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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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[There are a few things that Will would not mind being "known" for in Asgard. The guy who always has a dog with him, the guy who doesn't make eye contact, the guy who sometimes wears glasses, the guy who tracks serial killers for a living, those are all just fine with him. When it comes to his housemates, he's fine being all of those and that one guy who uses the kitchen for a handful of things: eating only fish and salads and often making bacon, though for what, they can probably guess. He doesn't eat it himself, and he doesn't necessarily dole it out to his dogs like candy (bad for them if he gives them too much), but no one really needs to know that two direwolves sometimes scratch at his window and he lets them in to eat the saltiest, fattiest bacon that anyone could possibly imagine.

There are a few who have a better idea of parts of him, yes, but he's rather glad to keep up appearances. The appearances being he is not a man heading to a prison called a hospital when he gets back for the deaths and cannibalization of young women. He is really, really pleased that that's not the way most people think of him or even see him. So while he may come across as awkward and possibly a little too much of a dog fan, and someone who has a heavy job back home, he's perfectly fine with that. Honestly, it's preferable to just about anything else.

The guy who runs around back alleys during a fire and promptly makes it a goal to get angry professors off their angry students? It's not so bad, but there's only two other people that know about, and apparently one of them has stopped by. Lives in Sigyn, too, maybe? He doesn't know. He doesn't spend much time with the people in it, spends most of his time alone in his room when he's there. That's also something he's perfectly fine with.]

Hey. [It's loud enough just for him to be heard, and the smile he tries to send is really, really strained. Or maybe it's just strained to Will, considering few people here know about his near inability to honestly smile. Hopefully it's not the hideous grimace-smile combination he generally has plastered on his face whenever he so much as tries. The stove has two frying pans on it, one sizzling said salty, fatty bacon, and the other taking care of some fish. If he can knock the day's meals out in one go, he'll do it. Less time he can truly be seen. It's not in dire need of tending to, though, so he turns around to look at him fully, not sure of where his hands should go so stuffing them into his slacks it is.] You got your arm healed? I would have done it myself, but I'm not that good yet. Do you live here, too?

[All the more reason for a certain wizard to never, ever drop by.]

Oh-- well, not really. I started here, but I moved in with some friends. [Neville gives him a small, embarrassed smile in return and sidles the rest of the way into the room. He has wisely chosen not to comment on the fact that Will's expression is faintly disturbing, in a kind of sad and awkward way, instead letting his fingers trail instinctively towards the arm that had been burned and then thoroughly manhandled by Snape. He picks at the fabric of his sleeve, fidgeting.]

Got my arm healed quite quickly. It wasn't that bad, I've had worse. [People keep telling him to stop saying that.] Erm, thank you. By the way.

[His lips twist slightly, and he's trying not to eye the bacon but he's totally eyeing the bacon for a good chunk of time before he manages to shake his head resolutely to clear it, still hovering awkwardly near the doorway.] And... sorry. I don't, I'm not normally like that. [Except he's been constantly like that on the Network where all the Death Eaters lurk and taunt him.] Do you work there? At the school? [Because that's the handiest explanation for being there during the fire.

But seriously never let Barty near your home.]

[The kid wisely chooses not to comment on the hideous expression that is Will Graham's "smile" and Will returns it with the wise choice not to comment on how obvious it is he's staring straight at the sizzling meat on the stove. It does, however, get a smile that's less of a grimace out of him. Hunger. He understands hunger, has been rather hungry himself from time to time here in Asgard.]

I do. Did, now. It's not really my type of teaching. [It's honestly not. Kids require way too much social interaction for Will, and now that the place has been thoroughly burned, he's going to use that as an out to get away from it. That, and considering the people who work there and move in and out of it (wizards), considering who's been in his head and he's going to work with to get back into it, it doesn't seem a good fit. He's going to skate right by that thanks if he possibly can. He doesn't need to be thanked. It's not a problem at all, as far as he's concerned.] I taught adults back home. It's a lot different with younger people.

