[open] I lost myself in a familiar song/I closed my eyes and I slipped away

[infomodder]

WHO: Will Graham (infomodder) + Danger (heartlessglitch) + Yuri Petrov (purgation) + YOU
WHERE: Heropa, De Chima #002
WHEN: This weekend—week
WHAT: Will goes fishing with a toaster person and a serial killer. And three open options for anyone who'd be around/wants CR!
WARNINGS: ...cannibalism thoughts...and murder mentions. Fish massacre in Virginia. Also earworms. Everything's written up in prose but if you'd rather do action, just reply with it and I'll match!





A. Hook, Line, & Tinker

A bait shop, that's what it is. The sort of people who come to Will's bait shop regularly tend to be people who actually have business there and the handful he knows, the ones who know that if they veer straight to the back room there is a freezer and fridge set up with every sort of terrible ice cream and soda imaginable. It's rather like a non-profit vending machine, one he's content to blame on the fact of the matter that people stop by and want something to eat, why wouldn't he stock up when he goes out? In reality, Will eats as much of the crappy stuff as anyone else. If he ever gets dragged back to Baltimore, he's going to be in a situation where the ability to eat absolute crap is a right he's lost. So what if studies have been done to show some of those ice cream sandwiches aren't legitimate ice cream, don't melt after an hour or so in the sun? He won't be able to partake of it elsewhere, he's going to go hog wild while he can.

Those who don't know him or have no interest in fishing might be drawn in by looking through the large windows as they pass by. The hideous puns on shirts aren't as obvious as the dog who, sometimes, gets let out from his spot behind the counter. Sometimes let out to roam when business is dead. Sometimes, when business seems to be completely dead and buried, Will pulls out a slobbery tennis ball that needs to be replaced and plays fetch with the bearded blunder, watches him skitter and narrowly avoid sliding into a display or two as his nails screech against the wood floor. It's probably not in keeping with regulation, but it's a bait shop, not a ice cream parlor (on paper, at any rate). And he's very, very good with everything that relates to fishing—he's gotten away with much worse back home, no one seems to care that he's got a dog in the shop.

And if they do, all the more reason for him to leave the cash register to a friendly raccoon one day, isn't it.

B. De Chima #002

Taking a half day off at work turns out to be necessary later in the week, because he has too much fish to deal with. Ideally, he'd set up the cleaning table behind the house, but considering there are a few coyotes who roam the edges of it and he'd prefer not to walk outside, attract more, and lose most of what he's got because of dopey coyote eyes begging for more? He ends up setting it out in the front yard. The front yard, now home to a plank of wood that's growing more and more of a mess as he goes on, getting rid of scales, taking off heads, slitting open bellies, and pulling out guts. It looks like a ritual he's taken part in regularly, one he knows well and how to deal with any problems that might crop up, the way he uses the tools of the trade coming as fluidly as someone who does it for a living. A bucket has been pulled out in order to throw all of the extras in, but it's not very long into the process that a coyote ends up sniffing out from around the back of the house and watching. Watching, getting closer, braver, until Will finally notices it and nudges the bucket over, lets it tip and all those juicy bits a scavenger would have fun with go spilling out. Soon enough, the bucket is forgotten and Will takes to tossing innards and heads down on the ground for easier consumption. He's not going to cook or eat them, why not spread the wealth?

Because then he ends up doing this with three coyotes in the front yard, that's why. Some people don't ever learn, God.

C. Life's a Beach

Not long before sundown, Will ends up getting a call. Boat motor's not working, the owners beached it, can he come and take a look, it's not that far away from his shop, come on, Will, they're offering a nice payment if it gets fixed by the time they finish dinner at that crab place near the boardwalk. Off he goes, grateful that the crowds along it are minimal and starting to disperse in the face of a sun that won't be around much longer, has a brief talk to the owners, and is left to his own devices. He's good with this stuff, he can figure it out. If he can't figure it out, then it's likely they need a new motor. But he agrees to spend his time working on it while they go off and have dinner after getting a rundown of what happened, and that's all there is to it.

