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WHO: April and Will
WHERE: hook, line, & tinker, then in and around Florida
WHEN: 9-25-14
WHAT: Kidnapping shenanigans
WARNINGS: TBD, none at the moment

[After all the making sure it was fine for her to show up at the house, she naturally came to the store. She didn't even have a member of the raccoon posse on her for once, a super rare event that left her feeling more naked than she'd expected. But she had a mission, and was dressed all in black despite the heat to get it done.

Which was kinda a pointless sacrifice. The stealth clothing was in no way needed seeing as she just walked in the front door of the shop and all, but that wasn't the point. She slid the sunglasses into place only once she was inside the store, solely so that she could look down her nose over them as she took in the store.

It was....fishy.]

Mr. Will Graham?

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[Should April ever decide to call him out in such a manner, what else would he have to do other than go whole hog? If she thinks he wouldn't dare, then he's got some declaring to do, though whether she would consider that him being silly or just too big for his britches isn't something he'd be able to predict. If she wants to fake it and joke about it, he can play along just like sliding off a greased pig, no need to turn his back on his raisin.

April Ludgate might not appreciate getting an earful of country vomit. But if she ever wants one, there won't be any "bless your hearts" involved. It might end up with at least one of those hearts being cursed. His towel rack is overdue for being infested by bees anyway.

Travel by Porter is old hat to him now, that much is obvious, though he wonders if maybe EAR has more experience with it than Will. Having a blindfold taken off of him doesn't seem to be old hat, one hand at his side twitching in a manner that screams I can do that myself. He's not in Fred's unhappy fun house, takes advantage of his freedom by having popcorn and ice cream any time he wants, walks through the house from room to room without being chained up and escorted. He can deal with letting someone take him around town, can work with them as opposed to against, can tilt his head when he needs to and squint when his eyes finally open for the first time since the shop, the change in his pupils visibly drastic enough to show that yes, he had been playing along the entire time.

The first thing he focuses on after figuring out where they are is, of course, EAR's butt sticking out. Nonah. Who does he know in Nonah other than Annie? The people in her house, must be. The cupcake girl, the guy who totally feeds the cupcake girl, and the Titan boy. He's sure there are other imPorts, but he doesn't pay attention to everyone. Not equally.]

Have you been on the train? [Unless April stops him or makes it evident that she wants to keep it for whatever reason, Will is going to take that scarf and wrap it around his neck as if it was his own, turning his attention from EAR'S behind to his salvaged find to April right next to him. No shame in it, even if it's not so cold it's warranted. Even if it doesn't really match without a coat to cover up the rest of his outfit. Oh well.] Or is that why we're here.

[Up goes one eyebrow, down goes his voice. Conspiratorial. Downright criminal, even, and the accent to his words? April doesn't do an amazing Natasha. Will doesn't do an amazing Boris.]

[Possessions easily transferring from one person to the next based on who wanted it more at any given moment is a system April is more than used to. Granted, it usually involves her just taking she wants from anyone not willing to do what is needed to stop her, but she doesn't bat an eye at it going the other way. Though she does pause to adjust her/his scarf slightly- giving one end a small tug to make it slightly tighter as she does- while he tries to feel out their Russian Spy mission.]

Of course, dahrlink. It's all part of master plan to defeat moose and squirrel. Then finally make chair and lamp we've dreamed of for so very long.

[April is actually rather vague on just why the Russians were fighting a pair of talking animals, but that seemed as good a reason as any. She can come up with a new one next time around.

But now they're in a different city, one April has wandered to a handful of times but never to actually visit any imPort in particular, and so as far as she's concerned they're in the clear when it comes to not being seen. And even if they're not, she's been able to toe the line pretty hard today (and be toed right back) when it comes to this whole PDA thing. So she releases the scarf and goes for his hand in one fluid motion, using it to tug him along towards said train. EAR will feel the magical jerk a moment when she gets too far away and start scampering after, sandwich in mouth and empty box of treats neatly thrown away.]