[People, not kids. They're still people, and he knows well enough that calling teenagers kids is a surefire (oops) way to get hackles raised. He's only thirty-eight; he doesn't need them thinking he's ancient enough to consider someone nearly in their twenties a kid.

He has to bring attention to it eventually. He's not one to withhold a meal when he's got plenty extra that's proper food. He looks to the stove and back, giving him a face that clearly says he knows.]

Bacon might be a little too salty for you, what I've got going now. I can make some fresh. Or you can have some fish. Which one are you feeling up for? I've got plenty to go around.

[Seriously, he does. Piles of bacon and all that fish freshly caught, what sort of monster would he be not to share?]

[Neville very clearly wants to say bacon, yes, please, all the bacon.

But he just lost all that weight being half-starved and constantly running and fighting and getting tortured. He's never not been on the heavier side of pudgy before, and he's so not going back if he can help it.

And that delicious bacon would not be very helpful.

After being so careful to subsist largely on the salads and fruits and vegetables he can whip up instantly with his Growth power (all those biscuits inhaled to accompany spots of tea do not count), he should really stick to a nice, healthy, fresh fish. He should. He will.]

Fish? If it's no trouble. [Five points for that Gryffindor willpower, he feels he deserves it.] While you were teaching, I mean, here at-- [Neville is not going to call it the Albus Dumbledore Academy] Snape's school, did you notice anything... off?

[Pardon his throat clearing.]

Like, erm. Students getting tortured, or coerced, or, you know. [Just going to slip that in there, ultra smooth-like. Very casual. Like torturing younger people is an every-other-Tuesday sort of hobby.] Things of that nature.

No. [For what might be seen as an abrupt, bizarre question, Will doesn't seem at all bothered by it. His answer is simple and immediate. No, he hadn't seen any torture or coercion. Well, not really.] Unless you mean coercing students to do their homework and their studies, and then yes. That happened. Multiple times. I did it myself.

[The Asgard Homework Coercer. A better title than his last. He's moving to the freezer as he speaks, grabbing a bag full of fish to make up something fresh, and there's no more grimace to his smile. It's just a regular smile, because this is exactly Will's type of thing.]

I'd notice, too. That's my job back home. I teach how to recognize patterns, track, and catch serial killers. [Of which Snape does not seem like one, unless Albus' little write-up is a bunch of bullshit. Really doesn't look like the case here. Would he notice torture? Sure, just not his own. What he doesn't know yet, oh boy.] Torture's part of that, unfortunately.

[It's a heavy topic, but Will seems rather used to it, sliding that fish off onto a plate and sprinkling a little spice over it. Torture and murder is all a part of a regular day for him, apparently, if the way he holds the plate out for the kid is anything to go by.]

Will Graham. I didn't really have time to introduce myself last night.

I hope we're thinking of two entirely different levels of coercion.

[Because if Will was stabbing students with knives like certain Death Eaters when they refused to do their homework, then Neville would very much like to opt out of this friendly luncheon with him.

But that's the usual answer, isn't it? No, Snape hasn't done (or hired others to do) anything here other than be a bit of an arse, and it's starting to make Neville go a little out of his head. The fact that Snape got a second chance that Neville feels he never should have, and that he has actually made good on it so far, is completely maddening. It's not fair.

With a profound effort he puts that whole train of thought aside, though. Will seems like a nice enough bloke who probably kept the two of them from killing each other in the burning wreckage of the school, and he doesn't deserve to have all the Wizarding War baggage heaped on him out of the blue. He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a whoosh of:]

Oh. So you're an Auror? [A beat.] Or the, the-- Muggle version of that. [Muttered:] Po-leez, maybe?

[He shakes his head, as if to wave away the vocab blunder, and shuffles over towards the nearest chair where he can watch Will work on the meal, chewing on his thumbnail.]

