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[Note: Will is unlikely to use video unless there is a good need for it. He'd be more inclined to do text until he's made a substantial recovery and becomes more comfortable with voice.]

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[No one is supposed to care about him, what the hell. Stop.]

You got it. It's not like I can tell anyone else. I definitely can't tell Alana.

[HELLO THIS IS DOGE HE EVEN SOUNDS KIND OF GROWLY]

And you're not going to tell her, either, right? I've got stuff to work through with her first before I drop the whole sickness thing on her. It's complicated. I'm starting to envy your having fairies. I think I'd prefer it.

Of course I'm not going to tell her--I haven't told her any of this. Doctor and patient confidentiality, remember? [a pause because wait, he should probably bring Will up to speed on the 'let's lie to Alana' bit.]

I told her we met when you were out walking your dogs.

[Walking the dogs, that makes sense. That's a very Will Graham thing to do, it's familiar. She'd buy it. Doctor and patient confidentiality, though. Alana. He hasn't really told anyone about much about the things that come with his job. He's sure they can take away that he's Seen Some Shit, and it's really not fair to just dump it all on one person.

It's not fair it's not fair he should be fair]

My last doctor ended up being brutally murdered in his office while I was in the middle of a brain scan. I didn't go back after that until things became uncontrollable. It might be a little worrisome is all.

[He should stop he should really stop but he hasn't talked about it, everything is crashing down at once in regards to a Certain Someone and it's just

so

easy to let it come tumbling about, just for a moment, easy because he's got this voice in his head and, at one point, would have told him just about anything, even if it was difficult to decipher and had to be read into

and part of him feels like maybe he just can't shut up because he's saying things he never would to Lecter, not now, nothing, he gets nothing from Will that is genuine. He'll get lies and bullshit. Will intends to do to him what Lecter did, to ruin him from the inside out and watch him burn in every way, to make Lecter take his place in that shithole he'll end up in after the hospital is done with him.]

It was done in a similar manner to a killer we'd been tracking and hadn't yet caught, and then we found her DNA on the scene and thought it was her. It made sense because of the evidence.

And then the killer we'd been tracking showed up at my house and crawled under my bed, and we took her to the hospital because she had a disease that was impacting her every thought so she had to be treated before she could go on trial or through any sort of part of the justice system.

[no no no no no no no he should stop he should totally stop he shouldn't air this all out this was not the point of Whale talking to him this is not what he was expecting this

is not

fair]

So she was in an oxygen chamber that had a spark in it and burned alive, and everyone thought it was an accident. But there was no faulty wiring in it and part of a comb, so I said it was a murder, and no one believed me and then I got really, really sick and things happened in a way that they shouldn't and—

[AND SHE THINKS I DID IT]

People around me die. We lost someone back home because of me. I don't want people to know she knows me, but it's too late for that. I don't want people to know me here, or claim me. I don't want anyone to die because of me again.

Edited 2014-03-21 02:35 (UTC)

[Wait, how did we get from dog walking to brutal murder, how is this possible, what went wrong.

Whale's just kind of string at the screen in abject horror at the moment as Will continues talking about how his last doctor died and then he found the killer under his bed which honestly, why was he saying that so calmly, what the hell was wrong with his life, and then she got burned alive and Whale is just staring at the screen in a kind of 'what the fuck' expression because WHAT THE FLYING FUCK, WILL.

Part of him thinks this is darkly funny, though. Will was lamenting the fact that people around him died and his doctor was Victor Frankenstein. Some little part of Whale's brain underneath all of the blatant confusion at this confession thought the whole part was oddly apt.

But that's not the time and not the place and you don't fight secrets with secrets, you fight secrets with compassion and understanding, even if part of Whale is trying his hardest not to turn this into a contest of 'who's more fucked up.'

But then...what do you say to a guy who just confessed that three people he knew were brutally killed, one of whom was in the same position as he was right now?]

[And then after what feels like ages on Whale's end, he finally breaks the silence.]

Well. Your life sounds even worse than mine, and I wasn't entirely sure that was humanly possible for a while.