Come, now. To the rendezvous.

[He can't smile, not now. Not when they're being so overly serious, something he's pretty damn good at. His lips almost do that odd, evil grimace thing before he manages to bite it back, ends up looking like he's being interrogated and two seconds from blurting out every bit of information that he knows. The refusal to break eye contact as she fiddles with the stolen scarf does him absolutely zero favors in regards to looking like he has this all very much under control, former FBI fully capable of being stoic, equipped with a poor Russian-ish accent and a cartoonish bomb in his back pocket.

It's the idea of turning a moose and his flying squirrel companion into a chair and lamp that does it, has that control completely cracked, has a stupid grin breaking out over his face. Perhaps he has problems with antlers back where he's from, but April doesn't know about that and the idea of two villains having the secret dastardly motivation of properly natural interior design in mind is enough to break him. How long does that fulfillment last until the chair and lamp aren't enough, he's profiling cartoon bad guys in his head and can't be bothered by what he finds.

Or by that hand taking his. De Chima is the place where the medical go, not Nonah. The psychiatrists he's looking to avoid, why would they be here? Abigail's in Heropa. Gideon and Lounds could be spotted without difficulty. Nonah?

Probably his new favorite town, he thinks, walking beside her instead of being tugged along, glancing back at EAR just long enough to share this bizarre moment of triumph with someone. It would be an EAR he'd share that with, wouldn't it. Nonah is totally his new favorite town.]

Used to like trains when I was a kid, before we moved to a place right by some tracks. [This is a strangely happy moment for him, forgive his sad lonely existence for getting caught up in it and blurting out that which veers dangerously close to personal. But it's all good. Will has one thing on April that he can use to his advantage when it comes to making up absolute bullshit: age. Not in the way that he's got world experience, but in the way that at least one teenager he's seen would look at his age and think of him as ready for the retirement home. He looks away, that dog who didn't get kicked quite so much as bit his own foot too hard. It's a look he's got down really well, doesn't line up with what's about to come out of his mouth. It's too upbeat and missing any hint of apology.] Get woken up once or twice, it happens. After that, every night, just wanna blow the thing up. They'd leave their dynamite all over. Tired of having to travel in covered wagons with hand cranked phonographs making Ozzy sound worse than usual, didn't think anybody would do something to ruin that future.

[It all comes out so quickly, one might wonder if Will's worked a case that involved a crazy person going crazy on a train that didn't deserve it. Or, possibly, that a young Will Graham was, in fact, woken up nightly by a nearby train and dreamed of days long past when he could totally find dynamite laying all over the place and get rid of the problem himself.]

That's why I miss steam locomotives. [Because "trains" is too young people speak.] "Boiler explosions"? [What is his free hand doing? It's giving off air quotes while he screws up his face and looks around, oh those people who think of them as boiler explosions, so naive, just like all these people here. Sheep.] Not uncommon.

[It's only then he turns his full attention back to her, wondering if he can crack the code of getting her to smile by doing the same Goddamn thing she does: talking a whole bunch of bullshit that absolutely never happened and presenting it as fact.

What now? If it's not in his voice, it's on his face. His trying-so-hard-not-to-smile face.]

[ It's too bad she didn't have a drink on hand, it really is. That first night when she'd choked on the vodka had been total amateur hour and she'd been- no joke, not even the smallest one- working on her spit-take technique. Because in a world gone mad, the only things worth putting effort into are the stupid, meaningless ones that no one expect her cares about at all. She'd turned to watch him while he rambled about the trains, not really catching on until the air quotes. Then, if she'd only had a soda, she'd have put all those minutes of work to good use and done a perfect reaction to such a shocking confession.

As it is, she stumbles a little over an uneven bit of floor, the jarred motion just enough to actually force the laugh out. Jesus, Will. They could start a dead-pan radio show of outrageous claims that would annoy the rest of the world but leave them in stitches. Again, that latter bit being the only important part.

But he must know this called for revenge.]