Neville Longbottom. [He pinks a bit, despite himself.] I imagine I made a really horrible first impression, anyway. Sorry, erm, again.

[Neville gets A Look before Will turns back to the stove, setting the pan of bacon on the back for it to cool without tasting one little bit of it. He knows when it's done, has no need to go biting into it. No. No, there wasn't any real torture at the school, that much should have been obvious from his face.

The fish is a different story and takes more of his attention, but he can talk at the same time. It's not that difficult.]

You don't need to apologize, Neville. It was a bad night for just about everyone. [Him, too, but he's not about to get into that, not after seeing all the vitriol over Barty's announcement. As for the name Longbottom? Nothing mentioned there. He has no right to judge or look at anyone strangely because of their name. That "right" was taken away from him.] Police, sort of. I work with an organization called the FBI. It's more complicated. [And the police tend to side-eye him unless they're dumping off a case that's not only too complex for them, but also really, really, really sick. He's not even an agent with the FBI. That doesn't need to be mentioned to anyone in Asgard that doesn't know as much.] The focus is narrower with what I do. My classes are quite specific.

[And also filled with lots and lots and lots of slides depicting lots and lots and lots of really gruesome, horrible ways to die.]

Are there organizations like that for Aurors, too? Branches set aside for specific things, special duties for one group instead of another?

[The word Aurors comes out a little mangled, but it's obvious enough. He'll get there. The little smile on his face when he looks over his shoulder says that, yeah, he knows he's not so good with that word yet. The Wizarding War hasn't been dumped on him entirely, but he's not opposed to listening about it from a kid who seems to have had a really bad time with it.

As long as he doesn't write up a damn essay about it and its participants.]

[Well, Neville can't really argue with that. It was a bad night for everyone involved, even Snape. Especially Snape. Neville is a bit vindictively pleased about his (rather messy) part in that while simultaneously trying to tell himself not to be such a prat about it.

It's not an argument he's winning against himself.]

No, not really. Aurors get assigned to do what they're best at, I think, but there aren't enough of them to split up into specific divisions like that. It's a rather difficult field to get into, and it's dangerous, and the life-expectancy isn't precisely very high. [And then sometimes you get tortured into insanity by Barty Crouch, Jr.] They're not the only law enforcement, of course, but they're the only ones who've been trained to go after witches and wizards messing around with dark magic.

[AKA the sort of people who would be doing serial killing. Neville finally stops worrying at his nail, and takes a better look around the kitchen. More of the strange "technology" stuff everywhere, to the kid who is used to iceboxes and cauldrons and writing with a quill.] You're a Muggle, right? I mean, you haven't got any magic back at home? Is this all very strange to you?

[Aurors get assigned to what they're best at sounds familiar to his own career, same with most everything else, although the life-expectancy issue with law enforcement has always been greatly exaggerated. Or so he thought. Then again, Will wasn't just a regular agent (or an agent at all) and Hannibal Lecter was not just a regular person. Had he not come in, Will might have just lived to a ripe old age teaching about murder before retiring to a boatyard with a pack of stray dogs.

The questions make him give out a laugh, barely anything more than flared nostrils and air rushing out of them. Good thing he wasn't facing Neville just yet, instead turning to get something to drink (water with fish, that wasn't a funny combination at all) for the both of them.]

I'm what you'd call a Muggle, yes. [You because Will has had some experience with wizards in Asgard. A little bit of their terminology has wormed its way into his addled brain. Muggle. Some sort of defenseless woodland creature, that's what it sounded like to him.] I've been here over two months, last I checked. It was very strange at first. I had to spend some time alone in the room here just checking everything out to make sure I hadn't lost my mind and been put somewhere for it.

[It's not a potshot at Neville's issues, what he knows of them, but he's not letting on that he's speaking from personal experience. That's what awaits him back home, but the way he hesitates before he comes around to slide that glass of water in front of the kid clearly says something. Maybe he feels he messed up. Maybe he's said too much.

