[closed] pretty soon I'll be scratching fleas

[infomodder]

WHO: Rick Bradbury (waiting) and Will Graham (infomodder)
WHERE: Residence #006 in Heropa
WHEN: Backdated to like August 14th. The week of canine problems.
WHAT: After Ace and Bader behave like wild animals, Will camps out at #006 to cover doge duties for a while because April is awesome. Turns out the kitchen isn't just him and Will being at fault for Ace's report of "not a good boy" is kind of a big deal.
WARNINGS: Nothing really predicted, will update if things get too hearty.




Will had not at all been certain about any of this, had considered breaking down and setting up a futon in the back room of his shop and staying there, but it worked so far. Of course, it hadn't been long enough for it to not work without something extreme happening, and Will had spent the majority of the days out, came back later in the evening, and crashed in a room that held no extra paranormal activity. Whether he was using the doggy bed, the actual bed, or a pile of raccoons had yet to be asked, which he did appreciate. He had appreciated remaining more of a ghost than a guest, a specter who had extra furry legs sulking about the room with him, but that had to end at some point, didn't it?

Guest or pest, he couldn't speak for everyone just yet.

When it seemed he would be in the clear for ten minutes to make something to eat (not a moocher, everything he ate he bought himself, and the freezer would end up stocked slam full of freshly caught fish once he left, a proper thing to drop off in the wake of Will Graham), he found himself shuffling around unfamiliar drawers in as dim lighting as he could get away with. Fortunate for him, that lighting fell right on the blade of the knife he ended up tugging out, called his attention to it, and with a quick tilt that got rid of too great a glint?

"Hungry?" He spoke before he turned, just enough to look over a plaid-covered shoulder and at the guy as opposed to his reflection. "Got enough for two, if you like sandwiches."

A container that might have been used for lunch sat on the counter next to the cutting board, a mix of tuna and vegetables and juices and spices. The lid held a plump tomato and block of cheese, and that loaf of bread behind it all had not been in the house that morning.

April's new guy friend came with a knife and what could stand to either be disgusting (people had strong reactions to fish, no matter how it was done) or delicious. A knife to fix something to eat, nothing else. Of course nothing else. Why would it be seen as anything but what it was?

Unless April had given a head's up or the people (Ace included) in this house paid attention to the network as much as he did, but he wasn't going to lead with the exonerated murderer new guy friend aspect.

Comments

[waiting]

Bradbury had been understandably distracted this week, so even if April had said something, it had a good chance of slipping his mind -- which meant coming home to someone moving around in the kitchen was a surprise, mainly because he thought of Terry as more the type to forage than to actually cook.

Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, it was painfully obvious the man at the counter wasn't Terry, but Bradbury was too tired to muster a reaction beyond a slow blink mouth opening for words that wouldn't come and finding himself leaning against the frame on one elbow. Just what exactly was he supposed to say to this? He doesn't recognize whoever this is, but he could safely eliminate Cole as being ported out, Terry as ever being social, and Ace as being in jail, which really only left one possibility.

"Yeah, I could go for a sandwich," he said finally, giving in to the inevitable and stepping inside, frowning at the dimness of the kitchen. "You mind if I turn up the lights?" He didn't wait for a response before reaching for the dimmer to brighten the interior a bit, bathing the room in a warm, cheery glow that didn't match his moood.

"You one of April's friends or something?"

[infomodder]

One possibility or the unthinkable: a deranged, government house hopping lunatic who used the kitchens he was not assigned to without asking. A registered one, even, the lighting dim enough to give that game away. Or, it had been.

An affirmative was all he needed to move to rinse the tomato off, whether because he always washed his produce or because it was important to make it seem like he had the common sense to wash a tomato in a first meeting wasn't obvious. Did he mind turning up the lights? Didn't seem to matter, and he focused on working out any remaining dirt rather than make a face or shrug or a why even ask? Warm, cheery glow didn't match Will Graham, either, but it made it much easier to see which he should take as a good thing, considering he was going to be using a knife. He'd been spotted, jig was up, news was out, oh well.