Well- [And there's still a small laugh in her voice so she stops, takes a breath, and things about Working on Monday and Sad Kittens and the tragedy of White Russians no longer being a viable drink option in this world. Then starts again. Serious this time, even if she's now looking ahead instead of at him.]

Mm. You can't blow up this one, grandpa. Not today. I still haven't had sex on a train.

[If April has some secret desire to spray Valley Dew or Mr. Bibb on him, all she has to do is tell him as much. Any soda without a Dr. in the title would be just fine, though it would definitely be something he'd pull apart later as a psychological puzzle. There have been stranger requests than serving as the proper canvas for a spit-take. He doesn't know anything about her practice with it, the smile that starts to approach normal feeling more normal because what else was the reaction to making someone laugh?

Is he sweating? His palms feel clammy, his neck heated and—oh, scarf, right. Scarf he reaches up to adjust without realizing it, scarf that he only realizes is there when he feels it again. Never mind that it had been over his eyes and a presence throughout most of this, he simply wasn't used to the added heat. Just the additional layer, not what April says. Of course not, couldn't be. The disparity between grandpa and then going straight to public sex further serves as confusion, and he's positive he heard a raccoon snarl-hiss-purr mix sent in his direction. Only it sounded deeper and older and more intimidating than he imagines EAR would if he ever gets into it—is he hallucinating raccoons now? Hearing Eduardo giving him the stink-eye plenty of States away? Did EAR actually make that noise, does he look insane when his head jerks in the fuzzy clam devourers direction if April didn't hear anything? Shit. No, that raccoon totally did just play stand-in Eduardo. He can't ask—in the game of spewing bullshit, one does not stop to ask for honesty and reveal something akin to fear of a Goddamn raccoon.]

In the bathroom? [No one said that. Putting the dirty in dirty little secret. Yes, he can diffuse this actually appealing situation, eyes torn away from EAR to April to the ground. Good to know where he's stepping.] That's a misdemeanor if we get caught. Could be worse depending on who does the catching. [He looks back at her, shrugs his bad shoulder, what can you do, right? The law sure is a thing.] Unless it's one of those with the private cabins, then—

[A bigger shrug. If it can be done in a legal way, that's all that matters, isn't it? No one gets in trouble, and Will doesn't worry about dealing with the bigger threat after the minor threat that is the police.]

[ She can and very much does take satisfaction in the fact she was still better at this than him. The overly warm hand, the scarf adjusting, the looking back at the raccoon? Way more a reaction than her little stumble and laugh. Riding high and smug off her victory, unless stopped she releases his hand and replaces that gesture with a full arm wrap, elbows linked, head close enough she could lean it on his shoulder (and her scarf) and still walk comfortably if she wanted to. The line previously being toed as far as affectionate public contact had been walked directly over and then sprinted away from somewhere between Will claiming acts of terrorism as a kid and talks of train sex.

Talks which, despite his trying to actually plan the event (possible event? she had promised the plans were malleable...) she now also leaves behind.]

Did you really live near the tracks as a kid?

[This? This is also fine. This is more than fine. It's great, even, though the last he recalls anyone resting their head along his shoulder, there was a wound where an ear should have been and he felt his stomach tie into knots. April has her ear and Will's stomach doesn't twist or threaten to lurch because of anything truly disturbing, so Nonah?

It is the best city on Earth, even if he's been beaten at a game. This game is much more enjoyable than the others he's more familiar with, and he's damned relaxed walking alongside. He has no idea where she might be thinking of going (if anywhere now), but she's not about to lead him down a bloody path to hell.]

I really did. [Tsk. Did she think he was just saying that to...in front of a raccoon, really?] Just my father and I growing up, he had to move around wherever work was. Never stayed in one place too long, places had to be cheap. Only time I got on those tracks was because I thought I'd found some ripe muscadines growing around it. None of 'em were ripe, all of 'em made me sick. Didn't even notice the train that night sort of sick. [More reason to blow up a train, bad berries. As opposed to being a kid and not realizing he was eating something wrong, no. The train was at fault, damn thing kept him up and attempted to poison him.] Now they're talking about how muscadines are a great source of this and that, really healthy, prevents disease, and I just remember it was what kept me from playing around on train tracks.