Five minutes into being left alone, Will Graham realizes that this motor is a piece of shit. That this motor may as well be an Evinrude for how impolite it's been. This motor is completely and utterly useless, but he's already said he'll spend the next hour or so tinkering on it. The sun goes down, the lights on the boat come on. The lights and the radio, the first song playing loud enough to be heard by anyone who wanders within a ten yard radius of the mess. It is unfortunately not until the third time the same song plays that Will realizes the radio station is doing something strange on purpose as opposed to just flubbing it, but he's got a tiny flashlight in his mouth and is putting everything he can into the motor mystery by then. He can't be bothered to stop and turn it off or change it, doesn't see a reason for any passerby on the beach to mention it, and tunes it out.

He tunes it out.

The motor isn't the only part of the boat that might require some maintenance. It is the biggest part of it that needs to be replaced, so eventually he ends up checking out the rest of it. It's possible someone might come across the boat, lights on, serenading that it will not run around and hurt you, with no one visibly on board, and yet it definitely sounds like there is someone kicking around. It shifts in ways that have nothing to do with water. Rick Astley, Internet phenomenon and family man, has never okayed the radio release of any version of his songs peppered with the occasional grumpy not-in-his-voice-at-all "Goddamnit" or "balls," either. It's October—the boat promises not to give up on you while, if one gets close enough, grouchily cursing about something or other. Talk about spooky.

D. for Danger

Some people might have problems with being up and ready for a day out by five in the morning, but some people don't know what it's like to sleep more often than not. And sometimes those people end up getting involved with highly advanced robotic beings who don't have any need to sleep in the first place. And sometimes those highly advanced robotic beings end up getting taken out of the picture, however briefly, by someone some people shot in the head.

Some people.

The shop is generally open on Saturdays, according to the sign. It can't be open if Will's going out on a trip that promises to be a hell of an adventure no matter what happens, the CLOSED part going to be left facing out for the entire weekend. Just before five, Will's inside with a packed cooler, the essentials for a human being going to be away from society without the ability to magically teleport back for breakfast, for lunch, for a beer. A rather beat up, rundown car sits outside the shop, borrowed from one of his—as Abel Gideon put it—boatbuddies. The lights inside are dimmed, just as much as a normal human being might need to operate. Of course, that doesn't really apply in this place, and if Danger ends up walking in when he's in a source of compromised lighting, that much will show, eyes shining like one generally sees on a dog, a raccoon, a cat, some other animal. He's aware of it, doesn't care so much because a highly advanced robotic being who happens to be one of Frederick Chilton's patients and used to be a room has definitely seen and dealt with much stranger.

The way it's set up, there is no need to knock or stand around, uncertain if she's meant to wait or walk on in. The door is already slightly propped open with a stopper, sticking out over the little wheelchair ramp that, well.

He's sure Danger can guess why he'd install one. Abel Gideon follows him to work in more ways than one these days.

E. Yuri Doesn't Rhyme With Anything Bad

I will be there at 6:30 sharp, in that case.

Will doesn't doubt that that much is true, not at all. Which serves to make him a little antsy when he goes out for coffee and, just after ordering it, hears that some of the equipment is being temperamental, they're so sorry, it's going to take a little longer than usual. What he'd have preferred to be told when he walked in, before he made the order, but there's no going back. There is only standing around and checking his watch and wondering what in the hell can go so wrong in a place that makes its money off of coffee that they can't make coffee. The extra fancy drinks that are laden with chocolate and caramel and topped with foam designs, sure. But it's just coffee, Goddamnit. He just wanted coffee. It's a good kick in the pants for him to fix his own nonfunctional coffee maker (or to just buy one that he didn't get secondhand, maybe that's the lesson here), and the reason that he's late. The shop's locked up tight but still dimly lit, has a cooler on the counter, looks like someone might be inside.