[shit shit, wrong train of thought, make things better. He coughs a bit, trying to put that behind him, obviously realizing that he fucked up, that was the wrong thing to say.]

What you just said...well, that is a lot to work through. And I can understand if you just wanted to get this off your chest and not talk about it to me again. But if you ever want to talk about any of it, just say the word, give me a call, whatever. We can talk about...all this.

[what was it that Ruby had said? Monster to monster. Of course, Will was hardly a monster in Whale's eyes: just a sick man with exceedingly shitty luck, luck that seemed to get worse and worse the more he found out about it.]

I'm sorry about everything. You're a good guy. [you shared booze with him and let him pet your dogs and told a funny story about dog nards when Whale had backed himself into a corner he didn't want to be in, Will was firmly a good guy in Whale's mind.] You don't deserve all that.

[this is why Whale isn't a psychiatrist.]

[Oh no, no no. Will is more comfortable with secrets in return, though he doesn't expect them. Tell me about your mother gets turned back onto his psychiatrist (though not officially, which would never work in his favor on the stand). How do you feel? gets turned around just the same, and was one thing Whale said to him that made him want to suddenly feign nausea, diarrhea, anything that made it seem like yeah, Whale should have gone. Whale takes his time replying, and so does Will. He has to calm down. He has to think this through. He has to make sure that the gravity of the situation is not only understood, but that Whale finally, finally knows what sort of situation he might have gotten himself into.]

Good is subjective. I've done a lot of bad things in my line of work, but with the idea of the greater good behind it. Provoke the killers we're tracking in the hopes they out themselves. You know how they do that? They kill again. We get more evidence to work with, we find them. So while it's good in the way we catch them, it's bad because more people suffer. That's part of the job, and I honestly hate it. They don't tell you that, though. Conspiracy theorists sometimes venture into that territory, but they take it to the extreme. Good? Means to an ends. The ends is that the perpetrator is caught. The means is that more people die, families lose loved ones, people suffer. The idea is that after a few more times, less people will suffer. That's not good, but it's not bad. Or so they'd tell you. I don't know what it is anymore, but I sure as hell don't like that part of the job. I've become desensitized to it. I don't like that either.

[That comes out easily, just an explanation. A view behind the curtain that not many see, or what to see. A bit of context on what "good" is to Will, which isn't much. Good that killers are caught? Great. Good that people have to die to get them? That's not good at all.]

I don't know if you really want to talk more about this, Doctor Whale. There's things back home that aren't savory, and that's not just the murders. When I go back home, if I ever do, the first place I'm going to is a hospital for the criminally insane. For killing that doctor. That young woman I found under my bed. Two other young women, and the person I mentioned we'd lost before we came here. It's been blamed on me. Not just murders, but that I cannibalized some of them when I was finished seeing to the end of their life.

[This is all said calmly. It's a fact. Will's come to accept it. He knows who did it, of course. That man is in his head. And yes, maybe this isn't fair, but in a way, it could be. Whale now has the information he needs to either say "fuck this just keep to your medications" and be done with it, or he can make a different call. As for him really telling anyone this? Well, it hasn't happened in the past over two months since he's been here.]

That's not usually a topic people welcome being talked about, or usually associate with someone they consider a good guy.

[He hopes for an answer, whatever it will be. But if Whale just hangs up and never talks to him again? He won't be mad. Whale will have cut him out of his life. Then, if Lecter ever shows up, he won't have ties to him anymore.

The things he does to save lives, honestly.]

['Good is subjective,' oh how Whale knows so much about that. He ruined a girl's happiness, blatantly helped in manipulating her so that he could get what he wanted and then later made that girl, now a woman, suffer even more in an attempt to get back home and fix his mistakes. Will wanted to lecture him, wanted to lecture the man who wanted to cure death that good was subjective? It was almost pathetic.

But then, as the details start to flow, as Will starts to mention more and more about his life, as he mentions cannibalism for God's sake, that haughty pride in Whale's mind slowly morphs to confusion, fear, and a not-so-small dose of abject horror.]