[Moral of the story: muscadines can save lives, even when they're not ripe. The underlying implication he's not outright saying: he and his dad barely had two pennies to rub together.]

You ever— [Got food poisoning? Had really bad diarrhea? Played on train tracks because you had as much sense as you had friends? No, no. No.] —eat anything right off the vine?

[Better.]

[ She actually does rest her head against his shoulder as he talks, enjoying the slight tilt to the world as they reach the train proper. There is a plan here. There really is a plan. But half the plan is the journey there and back and, so far, she can't find anything to complain about. And she is April Freaking Ludgate. If there is something to whine about, she has the near superhuman ability to find it.

But, unspoken though slightly obvious through the whole aggressively pursued PDA, she enjoys the closeness. All kinds of it. Even if the follow up question really wasn't what she'd expected- or have picked, in his shoes- she can play back in kind.]

Mm. I got stuck on baby-sitter duty a lot, when my sister was smaller. More like play date, she was not that younger than me, but was a jerk. Zero friends and in a total, passionate love affair with Ritalin.

[Note that 'jerk' and the rest of it comes with approval. Her sister and her were cut from the same sarcastic and semi-nihilistic cloth. Growing up had been a war zone, hacked facebook accounts and stolen and burned clothing everywhere, but it had always been battles fought between equals. And battles hidden from their parents on both sides. There was no crying or tattling in sibling rivalry.

She reaches up part way through her reply, and readjusts his scarf without lifting her head to look at the results. Living with whatever family he had may have been over a decade ago for him, but it was where she'd been when she left home and ended up in the City. April had, in all honestly, never lived alone. Not really, unless you count the two nights before the raccoons started showing up and taking care of her on her arrival in the City. And she never, ever wanted to.]

I got her to test eat things. Not just the vine stuff. Sometimes she'd sneak the stuff that made her sick into my poptarts or whatever, like, a week later. Mom and dad always figured we just passed the flu back and forth or something.

Edited 2014-10-23 03:32 (UTC)

[Normal people in relationships do this sort of thing, don't they? As opposed to stuffing a futon in one party's place of work and pretending to high heaven it's used for anything more than bookkeeping after or before hours and in place of chairs, normally, this sort of thing occurs. Normally, he suspects, the face that gets pulled at the mention of Ritalin has nothing to do with the first question in mind being whether or not it was for an attention deficit disorder or narcolepsy, complete with Ritalin being turned into its methylphenidate and a list of side effects and complications. And yet.

A jerk with zero friends, smaller than most her age due to the love affair, capable of fighting fire with fire at home. Not too much younger but with enough of an age gap that April would be considered responsible by comparison. Responsible but fond, from the sounds of it.

He doesn't look at the results of the scarf readjustment, either.]

Firstborn children are generally given a balance of attention and responsibilities that helps to set them up for success in the future. Always hear it's the babies that get away with murder. [Talking about it in generals as opposed to specifics, that's the way to get away with psychoanalyzing, isn't it?] Meanwhile, we only children get told how it great it must be to be all by ourselves, not dealing with bratty brothers and sisters playing pranks and hogging the bathroom. Everybody misses the huge downside of being an only kid.

[He goes quiet long enough for April to get on the train first and wonder if he's going to spit it out, long enough for dramatic suspense, and then drop the horror of it all with the seriousness of one who is passing along ancient wisdom kept within a specific group and only that group:]

Unless your place is haunted, you've got nobody else around to blame. Pets might knock stuff over, but they don't eat the last of something or bring home the devil's music or use the shampoo without putting it back in the right place.

[Having to own up to his shit and being unable to effectively lie by pointing to someone he is related to by blood, what a nightmare.]