"I'm her new guy friend," he answered, that smile on his face the opposite of what might be taken as bragging. Spoken less as guy to guy elbow nudge wink wink you know what I mean talk and more like someone who was used to being introduced as what he meant to other people, not himself—he was not unfamiliar with being a man slave, April had coined it. "The house I was in got destroyed, so I asked if she had space. Put me and my dog up in the free room." Stuck in the kid servant's old room, might clear up the lack of bragging. "Repairs are supposed to be done soon. Probably be out of here by the time Ace gets back."

The way he said probably had no real emphasis, but it was out of place in the way that it didn't need to be there. No doubt about it, Will would be out by the time Ace got back. He doubted Ace wanted to see him, much less come back to the home he'd made here and find the guy who unwittingly orchestrated his brief stint in jail treating it like it was his place, too. He would totally treat the kitchen like it until that happened. While not a gourmet chef, he could make the basics, had veered his skills into his preferences.

And since he got pulled away from his brief stint in jail, those preferences had narrowed quite a bit. This tomato had met its match.

[waiting]

April's last guy friend was a bald, self-professed supervillain who might have actually been physically incapable of taking a shower.

So far, Bradbury wasn't sure that Will was an improvement, but he also didn't appear to be reacting badly to running water, so he had to grudgingly mentally give him a point. Qualifying as one of April's guy friends in any capacity was something to incite pity rather than wariness, though, and after a long moment just spent looking Will over head to toe, he sighed, shaking his head and heading for the fridge.

"I'm Bradbury. Sorry to hear about your house, though. Guess if she said you can stay, you can stay." It was that or put up with not-so-passive aggression for as long as it took him to capitulate, possibly with raccoons involved, which wasn't a prospect that filled Bradbury with any enthusiasm. Alcohol didn't sound like a bad idea right about now.

But his hand paused over the refrigerator handle when the rest of what will had said registered. brow quirking as he glanced back over his shoulder. "You know Ace?"

He hadn't meant it to be a loaded question, but given recent events, maybe the wariness was warranted. More than that, he seemed to know that Ace wasn't going to be home for a while.

[infomodder]

Will was physically capable of taking a shower, though it might have been up for debate if he realized as much. He knew that back home, that capability would be hampered—he'd be capable of showering if he was a good boy, if he was restrained in some way, if he didn't argue or spit or piss or show signs of violence. The ability to take a shower would end up becoming a privilege, if things got bad. He knew it, but he spent more time taking advantage of being able to, say, pop popcorn whenever he wanted or move around the former house without anyone hounding him about it as a means to enjoy his freedom than he did taking excessive showers. Fortunately, staying with other people and with April in particular meant that he was on his A game with showering. He just hadn't shaved.

Pity wasn't something he enjoyed, but he'd take over it wariness, particularly wariness that came from what Freddie Lounds had dropped about him. By God would he take it.

"Will Graham." Master at slicing tomatoes and using the same knife for a block of cheese when left to his own devices in the kitchen. The phrasing, the guess that Will could stay if she said so, kept that little hint of a smile on his face. It wasn't until he asked about Ace that Will almost cringed, undoing the twist tie on the bread as he tried to keep it as casual as possible. "Ace was at the house when it got—" obliterated by a dog and a wolf going toe-to-toe in ways nature never once intended "—messed up. He and my roommate didn't seem to get along like I thought they might."

He fucked up.

He fucked up so badly. He knew it. It was in his voice, on his face. If Bradbury was a nice guy, perhaps he'd draw out alcohol for both of them, because April's new guy friend? Looked like not only could he use it, but he'd be appreciative in return. Only one person could help Will Graham right now, would he or wouldn't he?

[waiting]

It rings a bell for Bradbury, vaguely, though he can't remember where he heard it before. Certainly not the kind of alarm bells that would merit having the guy thrown out on his ass, but seeing Will wince, Bradbury's head lifts and he frowns.

Thing is, though, Bradbury was a nice guy, or tried to be, and that meant giving people the benefit the doubt whenever he could. His brain put the pieces together rather differently -- the way he seemed to shrink in on himself, the not-quite-there pause, and the look on his face.

Bradbury scrubbed a hand over his face and exhaled, hard. "Shit." That seemed to summarize the situation about right. "That's rough." And then, as if answering Will's unspoken prayers, he completed the motion he'd begun, reaching into the refrigerator to pull out not one but two beers.

