IC Contact [Asgard]

[infomodder]

Catch all IC contact post for Will Graham at asgardeventide
[ Text | Voice | Video | Action ]

[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.]

Comments

[infomodder]

[Will's secrets aren't stored in blacked out casing. Rather, they were taken from him and tossed into something like it when his world was already stepped in blackness, and there is nothing he won't do to get them back. Perhaps he'll get a few memories of driving from Virgina to Maryland, but when he does stumble over something important, it'll be worth it.

The "normal" things in Will's head might prove boring. Barty might grow a little uninterested if everything starts seeming normal with him. If that happens, all he'll have to do is think back to a particular crime scene and everything will be fascinating again, even if Barty ends up assuming that Will made totem poles of bodies on beaches, made a garden of people covered in mushrooms, killed families and their children during the holidays...

Will gets his memories and risks being thought of as one of the most deranged men out there if he can't verbalize properly what it is that's been seen. If they come spilling out, perhaps it'll be thought that this awkward dog-loving fellow from the South is dangerous not only because of what he can do but because of how normal he seems. If things slip, if Barty opens his mouth and tells the world, Will can't rightly argue otherwise.

Cannibalistic serial killer? Allegedly. He hasn't been convicted. How reassuring.

He has nothing to lose here in Asgard but his own mild reputation. And that? Means jackshit in the grand scheme of things.]

Some would consider entertainment a necessity. People can go a little stir-crazy if they're left with nothing to occupy their minds or just lose them completely.

Why Incy Wincy when everyone who's heard the rhyme might automatically associate it with being the spider that always fails?
Is Incy Wincy poisonous?
He's not a victim of eight-legged love's end, cannibalized by his choice in female spiders to copulate with, is he?

[Three questions, over and done with. No point in putting them out one a time. Everyone who goes to a sports event has to wait through the national anthem and ceremonial proceedings before they get to watch big burly men tackling each other or balls being hit by bats or cars constantly making the same turn. Will has no time for that. It's either bunt or going all out, aiming for a home run but being content with getting at least a few bases for his teammates.

Recreation is something Will's used to being. This time, however, he gets to know it for what it is and never once get to the point where he trusts Jim enough to think otherwise.]

[grimmig]

This is true. But in a city where Satan quite literally walks the streets, entertainment's not hard to come by. I can do without you. I'd rather not.

[ oh, this is Jim's type of game. metaphor over metaphor and no interest in playing coy: we're straight in, tight up at the deep end and we wouldn't have it any other way. ]

Why not Incy Wincy? Only a few made it past the anonymity and if any of those feel like tumbling into the trap of false security through association it really only works in my favour.

Of course! Not that he needs to be.

Oh heavens no. She might have tried, god bless, but he did one better and ate himself ahead of time. Not that the coupling wasn't wonderful to start but it turns out he was out of her league.

[ three questions, three answers. easy. there's no trouble in sharing them, no difficulty in the words. he has no secrets of his own worth keeping anymore: what use are his secrets to him here? so the sale is quick and to the point and Jim doesn't ask for his return payment, waits instead for what's offered.

what's the point in limiting his field if Will might see fit to offer him more? ]

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Spider spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins and spins [If Jim looks back on it, Will did, in fact, use just as many and spins on Jim as he used on Will in their first meeting.] but I do not. I use teeth to bite and I jump and spring. [Someone's gone reading up on a certain mongoose.] I'm not poisonous, if we're doing animal symbolism. I have the distinct honor to be immune to snake venom. I catch snakes, they don't catch me. When they don't slither out from under the house, I go in by myself and drag them out. Throw them in a cage if they don't have a suicide wish. I've been stabbed, watched a young boy being encouraged to shoot me, nearly strangled with wires from stringed instruments, discovered someone who had no idea she had killed her good friend under my bed, and finally shot, but I've never been beaten by a snake before. Never been killed. Or hurt so badly I'd be put out of work.

[No offense meant with that suicide wish mention.]

Until just before I came here. It was made apparent that while I'd been catching snakes regularly, I'd managed to miss the one who had been coming into the house with me, camouflaged so well no one could have realized he was a snake in the first place.

I don't know how it happened. Barty's helping me piece it together.

[If Jim knows what Barty has, if he knows about his telepathy—he can fill it in. Sort of. It doesn't explain how they met or came to the agreement they did, but Will is getting more specific.

Mongoose put away by snake finds methods to get back what he needs with another snake. What a life.]

[grimmig]

[it's read, all, with a smile. the intrigue of Will Graham is certainly not without its foundations. another detective ...

but what sits sharper, suddenly, what hums like curious vibration just behind his eyes is the question of the snake who did so well as to hide itself in plain sight. Will has been very clear with his presentation of his own success (and as he's stated, he does not spin— some creatures have no need for webbing lies) and to hear him so defeated, so blind to that defeat and so desperate to see, desperate enough to stalk into the path of Barty Crouch Jr and dance with him...

well. it does wonders for his snake's reputation. but it's also clear that said snake isn't here or he's certain he'd know about it, so there are questions, so many questions, questions enough to fill the room and have him c h o k e, but—]

You must be paying a steep price. His aid and his silence... You trust him?

[but Jim's got priorities, and he's got time.

of course not is the answer but they're neither of them talking in straight lines anymore; Jim's curious whether Will is certain of Barty's silence or is simply relying on it. either way the man's clearly holding his tongue, has clearly found something worth keeping that pays Will's way, but does Will trust in the value of whatever unknown payment it is he's giving or is he just so craving the slithertracks that he's willing to take the risk?

and because Jim didn't miss a thing (that cheeky little deathwish), because you've been so good and he'd like ever so to issue a reward:]

It was inevitable, really. Potent enough poison's bound to affect the host.

[is Incy Wincy poisonous? of course! not that he needs to be. not that it does him any favours.]

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[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.]