[ He gets a semi-dramatic glance back at that. That did sound awful. She'd always blamed things on Nat, Nat had blamed things on her, her parents had been over-indulging and never cared either way. It was a magical circle of life April had only really appreciated once she was torn from it. Now she just glared people down and dared them to blame her for anything. She wasn't really sure if that made her a better or worse person. Also, didn't care.

She drags them over to a pair of seats instead of immediately replying. She sits next to Will, EAR at their feet, but frowns at the seats for a moment before noting: ]

Everyone needs someone to blame. Like how it's totally my sister's fault I'm in politics. And if they bitch about EAR not paying for a spot, I'm sitting in your lap.

[Devil's music, though. She is storing that one for later.]

[A semi-dramatic glance that is rewarded by a shrug and Will looking around as though the Association of Only Children has agents in every corner who are prepared to take down all who give away their most well-hidden secrets. He has shed led on one of the mysterious hardships as opposed to openly praising the ability to never argue over who gets the bigger game console controller or looking in his closet for a shirt only to realize his little brother took it and Dad told me to get over it ever after he brought it home with a ketchup stain that never came out! Any minute now, he'll be taken away and go through rehabilitation forced upon him by his lonely comrades.

He's not being forced to sit, though, that much is impossible to miss. He's completely fine with it, looks from her to EAR, and almost complains about EAR not paying for a spot himself. Almost.]

Might be good not to do very well in them. She could become a bigger jerk, take all the credit if you succeed beyond all imagination. [He pulls a face, gesticulates with one hand as though to explain the timeline of sibling rivalry victories, the other hand occupied by his arm going behind her back without a hint of subtlety.] If you stay at a lower position and don't do anything truly remarkable, you can saddle her with the blame for mediocrity, which is despicable.

[Mediocrity is despicable, as opposed to framing people for things they didn't do. In this situation, at least.]

Or, if you excel, make sure to excel so much that you have heavily-armed snipers just a phone call away.

[She could give her sister psychologically damaging ammo or she could threaten her with legitimate ammo. Either way, everything is pretty extreme in the game of sibling rivalry, isn't it?]

[She resumes her former position of head on shoulder the second his arm is around her. It was really a position with multiple benefits: one, it was a release for a few weeks of PDA that had been dutiful suppressed at Will's request within Florida and Virginia; two, it was comfortable; and three, it meant she didn't have to look at him while they talked about childhood and family. Topics she was actually interested in covering with him, but not interested in making intense eye-contact during the process. Like the first swing at a new kinky position, before the bad kind of kinks had been worked out.

She even goes so far as to tuck her head under his chin. Deal with it, Graham.]

Mm. I never have to pick, I guess. Either way. The porter doesn't like Pawnee much. I'm not gonna see her again.

[Graham is dealing with it as best he can. He leans in against her, other hand resting loosely in his lap, eyes wandering from the rest of the commuters to EAR as he tries to think of the last time he had this much hair in his face in public. He eventually comes up with the time he didn't shave for a full two months and destroyed three basic shaving razors in the process of getting rid of it before he bought one that was meant to handle that level of grizzled laziness.

April is much more preferable. Though, April talking about the hopelessness of seeing her sister again? Not so much.]

Pawnee. [He's trying to get a proper feel for the word. Which means that even though it comes out in Will's voice, it rather sounds like April said it herself. Six letters that scream her tone, her timbre, the shape of how she talks, just in Will's voice.] That's Native American, isn't it?

[Better to ask about a place than a person, perhaps. He'd rather talk about Wolf Trap than Alana Bloom or Jack Crawford or—well, just about anyone he knows, even the ones here. There is an ache to the town he knows not being the same, but it's a far cry from continual talking about people he may never see again.

Of course, the people Will knows and cares about are not exactly attached to Wolf Trap. Perhaps this is a swing and a miss.]

Yeah. It means 'stupid town in middle of nowhere that exists in exactly one dimension.' Those guys were total fortune tellers.