It was all public. He can't really be blamed, can he?]

Then I realized my imagination is not good enough to make up all the different people here, gods, magic, everything. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. [He shrugs, carefully looking for any reaction that comes from his possible flub up, drinking out of his own glass as he looks back to the stove.] Once I accepted that, it was smooth sailing.

[Maybe the kid will latch onto the whole "how do you know about Muggles, really?" thing, might prod and ask how well he knew Snape in the first place, who he talked to, and that? He'd be fine with it. Maybe he'd get a little somber at the mention of being driven mad, which he'd feel not at all great about causing.

Or maybe he'd just rip his thumbnail off in record timing; he hadn't been around him enough to know how he'd really behave.]

Edited 2014-03-30 10:47 (UTC)

[Really, the only reaction Neville gives is that his eyes drop down to the table instead of watching Will anymore. The thing about his parents is that he told nobody, not even his friends, not even after they'd walked in on him in St. Mungo's. As soon as he was away from his gran and her constant reminders that he wasn't as good as them, that the memory of who they used to be was owed more than what he turned out as, he'd clammed up completely, never let anyone know what sort of thing bothered him. Except that one time he tried to punch Draco's lights out for mocking people like them, shut up for life with irreversible spell damage to the brain - but that was accidental and intensely embarrassing to think about after.

So he's quite used to pretending it doesn't affect him, casual mentions like that. He's not even certain Will knows: it'll take a little while longer in Asgard for Neville to really wrap his mind around the idea that such heated conversations are infinitely re-watchable, even by people not involved at the time.

Instead he offers Will an awkward, slightly wobbly, stretched-thin smile, eyes never really getting higher than his collar but making no comment on it one way or the other.]

I don't suppose there's much that's impossible here, is there? But that makes sense. [He reaches for his own glass of water and looks down into it.] You've talked to some of us before, haven't you? Other witches and wizards, I mean. [There hadn't been that note of mild bewilderment behind the word Muggle when he'd repeated it, like Neville had gotten used to hearing from people here.]

[Ah. Lack of eye contact, Will knows that rather well. Granted, he blames it on looking too much, seeing what doesn't really matter, but he doubts that's the case with Neville. He doesn't seem the type to know what sort of diseases can be shown in just the eyes. He just seems a little...bothered.

And trying not to show it.

Will makes no attempt to keep his eyebrows from lifting, face a little incredulous at the question. It's a little silly, he thinks, but he can't truly be blamed, can he? He'd just gone through a traumatic experience, was shoved in a new world that had others from his own here, others he did not have good experiences with, and was surrounded by Muggles. Will probably did similar things (questions that might have seemed stupid) when confronted with the knowledge of werewolves, of vampires, of everything else that he thought fiction. Gruesome murders? Bodies mutilated in terrifying, unheard of ways? Why not.

Wizards? What the hell?]

I have. Well, a few of them. [There's a shrug before he turns back to the stove. This little meal is a first, a chance for Neville to feel he's made a better impression. He's not going to take that from him, and he's sure not going to make him anything less than the best he can.] Let me see. Sirius Black. He likes dogs. I found one and...just didn't have the space. He was my first thought. They seem to get on just fine. [And he'd said something to Will that really, really, really gave him food for thought.] Professor Snape, obviously. Albus Dumbledore. Those are the ones I've talked to the most.

[This is A Lie. This is a big fat lie. He's talked to Albus quite a bit. He's talked to Barty Crouch Junior far more than he should have. He's seen his head, and he's seen Will's. Letting that be known to the kid who, apparently—

—he'd heard screaming. How many people had Barty tortured? Was the screaming he'd heard Neville's—

No, no, he couldn't tell him. Wouldn't until he absolutely had to.]

I've picked up a little terminology by this point. It's all very strange to me. I think Muggle makes us sound like some sort of...defenseless woodland creature.