Monster to monster, [he mutters, back to himself, trying to steel the idea in his head that this man, this seemingly normal man who had two dogs and was a bit awkward at times and tried to instill in his head the idea that Alana Bloom needed respect, this man was going to an asylum for killing a doctor, killing someone who Whale couldn't help but see the similarities of his current position in but, more importantly, killing young women. That was supposed to be the same man who he drunkenly rambled about music with?

Like hell it was.

He refused to believe it. Possibly because he wasn't a psychiatrist, possibly because he only knew the bare minimum about Will's home, possibly because he had seen monsters himself, he was a monster himself and Will Graham, he was no monster.]

If you think that this is going to turn me off from being your doctor, you're wrong. [he calmly said, looking at Will. Truth be told, part of him is scared, part of him is worried, part of him is telling him that he should cut loose and run now because what if he is wrong about Will and what if he dies, what if he fails again, as always, another time. But he's trying his damndest to push that feeling down and keep up the cocky, devil-may-care, egotistical facade that he always has.] You're sick. You're sick, I'm a doctor, I can help fix things, I'll help cure you.

[There's the tiniest pause while Whale goes through his thoughts in his mind, trying to figure out what to say and how to say it.] You've told me why I might not want you as a patient, it's only fitting that I tell you why you might not want me as a doctor. I'm not...I'm not from this world, from anything remotely resembling Asgard or Storybrooke. The technology is practically ancient compared to the stuff back in your world, and the only reason I know modern surgery is because of a magic curse. [Which was absolutely messed up, now that he fully thought about it.]

Back in my proper world, I was working on bringing the dead back to life. I did some terrible things in the process and a lot of people got hurt during my work--some of them even got killed. Talk with Regina Mills if you don't believe me, I guarantee you she'll have plenty of negative things to say about me. [said with a small little dark chuckle because if anybody had any right to wish him dead, it was Regina.] You're talking to Victor Frankenstein himself about things that aren't savory, and you think that something you said was blamed on you, not things that you said you did yourself, you think that's enough to drive me away.

[Will is so opposed to the whole talking face-to-face with this bracelet, but he's grateful for it now. Whale can see him actually smiling at the revelation. He's not smiling because he thinks he's lying, thinks he's made a terribly funny joke in a similar manner to Will's little dog story as a means to get his new doctor to feel less awkward about his little slip. Those dogs have been out of the picture the entire time, but the way Will smiles and leans forward to rub a hand over his face has that little fluffy one that would end up in a fashionista's purse against its desires bounds up in his lap—Will is smiling! He might laugh! He doesn't seem as upset as he has been lately! Clearly this is Samanatha's time to shine and give him more reason to try and be happy, which she does by, of course, licking at his neck. He laughs, a bitter, hollow sound that tries to be merry but can't quite ever get there, nudging her wet nose down and making it obvious she's welcome to stay in his lap, but there's no more kissing to be had.]

Victor Frankenstein.

[The way he introduced it, Will had to wonder if he'd meant it as something like a scare tactic. The monster, the one portrayed with bolts in his neck, afraid of fire or killed by fire, roaming the streets and scaring everyone in sight—that's what was commonly associated with the name, and if Whale (Victor now?) had been dragged into a modern world, Will could only imagine he had to know about it. How could he not? It was everywhere. Movies, TV, toys, books, probably porn. There was porn for everything, why not Frankenstein? Cartoons, even! Cereals! Spoofs involving dance numbers! Monsters of cinema always included that poor mesh of human body parts, but rarely, now that he truly thought about, had they spent much time focusing on the doctor himself? What could Will pull from media about Victor Frankenstein? He was a mad doctor, a lunatic. He used electricity to bring parts of dead bodies alive in the best stitched up body he could manage. It had gone wrong. His monster was unleashed and...what then? Burned alive? Had Frankenstein himself been dealt with? Literature hadn't been a huge course needed for his degree and work. That might be a very big blessing now, considering he didn't have the supposed exact source of it all to go by. Even then, all these different worlds colliding, how accurate could he take a book or a movie or anything else to be when he's faced with that figure himself? What is he supposed to do, judge him? Cut ties? Whale picked up on one thing, that Will was blamed. Why in any world would Will overlook that little jump that he left there, thinking it would be ignored, and then go off on how he couldn't possibly do anything with him now, what a monstrous lunatic he was!