[ So not really a big inter-dimensional tourist destination. Or a big destination even for people from that native dimension. And this is the most she has talked about home in...a while. When she got tattoos with Rick was probably the last time, more or less a year ago. And while she hadn't mined as much getting annoyingly reflective with her not-father/big brother figure, this was really not sexy kidnapping date chatting material.

So, basically, it was time for a hard subject change to the left. Rather than giving deep thought to it, she just skips a few steps back to the tactic that has been working so far. April's design is pretty obvious, but doesn't mean it can't still be effective. She tilts her head up just a little, her nose hitting his jaw now instead of the top her head. ]

God. The train's slow. Wanna make out?

[Will is all set to follow that train of conversation with a mention of his roommate, and then April goes and destroys every single thing running through his head with a very short question.

It scrambles him, mind jumping from one thought to another:

I am twenty years too old for that shit. There's PDA and then there's this. When was the last time I was asked that? Am I supposed to just say yes? Say yes. No. Don't say yes. Would Eduardo be mad at me if I said yes? Why am I worried about a raccoon, he's not the one who kills people in terrible ways for the slightest rudeness and then puts them on display. Making out in public is probably rude, even when I'm not involved. Have I ever been asked that? Is it possible that throwing up an ear and going to prison is not the deal breaker, the deal breaker is not making out in public? I'm pretty sure I've never been asked this before. I am a terrible boyfriend. I wish my dog was here.]

Uh.

[He is not erring on the side of brevity; he is hiding in brevity. She tightened this scarf too much, didn't she. This was on purpose, wasn't it. There he goes, tugging at it again, looking at the middle distance ahead of him instead of anything else. There is a tension in him that is impossible to miss, particularly since his arm is still around her. Still around her and going through the early stage of rigor mortis.]

Here?

[Someone help Will Graham.]

No. On top of the train.

[ The only weakness of the plan was that it worked too well. She'd broken him. Or at least bent him out of shape for the moment. And it was cute. But also sightly eye roll inducing- which is why April was now pulling back a bit so he could see that eye roll. Talking about family and emotions and stuff was non-eye contact talk. Public indecency, on the other hand, was a conversation April can do without a hint of humiliation or self-doubt. ]

You gotta say it.

[April seems content to spew crap continually and forget it later on, to put up the front that she doesn't care at all, but he's recalling a time where he made it very clear that he was using excuses in the place of the word "no" because he didn't want to say it. Excuses were taken as a "no" and no one was any the wiser, generally speaking.

Until people openly told them as much.

Bad move?]

Say what? [Perhaps April can do this with eye contact, but Will's retreating back to the shell of I do declare, I cannot maintain eye contact because I wonder if people have jaundice or burst blood vessels, and that's not a tasty thought. No eye contact, he shifts in his seat in a manner that screams grumpy, and points to EAR.] Do you really want to be a bad influence on such an innocent youth?

[As opposed to looking around for a human child, he's going with EAR. EAR who is young but, presumably, still old enough to function in adult raccoon society.

He is grasping for every single straw he can possibly find.]

He's Katurian's Child. He has no innocence.

[Katurian Katurian, murder victim extraordinaire. EAR had seen things, man. And April knew it. Katurian's tendency towards tragedy was why she had given the poor man a small animal to look after in the first place.

It's mean, and she knows it, but it's her kidnapping afternoon. So while Will is shifting and looking 50 shades of grump, she's sliding closer. They're still in their own two seats for the moment, but from her chest and stomach, down to the side of her leg from hip to ankle are pressed against him now. A few from the handful of other passengers may have glanced at the pair by now, but she wouldn't know. The weight she puts in their opinion is exactly zero. She and Will may as well just be in the bedroom with only the raccoons and his dumb dog around as far as she's concerned. ]

And, yeah. No, Will. I asked you first.

[ Just in case that semi-dramatic statement about a raccoon will be taken as an excuse for a new game of twenty questions before she gets her make out answer. It may have been a good distraction at first, but, well now that she thinks about it...