[Is he a little bothered by the idea that, maybe in his own world, no matter how prepared he'd be, a gun, whatever, there could be people who would be able to take him down without doing much?

Maybe a little.]

[The change in in topic wrestles a still wan, but more genuine smile out of Neville and he puts his glass back down.]

Oh! I live with him. Morholt, right? [Neville was never particularly great with animals, mostly because he can't seem to convince any of them to respect him. If you're at the point where you get sass from a toad, you're hopeless. He still quite likes them, though, especially the sort you can pet a bit.] They get on great, I think. Sirius and him, I mean. I suspect he keeps eating the end of my shoelaces, though. --Er, not Sirius.

[Though, maybe Sirius, you never know.]

And Professor Dumbledore is quite nice, isn't he? [Ahahaha.] He's much younger than I've ever known him, though. This place is odd like that. At least, I think, with our world...

[Oh, though. Neville looks straight up at Will again, alarmed. He just spent a year listening to a woman he hated screaming about how horrible Muggles are, he just lost half his friends to the cause of protecting them from his own kind-- the idea that he's been insulting or offensive about them (to them) without knowing makes color rise to his cheeks.]

Oh, I'm- I don't mean-- Sorry. [He bites down on his lip, racking his brain for a better word and coming up empty. He has never really thought about how silly the word sounds before, mostly because silliness is practically a naming convention in the wizarding world.] Is there... something you'd rather be called?

[This kid, Will realizes, has major social issues. That's not a judgment, either. Will has his own problems with being social, would rather be left alone with his dogs and boat parts than at any gathering. It might have been a morbid thought, but the only real group activity that would be palatable to him would probably be a funeral.

Everyone silenced, muted, coming together to watch someone they loved (or tolerated, or outright hated but came to see off out of obligation) get put in the ground. There was no need to fake smiles or pretend like he enjoyed anyone's company. It was a social meeting that require little that was actually social. He could handle looking absolutely miserable.

What a hideous thing to even think.

The mention of Sirius eating his shoelaces is far more appetizing than getting out of the house, going to a funeral, and calling it his social outing of the year. It flashes behind his eyes easily enough (active imagination and all), but he keeps them on that fish, slowly but steadily getting right where he wants it. He lets Neville take and makes no mention of what he thinks about Albus, because there's plenty of unkind things he'd say if he was being honest. It's not until he apologizes and offers to call him something else (like what, non-magical human being that we sort of frown down upon back home?) that he looks back at him, partly incredulous and partly actually thinking about it.]

It's what I am when you label me by the language of your world, so I don't mind it. [But it still sounds like something weak and easily eradicated; he hardly likes that.] I'd prefer it if you just called me Will from now on. [Not Mister Graham, not the punch to the gut of Doctor Graham or Special Agent, not the dreaded William, none of it. He has no doubt that if he's ever mentioned, his being a Muggle will come up. Saying he'd like to be called by his name is better than saying he'd like to be referred to as a human being; they seem to be aware that some of the thoughts on these Muggles aren't so tasty when spoken to them. Rubbing that in the face of a kid who'd just had his arm burned and was thrown into a fray with people he did not in any way get along with? Not very fair. Also not something he could stop no matter where he was.] You like a little spice? Or mostly plain?

[He's not lingering on the subject of what he is or isn't (being a Muggle would be much better than being an intelligent psychopath). He recognizes that fish in the leaner, healthier choice, he truly does.

He's just not telling that his recipe is a little fattening. A lot fattening, actually. He's from the South, for pity's sake.

Artery's sake.]

Edited 2014-04-05 01:26 (UTC)

I like mostly plain. [His gran hadn't ever had a taste for spicy things, so plain is more in keeping with his sense of comfort food.]

You're not, though. I mean, maybe the word sounds silly, but-- [He frowns, picking at his sleeves again, not sure if he should say anything but blundering forward anyway because he's embarrassed by his gaff.] There are only a couple million of us. Total. Everywhere.