"So you were there when it happened?" The eternal dilemma: to press for the details Ace can't or won't tell him, or avoid traumatizing the obviously on-edge man even more? "Surprised you didn't get hurt. Ace can be a little... focused." Single-minded, when he had a target in his sights -- Bradbury had seen it himself.

[infomodder]

Two pieces of bread get tossed out on that carving board, the loaf put down and turned to make it evident Bradbury is welcome to do the construction himself. While Will was perfectly content to slice and dice (he already had), making a sandwich seemed a bit much. A bit like coddling. A bit like unwrapping a straw and sticking it in the drink, a bit like fast food worker, and he didn't want any of that. The presence of a second beer with Bradbury had that near cringe disappearing at the precise moment he pops open the lid and thus lets loose the scent of tuna.

"Focused is one word for it." An accurate word—agreement without coming straight out and saying just that, coupled with another gloomy face. Bradbury didn't have to ask for details, not the most immediate ones. Whoever he was, he happened to live with Ace, and there was some relationship there, for better or worse. Will's own relationships with his housemates were varied, but he wouldn't live with them if he couldn't handle it, if there was something verging on hate bristling about. Bradbury had apparently done it long enough to find the perfect word for Ace in action, Will had been the one to unknowingly instigate the whole mess—answers without having to be prodded were not out of the question. "My roommate's a wolf—she talks, she's smart, she's...a wolf, but reasonable." Or he had thought. Will was wrong with this whole meet up, but why, he still didn't quite know. That much was obvious. No one spread tuna fish salad over bread like that otherwise. "Like Ace. But as soon as they saw each other, it was different." Focused. "She said he smelled wrong and he told me to get away from her after he broke in through a window. Then the rest of the house got broken."

Will had just thought he'd seen some messed up things before he got here, but the dogs fighting each other with a house was traumatic. Traumatic enough that he might reach out to open the beer before anything else. That sandwich was as put together as it could be, that mix in the bowl practically perfect in every way; Will Graham was not.

[waiting]

"He told me she was undead." He came out with that rather bluntly -- an adjective which was applicable to Bradbury in general, really. Blunt, graceless, and without anything resembling tact whatsoever, at least until the time came to pause and reflect on what he'd just said. Just like he did now, absently opening his own beer can to take a pull before putting it down on the counter. Sorry, buddy. Too bad your wolf friend turned out to be more than what she seemed.

"He's dealt with that kind of thing before, so I assume he knows what he smelled." Like that makes it any better. Bradbury turned his attention to making his own sandwich, casually standing elbow to elbow with Will Graham like this sort of thing happened every day. High-keyed, Bradbury thought, glancing at Will out of the corner of his eye; probably best to tell him not to sleep in Cole's old room, which they're reasonably sure is haunted. Like the ghosts hadn't caught on yet, and realized the boy who could speak to them was gone.

"She never mentioned anything about that?" Just how many wolves who aren't wolves are there around this place? By his count, this makes at least two.

[infomodder]

Blunt and graceless had their place as much as everything else in the world; Will didn't take offense to it. His hand slowed, the can squealing from the pressure applied far longer than it needed to, and coupled with the look on his face someone as close to him as Bradbury would be privy to? No need for a verbal answer, because Will hadn't the first Goddamn clue about undead. Looking back, certain things now made more sense, but they had never sat down and openly discussed too much. No need to talk about the serious, grave topics when there was a soapy bath or tick that needed to be taken care of, when Will could just live in a happy fantasy world that a talking wolf was just a talking wolf and he would appreciate her the same as he'd appreciate his dogs back home.

That Bradbury had popped a small bubble of joy in his life was as evident as Will's ignorance, but no blame would be forthcoming. High-keyed and a miserable, sad son of a bitch.

"We didn't talk about it." He had moved in with her without demanding a background check. She hadn't demanded one on him, either. They both wanted woods, to be out of Florida, to be somewhere with more isolation than Heropa, and she was more than willing to suffer through his rubbing her down like an ordinary dog. In a place where people (or wolves, or whatever else) could lie through their teeth (or fangs, or whatever else) about anything and everything and it could be taken as fact, he didn't see much of a point. "That would be...vampires? Zombies? Do you have experience with them, too?"