It might be nice. ]

[It's not exactly mean, to want a clear answer. Sliding in closer, perhaps a bit. He feels it, draws his head back to look at the space between them beginning to dissolve, I see what you're doing, eyebrows lifting as his lips draw into a thin line. He's so used to having to analyze everything for double, triple, quintuple meanings, but there's really no need for that here, is there? There's no need for metaphors and similes and talk of God and the devil and religious symbolism and psychological factors and illness and everything that taxes and drains but still comes so easily.

The ability to be completely straightforward is one he's still not used to, one that's currently confusing and stressful when it really should not be, but he appreciates it. One step at a time.]

No. [Said without any trace of apology. In his voice, at least. Dogs who were the only one at home when the most expensive vase in the house met its shattered death hold eye contact in similar manners.] If I say it's one of things that's not you, but me, would you believe it?

[It's really all him, he knows. Well, all the people around him in this universe more than it's him, but they're a part of him, too, whether he wants them to be or not. For how cliche it is, this time, it's right on point.

It's nice to be able to relate to something that's commonly used, commonly used for lies as much as it is for the truth. It has absolutely nothing to do with April. She should be able to realize that, he thinks.

She's, like, totally fucking awesome. It can't have anything to do with her. Duh.]

[ She is totally fucking awesome, indeed. And Will has no one to blame but himself for the short huff that answer receives. If there'd been an instant no, she would have just smirked and moved on. Honestly, that had been the plan. It had been more a Random Thing April Says than actual plan before he'd hesitated. Which, to her, sent a clear 'Interested, But My Crippling Imaginary Old Age Says I Can't' signal, and that had perked her own genuine interest. Like when the owner grabbed the shoes and the leash. Seriously, what possible sign could it be other than a walk? But, no. It was just rearranging the closet. Boring grown up stuff.

But she has an answer and there's nothing she can do. Except remember there was always the train ride back to flirt with the subject again, after the sun had set. For now, after that all important huff, she simply readjusts his scarf back to its former position before resuming hers. Head on shoulder, hips no longer shoved against his, the whole shebang.

Ugh. Caring was the worst. ]

We're about to be there, anyway.

[It's probably for the best that April assumes all his hesitance comes from Crippling Imaginary Old Age, otherwise the conversation turns decidedly depressing in more ways than being closer to the grave thanks to the amount of birthdays he's racked up. Boring grown up stuff indeed.

The fingers on her shoulder gently tap out a rhythm, though he's not sure April is a Styx fan or not and can pick up on it. Or if she could pick up on it should it be hummed. It's probably just taken as fidgeting, which—could be worse. Could be him screwing up the scarf again.

Shit, what are they supposed to do? This is awkward, isn't it? He has a pad of paper, he could reveal his age with tic-tac-toe. Or MASH, he remembers that one. What about the I Spy game, that's supposed to be popular with road trips, isn't it? I spy with my little eye, something not morbid at all. That's a difficult one.

He opts to extend his foot just enough to gently nudge EAR, hey buddy.]

Good thing we're in North Carolina before season opens. [Season meaning hunting season, though Will is operating on the rules of his world. He has yet to look into "game" here, just fish. Something not morbid at all is difficult to come by.] I had a raccoon in my chimney once back home. Sounded like a raccoon. [Sounded more like crazy, but.] So I took a sledgehammer to it. Managed to get out before I could get to it myself, but...the trash outside was overturned and all over the place next morning. I'm assuming it was a raccoon.

[As opposed to one of his dogs or something else, anything else. His hallucinations might walk around the halls of the Academy, but they don't interact with it. Still, the additional evidence of a destroyed trash can does point to a raccoon, doesn't it?

Even if they were here during hunting season, Will Graham wold fuck someone up for trying to mess with a raccoon, even if he sometimes nudges their butts in an annoying way. That's the lesson here.]

Maybe Santa needed some to steal some fish and plaid. And got vowed revenge when you stopped him.

[ You're on the naughty list, Will. Don't mess with Santa's breaking and entering hobbies during the off season. But whether April takes a story of him destroying the chimney any more seriously than she took his tales of blowing up trains isn't apparent. He hasn't taken a sledge hammer to a raccoon not hidden behind a brick wall while here, and that's all that really matters.