Will knew monsters, usually. He wasn't extremely close to Whale, but the monster he knew back home had done one thing that Whale hadn't done so far: lied to him about his medical condition. He saw those clocks, saw the bad design in them, and let him run sick and burning alive just to see what would happen. Curiosity. He doesn't see that in Whale. Frankenstein? Sure, he's been considered that, but...getting to meet the man behind the legend, that is really a treat more than anything else.]

If you've been bumped up to a modern world, as you must have to know Sting and the Police, I'm sure you've come across...modern thoughts on Frankenstein. [He does tilts his head down, eyes thoroughly focused this time, making contact. Will is not going to pretend he's the most open-minded and that he is immediately going to push all that aside. It's rampant. It's always there. Some things won't be easy to get rid of, but not because he finds Frankenstein a hideous creature, but because it's everywhere.] Magic curse, you've become a surgeon up to snuff on what you need to know. It makes sense, but it sounds like crap that you had to go through that. I want to go home to get exonerated and put the real killer away. I want to make sure the one he killed as the final way to get me locked up is avenged. She doesn't deserve that. Your home has been taken more than mine. I can't imagine the sort of trauma that might cause and how difficult it is to deal with.

[He tilts his head, only because Mrs. Graham refuses to stop licking forever, and he finally plucks her up gently and plops her down on the floor. Not very high up; he'd never hurt a dog, and he'd never hurt a person, either, unless he absolutely had to.]

This doesn't put me off either, Doctor Whale. [He looks a little uneasy now. What name is he supposed to use? In front of other people, Will assumes he'd be Whale. In private, would he prefer his real name, or would that be insulting? Does Will not "know" enough of him to have earned that nickname?] The doctor I know back home, the one I told you about, you remember? Surgeon. Artist. Gourmet chef. Psychiatrist. Dressed well. Impressive individual? [That smile isn't happy at all. Will Graham is an awkward man who loves dogs, but beneath that, even before that voice was in his head, he was capable of being far worse than that. When he got home, Hannibal Lecter was going to be as manipulated as he'd done to Will. He would make sure of that if nothing else. He'd been driven insane. He'd drive Lecter insane in return, in some way, no matter what he had to do or how much he had to pretend he was sorry, he did it, he couldn't lie in the face of evidence, it was such a terrible thing, how could he ever accuse him!] It was him. My paddle. My anchor. My resting place, the rock I could always count on. He did it, did all of it. Did it to me because he wanted to see what would happen. Curious. Wind me up and watch me go. And that guy? He was Alana's mentor throughout medical school. They're friends.

[Now everything's much more complicated, isn't it?]

How do you tell someone that, though? I can't figure it out. No matter who [not what, he is a person, not a what] you are in comparison to all those little stories of Frankenstein running around, trust me when I say you aren't just a step up from the one back home. You're fucking Mother Teresa in comparison to him, because you, from what I've seen? You actually care about your job.

[He's talking so much, and that last bit could be an insult (wow, comparing him to a murderer, that's so nice of him), but it's not how he means it. Not really. Some might probably freak out (Asgard has so many kinds of people here, some might be full of questions); Will Graham has been driven purposefully insane. He's actually, in fact, delighted.]

The monsters I know only confess to their real names when they've been caught and there is no way they can escape. I didn't catch you. That's not how the monsters back home I know behave.

[Oh yes, he heard the monster to monster thing. What, was he going to refuse to comment on it when his entire life was spent getting the monsters off the streets?]

Edited (wow html could you not) 2014-03-21 05:26 (UTC)

[This is so much easier doing over a bracelet than anywhere else. For the first time since his arrival, Whale is thankful for this tacky teal glorified magical bluetooth.