But no, someone is precisely a minute late, hoping that the drink carrier with its two cups is enough of a "coming with gifts" to bury any brimming disdain at having been made to wait. Two cups of black coffee, one of the spots of the carrier full of sugar packets, fake sugar packets, and cream. Will prefers coffee black and strong enough to strip paint off of walls, dissolve rust, get rid of blood on the highway. Not everyone can handle it, but he doesn't know what former Judge Petrov does with his coffee, so a mix of everything it is.

"Morning." A little huffy when he finally says anything, huffy because of the fast walk that was one part trying to go faster and one part trying to not go faster for the fear that coffee would go everywhere. "Place was having issues with equipment—didn't mean to be late. Don't know how you like your coffee, got what they offered."

No mention of how he looks this morning, not from Will Graham, who looks harried, in need of a haircut, in need of a shave, and in need of another few hours in bed. If he ever went to bed. Not easy to tell, though he seems functional enough, doesn't have issues juggling the drink carrier and pulling keys out of his front pocket to open the shop at the same time.

"Probably got a lot to talk about today, huh."

Kids.

Comments

i'm not a week late shhhh

[valr]

Kara isn't, actually, looking for Will Graham. But she spent the night with some guy who owns a boat, and the night turned into lunch, another few hours fucking, and then an early dinner before Kara finally decided it was time to head home, if only because humans eventually run out of energy and she was starting to get bored.

Rather than making him bring the boat to dock, she just flies back to shore with the plan to find a bar nearby and start the cycle all over again. She's distracted by the sound of Rick Astley and a familiar voice coming from a nearby boat. She wanders over without hesitation, because it's Will and she likes Will, and also because no one should be subjected to that much Astley. It's why the first thing she does is turn off the damn radio.

"The fuck are you doing, Will?"

[infomodder]

The sound of wings hit his ears over the crooning of Rick Astley, now white noise on par with an eternally running air conditioner. It gets his attention, though he doesn't particularly look attentive when he turns to face her, corrects the hideous slouch, a tiny flashlight hanging out of his mouth and both of his hands a faint shade of grey, black underneath each fingernail. For all intents and purposes, he looks more the part of the overworked, distracted mechanic than anything else.

He grabs a towel nearby to wipe the grime off his hands, popping the flashlight out of his mouth so he doesn't have to speak around it. That is one art he's not yet mastered, has no reason to. The towel gets rolled over to a cleaner side so he can wipe off the fingerprints on his neck from an earlier scratching he hadn't thought about when he'd done it, only remembered because he needed to get rid of it later. Later was now.

"Trying to fix what can't be fixed." Did he realize the radio was still on? Doesn't look that way. "What are you up to?"

Back home, the idea of a Valkyrie descending from the sky and starting a conversation with him was unthinkable. Now? It's being treated as ordinary if only because it's familiar. She's familiar. The tilt in his voice when he asks a question back is unmistakably fond, all the warm recognition he has for her coming out through that as opposed to...well, anything else. Smile? Nah. Not now.

[valr]

It's not surprising to see Will getting his hands dirty, she knows he isn't the type to be bothered by dirt or mess, and if something needs to be fixed, she'd expect him to be there fixing it.

Just like it's not surprising she doesn't get a smile; that's something they share, and hearing the fondness in his voice is enough.

"Been out on some guy's boat, was coming back for food and a drink," There's an offer in there if he wants to accept it, the suggestion without any pressure of actually asking. If he feels like taking a break from his unfixable boat, he can come get dinner and booze with her.