[He grew up in the nearly complete isolation of Britain's wizarding societies, and until taking Muggle Studies last year he'd never once considered the sheer scope of the world outside it. There were billions of them, Alecto Carrow had told them once when one of the students had tried to argue with her over the fact that it was silly to imagine Muggles had the ability to chase witches and wizards into hiding. Literal billions of them. And now he can't help but think back to the "gun" Ellie had shown him, how she said she had used it to kill Voldemort. With all of his might and magic, the stuff he had used to torment and terrorize the magical community for decades, a teenager without so much as a wand or an army or a grand plan from Dumbledore himself had put those tiny little bullets into him and he had died. It's a bit frightening, really.

He doesn't buy the Death Eater rhetoric for a moment, of course, but it's certainly difficult to imagine them as harmless woodland creatures, now.]

And you have got weapons, haven't you?

[A couple million. That's a minority when the world was, what? Seven billion now last check? Granted, doing a check of all of Earth must have been a heavy task and, really, impossible. There were so many areas that could not be covered, and how many people were living in them? Guesses could be made, but there was no real way to say exactly how many people populated the planet. By the time they managed to get an exact count, so many would have died and been born that it would be off. He hadn't heard that little tidbit from what he could recall, but it doesn't give him physical pause.

He digests it inwardly if it needs to be addressed later.]

That's not a lot in the grand scheme of things. [He's sure Neville knew that already, but he feels it appropriate to make it known he did hear it. Conversation is give and take, inclusion instead of exclusion. No one wants to use their voice only to feel it being totally ignored. What he drizzles on the fish serves to make a little less healthy than it would be on its own, calorie wise. It's nothing like it would be if it was fried, and it also has the bonus of containing absolutely no human products.

His form of a garnish is just a bit of kale shoved between hot fish and the plate, but it's better than nothing. A gourmet chef like Lecter might look at it and tell him it was better to just leave it off entirely, but Lecter wasn't here and if a gourmet chef happened to wander into the kitchen just in time to judge him, he'd missed his chance. It's just fish, but it's large enough to serve its purpose, and if Neville were to ask for something else, he'd do his best.]

We have weapons, but nothing quite like magic. [Fact, nothing more, said as he comes around with both plates in hand, carrying them but not really with any expertise in the matter. He's not the sort of guy one would see at a restaurant and think he had plenty of waiting experience, especially not how he's just holding fork and knife in one hand because he has nowhere else to put them, but it gets the job done. Neville's get slid over first before he sits down across from him, doing his best to smile and, this time, succeeding far better than he had before.] Guns are probably the ones you'd know. We used to use bow and arrow, cannons, ancient men used pointed sticks in the face of no real technology. Battleships were useful. Grenades and bombs and all sorts of things, but guns are the ones people seem to know the most. [Neville's the guest. The guest starts first. Will may not be a practiced host, but he knows that much.

...but if he doesn't start soon, Will's not going to stand on ceremony and just dig in himself.] If you're trained right, though, the best weapon you could ever have is your own body.

[Will's body may not seem impressive, and no, he hardly has large muscles that would intimidate. His mind, though. Ah, that mind of his just happens to contain countless brutal murders, the tactics of the killers, the methods used to end human lives and fight their way out of situations that would seem impossible to defeat.

He doesn't need rippling muscles for his body to be a weapon. He also doesn't need to tell that to anyone, much less ever get in a place where he has to get physical and goes from dumpy dog man to someone who has a bit more than a few self-defense classes under his belt.]

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IC Contact [Asgard]

yes good idea tell the guy with the fbi about your gillyweed stash

omg he was just holding it for a friend it's not really his!!

that's what they all say. give it here.

you'll never take me alive, copper!

good. he does way better with dead bodies than living.

will no that is not an okay way to be

will graham is not okay more breaking news at 11

well not with that attitude!

i'm here because i'm your friend

bless

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