This wasn't the happiest of conversations to be having, but he stuffed that sandwich in his mouth as though he had conversations about unhappy, death-related topics and ate on a regular basis. The question might have been a little tactless on Will's part, he realized a moment later, but Bradbury was free to ignore it or lie. He was curious for experience in how to deal, nothing malicious, not curious in the way that he wanted to dredge up the entire life story of the guy he was sharing a quick meal with. Hopefully that rang clear if Bradbury did have terrible experiences with them.

The undead.

Why?

[waiting]

Well, now didn't Bradbury just feel like the guy who'd taken away the puppy's chew toy and kicked it. He winced, the expression impossible to hide on a face like his, the sympathy maybe inappropriate but showing through anyway. Bradbury didn't generally find it hard to like people, and he'd always been a bit of a bleeding heart. And he hated being a bearer of bad news, especially when it was (to his mind) telling Will the truth about things his roommate had apparently never seen fit to enlighten him on.

"Undead usually means vampires or zombies, yeah," Bradbury confirmed, confidently drawing upon years of watching B-rated movies for his expertise on the matter. Though he also frowned, shaking his head. "Never heard of a vampire who could turn into a wolf, though. And a zombie wolf would be hard to miss, wouldn't it?"

He paused for a moment, lost in thought contemplating the mental image as he took a bite of his sandwich. Apparently the mental image of a rotting canid wasn't enough to quell his appetite, either, and he chewed reflectively and swallowed.

"But no," he finished, taking the topic back to where it had started before either of them could linger on it too long. "I can't say I've had any experience. There was kind of a time when uh," his brow wrinkled, trying to find the best way to put it, "some guy who said he was the devil raised a lot of hell and things got pretty hairy for a while." Which sounds crazy. Even Bradbury thinks it sounds crazy, and he was there. "But that's all."

[infomodder]

Perhaps Bradbury wasn't pleased with himself for being so openly expressive, but Will appreciated it. Not the sympathy, but the easy read, but the similarity there—when Will didn't approve of something, when he approved of something, when he struggled with finding an answer, when he was rather done with everything going on, when he was ready to shout, when he was doing everything in his power to hold back on being verbally rude, when he was actually happy, his face did damn good at reflecting as much. Not that most people didn't have the ability to do the same, but having been surrounded by a few select...it was nice to have normalcy, at least in that way.

The question of a zombie wolf had a slow, hideous excuse for a smile overtaking his face, someone who was putting two and two together and, in retrospect, four was right in his damn face. That terrible smile ended up interrupted by another stuffing of his face, beer on the counter for the time being as Will leaned back against it. Guy who said he as the devil didn't even seem to register as anything truly crazy, though Will knew it could have been more literal than what he was used to.

"I'm a fisherman." On its own, that seemed like a rather random admittance, didn't it? So he stuck out his hand just enough that Bradbury didn't need to come crawling closer, a hand that had definitely been involved with physical labor and had a still-healing cut along one finger. "Make my own lures. I'm good at it, but mistakes still happen." Tiny cuts, punctures, the occasional gash, the temptation to yell angrily whenever the feather he finally secured in place didn't look as good as he had thought it would and he was torn between starting with something new or calling it a day. "Always close-by when I made 'em, liked licking when it got bloody."

Someone was feeling a little stupid right now.

"That...vampire, then?"

Will was not a monster movie fiend, never had been, but he didn't need to be to know common lore. And to feel a little dumb. A lot dumb. Total blockhead levels of idiot, even. Bradbury could call him out on it without fear of being found rude, but Will couldn't blame him if he did venture into something rude with it. This was basic math, wasn't it. Easier than rhyming, and he hadn't pulled it off.

[waiting]

Bradbury didn't understand, at first, where Will was going, opening with a line like I'm a fisherman, but as he kept speaking, he realized where it was going -- and it was enough to actually make him lower the sandwich from his mouth, just enough so he could turn his head towards Will and grimace in something like empathy. That deep, soul-crushing sympathy that came with the realization that someone else's life totally sucks giant-ass donkey balls right now and you know exactly how that feeling goes.