[infomodder]

That towel has gone from off-white to essentially gray without much effort on his end, and when he looks down at his nails, he seems to finally realize how dirty he's gotten. He shoves a bit under one nail briefly, sees how it'll react, watches a black line come off on the cloth while still leaving behind enough that it's really as futile an effort as fixing the piece of crap hooked to the back of the boat itself, and laughs. Short, a reflection of the underlying shit happens aspect of life, but present. Unlike that towel, which ends up tossed on top of a cooler as he stands, pulling down the shirt where it's ridden up all over.

"Told 'em I'd stay on it until they got back from dinner up at the—" he points loosely behind him, gesturing to the big restaurant along the boardwalk, far enough away that it's a bit of a walk but big enough that all the main lights are bright, visible from way down the road and plenty away out at sea. The fancy sort of crab shack that charges exuberant prices for the same damn things he could get elsewhere without the extra slice of lemon or supposedly special house sauce. The place where the people who can afford to replace crappy boat motors constantly because of poor research or the inferior brand looking more "streamlined" flock to, that shithole over there. "—about twenty minutes ago. Think you can get me back here in an hour?"

Because like hell are those people going to be back on schedule, and sitting around with his thumb up his butt while finding extra parts to tinker on isn't beyond him, but he hadn't entered Kara into that equation. Now that she's involved? No, this boat is a total loss. It should burn, honestly. What boat? Is there a boat? Why is he thinking about boats, there's no boat. Sticking around out of duty is more of a foolish move than ever before.

Playing fast and loose with what others might view as morals, that's where the fun is, no doubt about it. He's made his decision either way, flashes her a smile as he rolls off the side and onto the beach with the fluidity one might expect from a fishing enthusiast. That part of him, at least, is obviously true.

[valr]

"Easy, we can bring the booze back to the boat if we don't finish," By which she of course means that they can buy extra booze and hang out on the boat while they wait for the owners to come back from their fancy restaurant.

Which Kara is squinting at, with the knowledge that a lot of places on the water are kind of like that. The guy she was with was the same, had tried to talk her into going to a nicer place before she distracted him and won the vote for getting cheap fish and chips from a place down the road a little.

The smile earns a bit of a raised eyebrow, but she doesn't think much about it as she follows him back to the beach, not caring about getting sand in her boots as she joins him there. Though she does cast a look at his hands, "Might wanna clean up a bit, don't think humans are supposed to eat when they've got grease on 'em."

As if this is some weird human rule and not just common sense.

[infomodder]

He approves of the plan, that much plainly written all over his face. While it is not exactly professional to be caught like that, Will just so happens to not be doing this professionally. This is his spare time, and if they don't cough up a dime for him having only done a few minor repairs to the wiring and telling them straight up that the motor is beyond help, it won't hurt him. Not his wallet, not his reputation around the boaters in the area, not a damn thing.

Spending time with Kara has literally landed right in front of him; even if this boat belonged to one of the big wigs he answers to, it would still be left behind.

"Definitely not. Never mind the fact of the matter that a good chunk of our diet comes out of the ground, can't have dirty hands around the dinner table." It's not the mild hypocrisy that has him looking amused, but the image of sitting at a fine table with Lecter at the head, surrounded by Important People dripping in clothes and jewelry more expensive than a month of his paycheck could ever hope to cover, Will sitting there with his overly large jacket and with grease covering him from fingertip to wrist, even under his watch. Lecter might frown at him for it, but woe to anyone else at the table who'd bring it up. He looks at his nails as he walks alongside her, picking out bits of grime, some falling to the beach, others smearing and making the mess more obvious. "I'll be sure to swing by the bathroom ASAP. Wouldn't want to make you look bad, bringing in a dirty homeless guy and fueling the alcoholism that's put him on the street in the first place."

Apparently, it's physically impossible for Will to keep a straight face saying as much, more impossible when he looks her dead on as he puts it out there. Maybe he should give her a wider berth while he's saying things like that, but he draws in a little closer instead, close enough that anyone watching could reasonably assume the two of them are...well, friends.

Maybe they are. Maybe Will seems to operate under the idea that they are, but that is a very dirty f-word.