But that good feeling is quickly crushed as Will keeps talking modern thoughts on Frankenstein, ha ha ha.....oh was he the king of mixed feelings about that. As such, he looked a bit embarrassed at the thought of neck bolts, green facepaint and Boris Karloff. He knew. Because of the curse, the residents of Storybrooke had their lives immortalized in books of fairy tales. Whale had his immortalized in horror movie marathons and comedy films involving mangled singing of "Puttin On The Ritz."

He really hated that song.]

Between your accused psychosis and me resurrecting dead bodies, we're just one vampire away from a horror movie marathon, [Whale remarked, bitterly.] And before you ask, no, I don't know any vampires.

[The bitterness continued for a few moments, but then started to abate as Will continued to talk, as he mentioned his Ah. Everything is more complicated. And by that he meant drastically more complicated. Whale overlooks the comparison between himself and Will's psycho doctor mostly because he knew he had his reasons for doing what he did. His reasons were first to stop death, then to revive his brother, then to fix his brother. This guy...in Whale's mind 'too see what would happen' was just as much of a scientific reason as 'shits and giggles:' things you do with chemicals and machines, not with actual people.]

Well, if your friend shows up, I'll punch him in the face, [Whale simply responds, trying to get things back on the joking side of things, not trying to think too much about the fact that Will's friend, Alana's mentor was trying to drive the man insane...or at least, in Will's mind his friend and Alana's mentor was trying to drive him insane. The thought of the encephalitis lingered in the back of Whale's mind. While he didn't know if it caused delusions or not, the clocks were enough to suggest that something wasn't right with Will Graham. The sleepwalking was enough to suggest that something wasn't right with Will Graham. And, while Whale would gladly believe that Will didn't cause those murders that he mentioned, didn't cannibalize someone, could his surgeon/psychiatrist/gourmet chef friend be behind this, or was Will simply searching for an answer to tie up the mystery of who killed those women?]

What's this guy's name, anyway?

[because needless to say, if Mr. Gourmet Chef Psychiatrist shows up, Whale's going to have some interesting conversations with the man.]

No.

[For all the issues Will can have talking about certain things, the way he can take a moment before he says what he means while he figures out how to say it, this one is simple and steady and strong. The answer is no. This is not up for debate. A student asking him if they can have something special because they were irresponsible, not because of a family member or friend becoming sick, not because of things beyond their control, they would get that same tone. No. Oh, they were out drinking and didn't do their assignment? Oh, they stayed up late all weekend and couldn't come to class because they slept through it? They wanted extra time when the rest of the class didn't get it?

No. The answer would be a resounding, unyielding no. So it is with Lecter, even his name. If he shows up, Will has a list of people he'd immediately contact, even ones he didn't like much. If he shows up, if he makes an appearance on the network, Will knows exactly how to approach him. To Lecter, it could work. He might buy it. Lies, Will can lie. To everyone in Asgard who's gotten to know him in the slightest, something would seem off. In one fell swoop, if he played his cards right, he'd have Lecter thinking Will was still his friend and everyone watching who had run into Will multiple times thinking that either Will had been severely missing this man or something was very, very wrong.

His face is hard, his shoulders tense. One shoulder in particular is a little seized up. The dog is long forgotten, even as she bounds back into his lap. He doesn't respond to her, just lets her sit there and shuffle around a bit. She doesn't get attention now. It's all Whale, it's all Lecter, it's all what Will would have to do to make sure no one who he'd gotten close to in any way didn't kick the bucket.]

If he ever comes, which let's hope not, I'll let you know. If I don't let you know immediately, if he makes an appearance on this network, I'll reply. You'll know then, because I'm going to have to lie to get him to think I don't know who he is now. [It all happened so fast, after all. What's the last thing Will remembers if Lecter appears? Falling asleep in the car on the way to Minnesota, naturally. They're still friends, right? Even in Asgard, won't Lecter be his friend?] You're not going to want to punch him. You're not going to want to talk to him at all unless it's necessary. He's not... [How does he say this?] ...reasonable at all times. He's absolutely obsessed with me, and I'm rather certain he'd kill just to get my attention. So no, don't go anywhere near him if he ever appears. You don't want to end up like his victims, trust me. No one deserves the sorts of deaths he doles out.