Her own hand had found a home on his knee, but she isn't tapping out any codes or songs from the says of yore. Just being a not-making out couple in public, no big deal...and she'll let go of the not making out thing in a minute. Once thing actually get rolling again. EAR, on the other hand, has taken the small harassment as a sign to come climb up the leg to sit on Will's lap. Clearly he takes after April when it comes to taking a mile after being given half an inch. It's time to pet the beast. ]

You should just leave cookies out next time.

[ To tempt the raccoon out or appease the kleptomaniac Santa. It was a tactic that could apply to both. ]

[Will does not at all mind EAR in his lap (would be different if EAR was an ear, of course). In fact, the moment EAR takes the mile after being given an inch? Will spreads his legs to open up more room in his lap, reaches down to give him a hand if he needs it, and—oh hell, he's going to pet and scratch ears and treat EAR like he'd treat one of his own dogs. This is not a petting, if he can get away with it. This is full blown physical affection that stops short of cooing or baby talk. He looks him in the face and smiles in the way that he has sometimes smiled at April and it may be imagined he might have smiled as a train blew up, but at least one member of their party is not being put out by the addition to Will's lap.]

Couldn't have been Santa, it wasn't Christmas. [Gosh, April doesn't know anything, does she? Come on, Santa is only around one night of the year, to leave presents and to steal and kiss people's mothers. He's definitely talking to April, but good God, his focus is right on EAR's little face his cute little face.] It was actually just an auditory hallucination, but the trash can was on its side in the morning. Had a raccoon somewhere. Not in the chimney.

[So much easier to be honest when there is an animal getting some of his attention.

Perhaps April will note this.]

You ripped apart your house for an imaginary animal?

[ April obligingly shifts so Will can better accommodate the littlest raccoon, the hand on his knee transferred to scratching the little brat's back for now. Someone is going to go home and lord over his brethren the sheer amount of treats, trash, and affection he received today. And that was a good thing, in her book. Maybe then the rest of them will take their paperwork and other household duties slightly more seriously and earn their own time in the spotlight.

She's mildly impressed by that confession, though- and not just because he's actually making it. She still hadn't asked about a single one of the pills, but unlike most of what comes out of her mouth, these bits and pieces do get remembered and put towards filling in the puzzle related to them. But most of the impressed comes from how far he'd go for a raccoon he didn't even know. Not that she'd had many doubts, but it does make her slightly more confident in the whole bringing raccoons near a house with coyotes hanging around it. Will'd figure out the safety measures.

But still. That was only a house. Any real person that loved animals more than humanity would destroy one of those to even maybe help an fuzzy friend.]

Mm...What if a mad villain told you the only way to save EAR'd be to throw all your punny clothing into the sea, and never speak or sell any of it again?

[The way April phrases it, at first, causes him something like worry. He glances at her, that smile falling. It's a brief display, because he soon goes back to toying with EAR. The hand on her has stopped drumming, rests loosely, momentarily dead weight in the face of a judge that can either serve to turn it actually dead, give it time served, or let it all go.

At least, until her actual sentence is carried out. Will retracts his arm slowly, curls his other around EAR, and draws him against his chest like a parent does a newborn. Skeptical, confused, he is putting distance between the two of them.]

You're telling me I need to get off at the next exit and make a speedy return to Virginia. [With EAR in tow, of course. Katurian's Child has found a new father.] Someone's been threatening him? They'll never find him.

[So no, Will's not closing his shop. But in the hypothetical situation that EAR is in danger, he can do one better: steal the furry little beast back home and put him in the extra dog bed. Joke that it all might be, it's pretty damn evident that Will wouldn't tolerate any of her raccoons in danger.

Papa Wolf doesn't eat raccoons. He saves them. Saves them while side-eying their master, one finger still scratching under a fuzzy chin. Animals are just all right with Will.]

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