[valr]

If Will can't say it with a straight face, then Kara definitely can't manage to keep in the bark of laughter that the comment earns. Just like she doesn't smile much, laughter doesn't come often to Kara either, and usually when it does it's because she's mocking someone. But Will is funny.

"Don't think you could make me look much worse," Considering she's still wearing the same outfit she was the night before, which was more appropriate for clubbing than for dinner on the beach, but she really couldn't care less.

And it's not like she can throw stones about alcoholism.

[infomodder]

Tonight's totally looking up in every way, and the grin on his face and the more relaxed body language gives away he's thinking that much. Kara looks more suited to a club the night before and Will's rather casual, the deck shoes kicking up sand a knockoff brand and nearing an appointment with the trash can. Now might be the time where someone else would do that elbow nudge thing, but someone else isn't around, so it doesn't happen.

"As long as we're behaved paying customers and we got ourselves covered where it matters, don't think we should look bad at all to whoever's getting their wallet stuffed." Money talks. Maybe they should lead with their money a little obvious, he thinks. "If you're really hungry, there's a small place across the road run by a family who puts everything along the boardwalk to shame." He gestures to it, too. That fancy place brightly lit and everything out of sight? Haven't got shit on this one, no competition there, nothing comes close. "Don't have alcohol, but you want good seafood without having to pay an arm and a leg and your firstborn? That's where you go."

He shrugs as he mentions the lack of booze. There are plenty of other places to get it before or after, to take it home. It seems common that all the good, tiny restaurants don't have the means or desire to get the liquor license. Which works out fine for Will, considering sweet tea flows in its stead and isn't having to settle in his book. The more imPorts who get used to it and come to like it, the better.

[valr]

"No one better look down my top," If they're talking about being covered where it matters, she rarely bothers with things like bras, though at least her top isn't made of mesh or fishnet, so it isn't see-through.

Money isn't a problem though, Kara has more than enough and she idly wonders what Will would think if she knew where it all came from. He's a cop, but he's not one of the bad ones, but he also seems to have sightly more of a moral compass than some people, though that hasn't extended to judging Kara for things she's done.

Not that it matters, anyway, she won't tell him because she won't risk Jesse.

"And that sounds good, bet they don't do fish like I'm used to, but no one does it right. Can handle this friend shit you Americans like," It's teasing, mostly. She does that sometimes.

[infomodder]

Will doesn't look down her top, never would, but the mention of it has him taking a second glance at what she's wearing. He's made something of a reputation on his refusal to hold eye contact, has learned other places to look to keep that from happening without risking the assumption he's checking someone out. So his eyes end up on her stomach, drift down to the hem at her side. Nothing obscene or with the potential to be there.

He's not a bad cop in the way that people ordinarily view them, and he's aware that this world contains people from worlds so far removed from the one he knows, getting into their social customs and what is considered normal or abnormal could be impossible. How can he judge when he has no real frame of reference for where to even begin without projecting and, therefore, making it out that his world is the "right" one when it definitely is not? Kara already has enough aggravation with humanity; he doesn't need to add to it.

"You're stepping on my people with that one." The emphasis on that particular word carries an accent that lets her know exactly what he means, one more at home in a movie set in a swamp that it is coming out of Will's mouth but one he can put on damn well. One that makes it obvious he's not taking it personally, either. Teasing sometimes can be returned, no problem. "Had fish all sorts of ways in my life, never found anything better to do with a catfish than fry it."

Not because he's so much of a dog person he takes hideous glee in frying anything to do with cats, of course.

"Probably taste great with goat mead."

Grumbled as he takes a step up to get on the boardwalk. He doesn't find it gross. He finds it interesting and sounds a jealous that he probably won't ever experience this glorious alcoholic anomaly.