[Oh, his name. No. He's not getting it. Though if Alana has mentioned anyone...that's a good road to where Whale could start. Hopefully she didn't.

Will's not so good with hope. He's lost most of it lately. Here's to hoping, though he doubts it'll last very long.]

[He hears that no. Yeah, he hears that 'no' and interprets it as a 'he will find out on his own.' He knows Alana. He's not adverse to gossiping with Alana, not adverse to asking her about people she and Will know from home, casually mentioning that yeah, Will told him about his psychiatrist friend, what was his name, no not you, the one that was a chef, it's on the tip of his tongue.

Because he wanted to punch this guy. And, he also wanted to find out more about him. If Alana thought that he was a good guy, if she thought that he was a sensible man, then he might have to rethink Will's sickness and Will's theory that his chef psychiatrist friend was the true monster, the true cause of all of Will's misfortunes...or if it was Will desperately trying to come up with an excuse, trying to rationalize the fact that so many bad things had happened to him in the span of a short time.

Whale knew that feeling, the feeling of wanting something to blame. But, possibly unlike Will, he knew that sometimes there wasn't anything to blame.]

Fine. Fine, I won't punch him, I won't even talk to the guy. But you've got to tell me his name so that I can actually avoid him. Otherwise what, I'd be avoiding every psychiatrist in the city? Not exactly feasible.

[Come on Will. Give him this much, give him this tiny bit of information, throw him the metaphorical bone. Whale gives the camera a tiny little smile, eyes reassuring, trying to tell Will that it can't hurt, just this little bit of information can't hurt at all]

[He hadn't told Kate, but they'd been texting. It was easier to hide what would be taken as embarrassment if he said the name, and it would be easier to just say no over and over again. She wasn't looking at him, she wasn't looking at her. But here Whale was, trying, prying, smiling as he tossed out that lure. Any lure with the name Hannibal Lecter on the end of it was destined for something awful happening in the end. Lures were named after people that were cherished. The hope, then, was that they would come back to him. He didn't cherish Lecter, and he never would. If he ever got those memories back...any part of him he could try to find comfort in would be destroyed.]

I didn't realize there was a surplus of psychiatrists in Asgard. [Were there really? Were any of them trained in the sort of doom and gloom like Alana had been, like Lecter, like Chilton steeped himself in, would continue once he'd recovered? He didn't need one, and he sure as hell wasn't able to go to Alana with it. Not yet.] I'm curious now, Doctor Whale, how you came to be the one to tell Alana I was here. Did the FBI come up? Did she ask for...names?

[When he finally looks up, there's little truly happy in that smile. There's little truly happy in Will Graham in the first place, and maybe Whale can see that now. See why. But he doesn't give that question time to settle, not really, because if he gives him his full name.

Oh yes. There is a joke to be made.]

His name is Doctor Lecter. [He can't even bother trying to pretend it's not obvious, though the idea of calling Lecter a cannibal is still rather gross in his mind. It all starts to add up, though, doesn't it? To horrific ends. Gourmet chef. What if? It's such a croaky voice he says it in, too. He hasn't said it out loud to anyone other than Abigail. It's almost like his mere name is so painful it leaves his throat dry enough to make his voice crack.] Doctor Hannibal Lecter, based in Baltimore, Maryland.

[God, he knows it's coming. He knows it in every fiber of his sick body, and he lets out a puff of air as if to say oh yes, he's thought of it. But really, could it be...that?]

I know what you're going to say. If he ever comes to Asgard, don't say it to him. He doesn't tolerate rudeness. That's very rude. He can't help what his parents named him.