"Yeah, seems like it. But it's not like you could have guessed," he offered, eventually, not even sure why he was trying to make feel Will better about the whole thing (something he was assuming, at this point, to be actually impossible). But then again, that was the sort of thing Bradbury did automatically, or maybe it was just a response to how goddamn sorry Will looked right now, like he couldn't find a boot big enough to kick himself in the ass with.

Getting mad at someone like that was probably about as wholly unsatisfying as yelling at a wet mop.

Still, he'd committed to his course now, and Bradbury ventured bravely onwards into the land of too much information for casual acquaintances: "I mean, animals get into all kinds of shit. One time my cat got into the room when me and my ex, and--" Cue a vague hand gesture that could conceivably be understood as bumping uglies, followed by a much more specific miming of imaginary claws grabbing hold. "So, you know." ...There'd been a point in there somewhere, he was sure of it, some sort of uplifting moral to the story, but Will would have to fill it in himself.

[infomodder]

Will knew that look, hadn't been going for it but wasn't going to complain. People here came from worlds that either seemed to match his in some way or seemed to be out of something he'd always assumed would just stay as fiction, but this, this idea of someone else's life totally sucks giant-ass donkey balls right now and it was something that could be related to? That was universal, wasn't it? No matter how ridiculous or normal a world was compared to what Will had always known, being able to empathize over a life that was currently wallowing in the gutters was something that should have been appreciated, not discouraged. Especially the way Bradbury was doing it—with a look, internally, a few words of reassurance, not coming out and making a huge conversation with it. This guy had every right to be miffed with Will's ignorance (willful, almost), but he seemed to be swimming along the path less followed.

Something Will wasn't going to take for granted or bring up, not now.

He looked over his hand once Bradbury had seen it enough to get what he meant, thumb running over the healing cut that had, not too long ago, been thoroughly cleaned by a wolf's tongue. Another bite of that sandwich that was a little too big to be polite ended up making it difficult for Will to immediately respond to the idea of the cat and his ex and the face he pulled reflected that much. Mouth too full, why not swallow it down with some beer, even if he hadn't chewed it all completely through? He sounded curious, wary, not reaching for more in a perverted way. Cats and sex weren't something he had dealt with, was glad for it, but how horrible could it have gotten?

"The cat clawed you or tried to get in on it?"

Too much information for casual acquaintances or not, Will would grab hold of another topic if he could (was that the point? He liked that being the point). He'd spent a lifetime hearing and seeing that which most people tried to pretend didn't really happen, the idea of a cat interrupting sex was not as TMI as it might have been. Sure, Will's ridiculous imagination could fill him in on pictures that were not meant for casual acquaintances, but the visual was one that was much better than what he was used to. His concern for more details that might add to it was minimal, doubting that Bradbury was going to go the most detailed route he possibly could.

this took forever omg i'm sorry @@

[waiting]

Bradbury just snorted, looking at the other man with brows raised and mutely asking the question really? Will thought that question was the right response to anything? Then again, he'd practically been asking for it by bringing it up, and he exhaled, smirking slightly before he shook his head.

"Clawed me. I guess I should've remembered to feed her first." No need to go into further detail on that, though, it had done the job and gotten them off that depressing spiral of conversation, which was all Bradbury had been hoping for. He shrugged, eyes crinkling a little in amusement while he took another bite of his sandwich and a swig of beer.

"I miss her, though. My cat, I mean, not my ex." Animals, in many ways, were easier to deal with than people. Easier to project emotion on, less likely to complain or lash out -- less likely, really, to tell you to find someone who actually wanted you around. Bradbury waved a hand around, vaguely, indicating their surroundings, bearing the unmistakable hallmarks of a home that had a distinct animal presence -- clawmarks on the floor, strategically placed water and food dishes, and copious amounts of animal hair on every surface that would accommodate it.

"These days I've got more animals to take care of than I know what to do with. What about you? Got any pets?"

forgives you not

[infomodder]

As much as he might take great pains to avoid people in general, he could recognize the look he got for what it was exactly. And, in return for Bradbury's efforts, all Will deemed it appropriate to give was a half-hearted shrug as he stuffed his face again. A short wrinkle of his nose at the idea of getting clawed, not sure where to imagine it happening but also completely fine without that detail. What else was guy talk for if not leading into segues where they could talk about how little they cared for their exes, really? April's guy friend had been quiet around the house all along, he'd be just as quiet outside of it. All secrets about scratching during the deed that had not been previously agreed would end up just as quiet.