[valr]

"Ain't gonna let that one go, are you?" The goat mead, though if anything she finds it kind of - nice, that he isn't weirded out, that he is a little bit jealous, because she thinks it's something to be jealous of. And it's nice not to have people make disgusted faces about things that are normal for her, or that are so tied up in her culture and who she is.

So really, she doesn't mind if he never lets it go, "You're gonna have to make nice with Loki. He's got access to real mead."

Will could probably only have a small glass of it, otherwise he might risk permanent liver damage, but it'd probably be worth it.

[infomodder]

The look on his face at the question is all the answer she'll need. No, he is not letting go out of the goat mead. No, he does not find it in disgusting. He finds it the opposite. He even kicks one of his shoes against the steps to shake off some sand, though it really does add to the jealous, grumpy appearance of a mortal who can't have what sounds like the best booze there ever was. The sullen mope of a future alcoholic who's already starting to despise his own mortality, not because of his liver but because of that nectar of the gods behind his reach.

Mortal life is suffering.

"Make nice with Loki? Wouldn't that involve having something he wants or something that can work in his favor?" One eyebrow lifts as he looks over at her, trying to figure out if this would even be possible. "Does he have a boat? I could fix his boat. That's probably it, on my end."

Because he totally has nothing else of interest to provide, nope. He can, however, get his ass in gear enough to hold open the door to one of the less populated bars for her, sure thing. He could do that for Loki, too. How invaluable.

[valr]

"This one ain't quite as bad as what you've heard in myths," Which is something Kara might no admit to anyone but Will, because she trusts Will not to take it back Loki, since that would be a thousand kinds of disastrous. Loki doesn't need to know that Kara think he's not as bad as he could be, his ego might explode.

"Just gotta be interesting," And Will is interesting, at least once she's dug past the dog-lover and fisherman to something a little deeper.

[infomodder]

If (when, really, not if) Will ever takes it upon himself to start a private conversation with Loki and invokes the name of the super mead that sounds wondrous, he will certainly keep this much out of it. There is no need to spill every single detail of one relationship into another, even if the best alcohol the universe has to offer is on the line. No worries about that; he's pretty tight-lipped on a regular day, throw in having someone else's name on those lips and it just increases.

"Hadn't read too many myths before this place, honestly." He read for cases and he read for school as it cropped up, but if it wasn't something all over the damn place, it wasn't something he sought out for fun. "Loki was a trickster and a god from somewhere else as the rest of them who had a bunch of animal children—gonna go wash my hands off, I'll be right back."

Dumps out everything he knows (knew) about myths Loki in truly literal fashion to Kara, the Valkyrie, and walks off like no big deal. Why would it be a big deal? He's a mortal who had no frame of reference for myths being anything more than stories before he found himself stuck with some of them. He totally won't come back to a displeased glare, right? He won't come back with clean hands and have to suffer through a what the fuck, Will? for tapping into his uninteresting mortal potential, right? Won't come out looking the uninteresting mortal and sit across from her in stewed angry silence because how dare he, how dare he mention the bestiality aspects of mythology when Loki is here!

It's not like he's judging or saying it in a way that's judgmental. It's just what he knows. Come on. He didn't mean anything bad by it.

Whiskey is good at all times; he'll just focus on that if he has to.

[valr]

There's no anger or indignation or displeasure, just a raised eyebrow at Will's back as he walks away, and Kara shaking her head as she wanders off to find a seat. She even orders a whiskey for both of them, since she knows that Will is content with that. And if he isn't, she knows that he isn't likely to make a fuss and complain, especially not if Kara is the one paying.

But when he gets back, she does feel the need for a little history lesson, "More chaos than trickster. He's kind of a petty asshole."

He killed his brother, after all. Which is something that Kara has always found it difficult to forgive, because she liked Baldur, and she liked Frigg, and she can't forgive Loki for causing them pain.

[infomodder]

He is definitely more than content with whiskey, and he's not going to look this gift horse in the mouth. He'll just look at it happily and down it like water, as anyone who is having their booze paid for ought to. That's just good manners, damn, who would complain about free alcohol?