Edited (DONE EDITING WOW GOING TO BED NOW BLESS WHALE YOU GOT HIS NAME FIRST OUT OF EVERYONE AMAZING) 2014-03-23 05:36 (UTC)

[As Will asked how he managed to tell Alana that he was here, Whale simply gave the camera a little frown, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, despite the fact that his patient and friend just confessed that he was accused of killing women and would probably go to an asylum when he returned home. Nope, not a problem, don't mind his little frown and trying to regain some sense of normalcy in this conversation that was running the gamut from psycho killers to reanimation.

Truth be told, Whale had no idea how many psychiatrists there were in Asgard. But, considering the fact that he kept running into professionals in the city (doctors, FBI agents, probably a cop by now, who knows to begin with) he was certain that there were at least a few psychiatrists here.]

I ran into Alana in the hospital, actually. [Whale said, casually, trying to seem nonchalant about the whole thing.] I mentioned that a lot of people here seemed to have at least one person they knew from home, she asked about you. You weren't the only name she mentioned, though. She mentioned...Jack somebody, I know that much.

[It had been almost a week since their introduction, Whale couldn't help the fact that Jack Crawford's name had slipped his mind since then.] The FBI came up, but we didn't talk about it that much.

[As Will starts to say the name, Whale leans into the camera bit, listening intently, as if Will's about to reveal a bit of juicy gossip instead of the name of the man who had massively screwed up his life. And hey, Hannibal. That rhymes with cannibal.

...

wait a goddamn minute. That small theory that Will wasn't as mentally sound as Whale had thought and was instead using Hannibal as a scapegoat because he wanted answers that bad? Oh yeah. It's gaining some ground. There's no way that Hannibal was a cannibal. That...well, to start with, it was silly. If someone was named Hannibal, you think they would purposefully pick a life-path that didn't rhyme with their name. That'd be like Doctor Proctor: utterly stupid. Although, he was pretty certain a gourmet chef would have ways to make people not taste like people--not that Whale had any idea what people tasted like to begin with.

Note to self: eat salads around Will, just to be on the safe side. Drinking was okay, there wasn't any way you could put people into alcohol (was there?)]

My last name is "Whale." [Kind of.] I know not to make stupid jokes based on people's names.

[The mention of Jack has the most hideous attempt at a smile plastered all over Will's face. At first glance, it could appear like he has just seen his best friend after being apart for far too long, but the look in his eyes is positively mad. Oh yes, he knows a Jack. He can't blame him, has had time here to work things out, but God, what is going to happen if he can't get anyone to believe him back home?

He's been a little awkward, naturally. Maybe a little withdrawn. Too many dogs. Carries bacon in his pockets now. Odd, that Will Graham. This man right now, this supposed serial killer and cannibal and everything wrong that one person could be, is one other thing that cannot be avoided: extremely bitter. He is so, so bitter. A bite of him would have the tongue recoiling, the taste buds burning.

A side of Will that hasn't been shown before comes up in this conversation, and not just because of all the new information. Now that names are pouring out, he cannot even pretend to hide that no, he's not just a little "off"—he's got way more to him than that.]

Jack Crawford. He was my boss, head of the unit I worked with. [If he looks bitter, it's nothing compared to the way he sounds.] Your name is Whale. His name is Hannibal. You know not to make jokes, but it's there, isn't it? The thought. The thought everyone was too polite to bring up.

[It rhymes. He's not in a cell at the moment with a thousand years to try and work things out while hoping he's not given placebos and doesn't end up dead before he can really unravel the mystery, but it's a matter of time.]

Alana doesn't have any idea, Doctor Whale. It seems we don't remember the same things. It seems things happened that she's not aware of. [Is it respecting her to keep it from her, and to keep everything about Abigail here from her, too? Is Will's request that Whale treat her right stemming from his inability to decide if he's doing just that? Hard to tell, but he's obviously conflicted. Bitter. Boiling, almost, possibly a ticking time bomb, because it does sound crazy, doesn't it. Paranoid. Like he's almost picking at Hannibal just because of his name, it's so easy, such a simple thing to jump to.] So. You're Frankenstein. Regina Mills will answer any questions. I won't ask her any questions. I won't tell a single soul what you've told me today.

[Oh yes, it's obvious that Will expects as much in return. If he's lying, if he's really this terrible serial killer, why would anyone want to upset him?]