For the attempted bonding with mandated guy talk about those exes, Will seemed less capable of relating to missing a cat more than an ex. Whether it was because Will was a dog person or someone who hadn't had enough of a relationship in a long time to really think of anyone as much of an ex wasn't easy to tell, probably blurrier when he opened his mouth to answer after a good look at all the strategically placed water and food dishes that might have been recently filled by some mysterious quiet stranger.

"I had seven dogs back home." He knew what that might suggest, the idea of a hoarder, of someone who couldn't control the urge to have a fluffy companion and had a house filled with them, neglected in basic ways. Between his tone and the thin smile on his face, that much was obvious, made the explanation that came out necessary, perhaps a little practiced. "Used to live in a place where strays would wander. People'd drop off their pets they didn't want. Got for the holidays, couldn't care for them, thought they might do okay, put them out in the wild instead of a shelter. Makes little sense when the place has its fair share of coyotes." Why risk going outside and finding slaughter when he could just open his door, right? "Kinda run a little adoption agency outta my house. The cute ones are easy to find homes for. Good homes. The ones with medical problems, ones that look like they ran face-first into a brick wall...not so much."

He had a family of leftovers, in essence. Pointing to the ceiling with his beer, he added:

"But I just got the one dog here. Up there while everything gets sorted out. He looks good, but he's about as smart as a brick wall. Only time I get to keep purebreds is when they've got issues or won't give anyone stopping by the time of day. You ever got any questions about how to deal with all those animals—" that beer turned in on Will, I'm your guy. Unabashedly, I'm your guy.

The guy who didn't give a single shit if Bradbury took everything he said and still thought oh my God, dog hoarder, just took a swig of alcohol as though the discussion hadn't verged on a lack of stability, healthiness. Just another day in the life.

at least this time it wasn't like 2/3rd of a month later... just 1/2...

[waiting]

Bradbury whistled slowly, more impressed than anything else. Seven dogs was a lot, but was he really in a position to judge? Probably not. He would have gotten more cats if the space had allowed it, and if he hadn't been so busy.

"Hope you had enough room to let them run around. I lived in New York, so I couldn't really afford to keep more than Miss October." His cat, obviously, though if Bradbury expected Will to find his choice of naming convention to be an odd one, he didn't act like it. "Sounds like you were doing a good thing, though, helping 'em find places to stay and taking care of the ones people don't want."

His praise seemed sincerely meant. Bradbury's more than familiar with the feeling of being a reject, of not passing muster, and generosity like Will's -- or at the very least, loneliness that translates into attempting to make the world a better place to be -- was a rare sort of thing.

"I'll keep that in mind in case we decide to get any more, or something comes up with Terror, but--" He shrugged, shaking his head wryly. "I think we're just about as full up on animals as we can handle."

AND NOW IT'S MY TURN TO TAKE FOREVER brofist

[infomodder]

The face Will pulled and the way he shrugged indicated that yes, he had enough room to let them all run around. No reason for Bradbury to let on that he knew his cat's name was an odd one—Will had had plenty of dogs and been around pets and their owners for so long that nothing truly seemed odd. Pedigree breeds with their long fancy names, the common Rocky, the occasional Shithead, the one named after a celebrity...whatever worked.

Goodness, praise. What to do with praise other than shrug that shoulder higher up, dismiss it by not encouraging it further? That was the oddest part. In a house filled with animals and intelligent raccoons he was staying in because a superpowered dog and wolf had destroyed a house and caused all sorts of damage, this guy was proving to fit in nicely with the "strange" aspect on a more personal level.

"Don't go saying that." Joking instead of commanding or correction, Will finishing off his sandwich and making moves to wrap everything back up. "Soon as you do, gonna find out one of the raccoons has a pregnant girlfriend. Wake up to a bunch of babies in the house. Or just ten more raccoons that crawled in overnight and decided they were living here, too."

...had that happened before? Will wouldn't doubt it, and the way his eyebrows lift and he inclines his head in Bradbury's direction is enough to ask that unspoken question.