New information! He pulls a face, uncertain, but not because he doubts Kara's word when it comes to the Norse, not at all. He's trying to digest it, pick apart the differences between chaos and trickster—the gears of his mind are turning rapidly, and she's got a front row seat to that much being plainly written all over him. Rather than ask what the difference is, rather than blurt it out in a way that could be seen as demanding, he's taking the time to figure it out on his own. Doesn't take much. He gets it, eventually, as much as someone who only read myths as stories and never believed in them could. He might have a keener insight into those who commit atrocities and their reasoning, but that doesn't completely transfer to actual gods, to anything above a human. Oh, mortality.

"World needs its petty assholes as much as it needs anything else," he settles for, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. "Guys trying to impress you with their boats aside, how have you been?"

He doesn't have to be keenly insightful to the human condition to put two and two together about some guy and his boat. He grew up with boaters, he knows the types that are out there. And he's pretty damn sure that Kara is the not sort to be impressed by fancy pants boats, thus the trying. Whoever he is deserves half a gold star with the sticky part covered in fuzz and hair for the attempt.

Petty assholes everywhere.

[valr]

The more time she spends around Will, the easier it gets for Kara to read the little nuances in his expressions and body language. It isn't something she particularly pays attention to, outside of a fight or something that's threatening to turn into a fight, but since Will tends to be fairly short with his words (like her, so she appreciates it) she's starting to figure out other ways to read him. And it's not the first time things like this have been necessary, knowing Rebecca has been a long practice in reading body language. Rebecca can speak lies easily, but she's still learning how to make a human body lie.

So - she sees the curiosity, but Will doesn't ask, and she won't share unless prompted.

"Ain't been doing too bad, starting to get sick of being stuck in this fucking country," It goes deeper than that; she's sick of being stuck in one place, since she could easily travel miles away even while being restricted to the US of A. But she has - people here, responsibilities, and she can't bail on them, no matter how much she wishes she could be done with it.

[infomodder]

He doesn't make it very easy, getting a proper grasp of his body language, lies about it, covers up what it means. A day will come where he stops skirting eye contact and keeps himself strangely still, but that's yet to happen. Hopefully they never fight, physically. He'd lose. He'd lose hard.

It's so nice when people keep their fights verbal.

Will props up one elbow on the table and puts his face in his hand, a physical display of interest in the conversation, eyes moving from her mouth to a particularly catching strand of hair nearby to the entrance and finally settling near her ear. Sweden. Iceland. Choices that lead him to think any response about how the country is so big, she has plenty to see if she wants, mentions of the Grand Canyon and other Big Name Spots aren't going to be helpful. Assumptive. Insulting, almost. So what's the better route, something potentially helpful, in that case?

"Is it just the States you're stuck in?" Will has no problem where he is now, has no problem staying within a specific area, even if that area's not the same as the one he knows like the back of his hand. He's never once had it in him to go overseas since he got plopped down here. It's asked both because he doesn't actually know and because it leads into: "The United States I'm from had territories. Islands, like Guam and Puerto Rico, that you should have been able to travel to without needing a passport. They weren't states, but they had populations and could be visited by Americans without much fuss."

It's a shot in the dark and he knows it, but it's the only shot that comes to mind, one that might not have been done to death by anyone else who would pipe up about it. He's seen people who assume that one needs a passport to go to Hawaii and Alaska, of all places. Maybe it hasn't been brought up before. Maybe it's a dead end either way.

But by God it's pretty much the only backroads he can think of, and for someone who probably has the temptation to fly her ass out of specifically American controlled airspace and waters, it's got to be tougher. One doesn't spout off about an amazing crab shack in Maine or a very nice spot in Idaho that gets overlooked constantly in the face of that much.

