reveal to you is that my being involved too deeply? That's very problematic. If you feel I led you to believe otherwise, I apologize. I just do not believe there are some things that should be discussed in full view, which I assume you do, too, since you're here now.
[The odd thing about Will's dogs, even if he's only had them a few days? They know his moods. He's not hard to read, not to the canines. Things get serious, they lay low. They do not run or bark or try to lick hands and distract. They sit, they stay, they listen. Perhaps they understand. Hopefully if they don't understand, the other person currently in the room does.]