Do you want me to call you by that name when we're in private?

[Will is Will. Sometimes Mister Graham, but only to certain people. There's no reason for him to ask to be called anything else. Definitely not the Copycat. But if Whale wants to be Victor or Frankenstein...]

Of course the thought's there, [Whale responded, utterly befuddled and utterly grumpy.] Hannibal the cannibal. [It was too simple, too easy. Hannibal the cannibal and Hannibal the murderer, psychiatrist so he could spot the troubled patients that no one would miss, surgeon so he could know how best to remove organs, gourmet chef so he could cook the meat, tenderize it and make it taste less human. And then what? Serve it up in a casserole dish? Have reheated human for supper on the days when he worked late?

Needless to say, he's going to have to do a little investigation of his own. Just gently bring up Will Graham to Alana, see what she thinks, posing it as a concerned friend, someone who cares, not the man's doctor who is starting to worry ever so slightly that he's gotten in over his head. He was a surgeon, not a psychiatrist. He could help cure Will's encephalitis. He couldn't cure any mental diseases.

And then they're back to Victor Frankenstein, like Hannibal the cannibal was just a passing thought. And really, Whale's thankful that Will won't ask Regina any questions. Out of all the people here, she's the one that could damn him the fastest. After all, he ruined her life twice over--and that is not a subject Whale is fond of going into at the moment.]

Don't worry. As far as I'm concerned, none of this leaves this...bracelet. [He can't exactly say 'none of this leaves this room,' now can he. And he's sincere in his words: he won't mention Will's thoughts on Hannibal Lecter to anyone else. That being said, there wasn't anything wrong with getting a second opinion on the man himself, or confessing to Alana his doubts of Will's sanity...but that was an entirely different can of worms he needed to sort out before he could do anything.] But call me whatever you want. Most people call me Whale nowadays, but I'll answer to anything.

[Whale, Victor, Frankenstein, that asshole over there...]

[Gourmet chef who hosted dinner parties, who had people over for dinner whenever he could, Hannibal the cannibal. He can't even pretend to smile, he just flat-out grimaces. No one was that out of their mind, were they? No one would do that. Why would they do that? It made no sense. The devil is in the details, and Will Graham has all the time here in Asgard to pick them apart. If Whale ends up asking Alana and she informs him of Lecter's love of sharing his food with others, then he can draw his own conclusions from that. No need for Will to just continue dumping everything on him. He's already chucked quite enough on him.

Besides, Will's not the one obsessed. He's not obsessed with Lecter. It's the other way around. Right? Of course it is.

He does have a little curiosity about Regina Mills and makes a note to look for her, but he won't mention Whale out of the blue (oh dear).]

Doctor Whale. [His lips twitch a little; this conversation has been so heavy that trying to work it into something light and humorous is actually physically difficult.] Also known as the guy I can hit up when I have a little too much to drink and can't stop singing The Police so I just have to share the experience.

[One day, it will happen. That's not a sign that he's crazy. No, it's a sign that Will appreciates someone who knows his kind of music. He couldn't call up Lecter with that, couldn't belt out some operatic shit in Italian, even if he was completely sober.]

Thank you. For everything.

[It's clear those aren't words Will says much. He even drops his eyes, contact lost, swallowing, biting his lip. Jesus, where do they go from here, seriously?]

If you need anything, just holler. You know how to find me.

[Who the hell shouts at a guy going to prison for being a cannibalistic serial killer? Who the hells shouts at Victor Frankenstein? Oh, things he never thought he'd wonder.]

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhSA9H9Iaqw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mP2srT6hh2Y this was the one in my head which is like 10x worse

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z06LXZQwkrc is this better

or if we want to continue my top 40 taste http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EHkozMIXZ8w

runs to old school stuff to combat that https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHywdqH3F6Y

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J3af4Gz4Daw everybody know he's a motherfucking monster

i can't beat that. i have a million monster songs, but no one can beat nicki. it is known.

you are speaking my language

rap and gaga?