[valr]

Sometimes she'd appreciate it if Will wasn't so damn blunt and honest, even if most of the time she prefers people who are that way. But right now it means he's calling her out on something she didn't want to be called out on, and making her answer a question she doesn't want to.

There's a sigh, though her annoyance really isn't directed at him, she just can't admit that she feels like she needs to stay. It wouldn't be her, and the gods forbid she let anyone think she gives a shit. But she can cover her ass.

"Dunno what the rules are on your islands. All the US is the same," A bit rude, maybe, but she's sure Will can forgive her for rudeness, since he's been doing it since they met.

[infomodder]

Sighing at the situation is good, sighing because of Will? Not uncommon, but not what he'd consider good. He doesn't have time to parse which it is, specifically, focused on the drinks laid out just after Kara finishes. Whiskey. Be still his heart. He picks it up, takes a glance at the color and amount, and both shoulders lift in a quick shrug accompanied by a huh. Was he always so obvious in his drink choices or had Kara just pegged him that well?

Did it matter? This was good. This was a blessing, no disguises needed.

"Guam's tiny anyway." Falling in line with the all the US is the same in the way that it's still the US and not what she's angling for, he can do that. "Bunch of snakes and frogs and turtles and military personnel. Probably not that great for an extended vacation."

But what is great, for an extended vacation or a night in or, hell, anything? Whiskey. Good whiskey, too, if the way he relaxes and raises his eyebrows in her direction after he takes a sip is anything to go by. Yeah, fuck being stuck in the US, that's a real bummer, but this liquor's pretty good? There is an upside?

[valr]

"You know I ain't got nothing against military, right?" She's sort of raising an eyebrow at him, since if anyone's going to be fine with soldiers, it's probably the valkyrie with an affinity for warriors. And it's a half decent subject change, too, since it stops them talking about being stuck anywhere in particular.

Whiskey might also be a good topic change, but Kara isn't the type to really discuss the finer points of booze or anything like that, so she'll just appreciate it.

[infomodder]

Whiskey would never be a bad change of topic, but it's even better when it's appreciated in silence. His palate isn't keenly refined, but even if it was: why spend time talking about the aging process and how there are hints of this that or the other in it when they could just drink it? That's what it's there for, damn it.

He takes a second to mull that question over, the thinking process visible again.

"There's a difference between military in general and the military that's...got us all here, isn't there?"

Did that change anything for Kara, specifically? He doesn't go wade into the waters that far, verbally; his tone and returned raised eyebrow does it for him.

[valr]

"Lotta soldiers are just kids who ain't got another choice," She doesn't have any illusions about what the US military is made up of, though it could always be different in a time when the cold war lingers.

But still, regardless of the when and where, military service is often a last resort of the desperate, especially when it's paid service.

"They got choices, but they ain't in control of bringing us here," She won't absolve soldiers of responsibility, but it doesn't mean they had any power in bringing the imPorts in, so she won't blame them for that.

[infomodder]

There is a pause between the glass hitting his lips and him actually drinking from it. If asked, he wouldn't have been able to fill in what he was expecting, exactly. The answer he gets is a striking one, though whether that's for something personal on his end (it is) or just not what he'd thought she'd say is better never clarified. Probably. Hopefully.

"That's a good way of looking at it," he finally decides on, glancing at another table. "Wonder how many jump to give them shit without putting perspective on it."

Perspective, that's a good word for it. Could be taken as neutral, could be taken as approving...not that he's under the impression his approval matters, of course, but it's a nicer potential than anything negative, isn't it?

[valr]

If she notices his pause, she doesn't think to comment on it, simply sipping her own whiskey as she waits for Will's reply.

"Lotta people would," She just shrugs, like it isn't any big revelation, "People who do all that hero shit, they ain't gonna like institutions."

It's something she's seen with vigilante-types in her worlds, anyone who prefers to take things into their own hands. They don't like institutions like cops or soldiers, or anything government related.