[OPEN] you see, i am the wolf, and this dirty little piggy lives inside of me

[infomodder]

WHO: Will Graham + YOU!
WHERE: All over
WHEN: Month of May (he will not be around the 15th-19th)
WHAT: Making friends. Losing friends. Getting experience with his shadow stag power. Aggressively playing pool. Fishing. Stuff and things, Coral.
WARNINGS: Standard Hannibal warnings apply (cannibalism and murder and sadness and season 2 spoilers). If anything else crops up, I will edit to add.
NOTE: Everything's been written up in prose, but if you'd prefer to do action, just reply with it and I'll match! And if you'd like a specific starter, shoot me a PM or something and I'll write it up in comments.




I. AROUND NONAH: Are we out of the woods? Are we in the clear yet?

He'd have gone to De Chima, had he not been there so recently for work, had he been sure he could keep himself from stopping by the old house. Worse, going into the old house, seeing if Mike Parker was there, perhaps checking in on his religiously conflicted roommate. Going to Virginia for leisure time is bound to end poorly, bound to have him finally giving up and checking in on this universe's version of Wolf Trap. Better to avoid all that inevitable mess by going somewhere else entirely.

So he opts for Nonah, and after going through the city itself, finds a nice patch of woods that doesn't seem too used. Seems more like the place where joggers go for morning and evening routines than anything popular, where parents might bring their children or couples might take to for a quiet, slow stroll. Once the noises fade to nothing but nature, he loses his shadow to its new, stag self, to get a better feel of how it works. They'll walk side-by-side as much as the stag decides to explore, bolting for a particularly playful squirrel, scraping his antlers on a nearby tree for reasons Will doesn't want to think about. Same with any rolling in mud. Probably just enjoying his freedom to be a strange, shadow stag; that's the story Will chooses to take on and believe as true. Every now and then, it might smack as more dog than deer, stumpy tail wagging, but Will doesn't pay that any mind, either. The thing's never far out of his sight—until something (or someone) truly interesting and not yet in Will's line of sight comes around, of course. Leave it to Will to not find this of too much concern and continue to take his time, walking fashion disaster that he is. Don't worry! That shadowy creature means no harm, and the guy following after who doesn't cast a shadow at all despite whatever sunlight is around has covered himself in a truly terrible plaid shirt and jeans that are two or three wears from being worn out. No threats here.

II. HEROPA: have you been herring a lot about the hook line and tinker?

Will doesn't work at the bait shop anymore, not technically. He is, however, still the owner, and that means he has to be involved. He's a little more involved than some of his employees might actually like, but at least whenever there's a minor issue plaguing the place, he can generally take care of it. If he can't, he knows who can. So every now and then, for anyone stopping by (or just looking in), they'll find a still plaid-clad Will Graham sporting a ridiculous hat that's clearly been worn by him for a while, however off and on. It fits his head, and the fishing hook stuck on the brim of it has been there so long it's created a dent. But Will isn't behind the counter or going through the shelves to fix them. Nah, he's the guy in the corner on a stepladder fixing some busted part of the ceiling or wall, or fiddling with wiring. He rather looks like the repairman.

If someone stops by to see him, specifically, here he is. If someone stops by with a question that the staff either can't answer or doesn't feel equipped to answer as well as Will can, he'll be pointed out as well. Yes, go ask the guy making an effort to center the WRIGGLE ROOM sign after it last fell about fishing seasons. That guy who's cleaning the front windows in the wake of the Flare and dragons alike will know far better than the person behind the counter why the hell the lures are different colors. Go pester him, he has the answers, he's the owner.

III. HEROPA 2 NAUTICAL BOOGALOO: We ain’t only fishin’

Will owes plenty of people fishing trips. Want to go fishing? Who the hell wouldn't? His preference is for standing around all day in waders, but if someone would rather go out, he'll get a boat. How accommodating.

IV. HEROPA 3 RETURN TO THE HOMELAND: Flowers and trees depress and frankly bore me

There is a house with a yard that's well kept but not much to speak of just yet. The dogwood tree in the center of it is in need of some nourishment and time without the world being in ruins to get back to its former glory, and the scattered beds of flowers weren't in any particular order. Until today, that is. Will's out with his sleeves rolled right over his elbows, bearded dog providing help by doing the best thing he can in this situation: lazing underneath some shade and taking a nap. He's got all the tools he needs, pots with plants waiting to be transferred over, dirty hands bare instead of covered with gloves. He's not dealing with anything too thorny or prickly, so there's really no need for that, is there?

Except for the fact that the soil he's using contains manure, and says so right on the bags waiting to be tossed out with the rest of the trash. Whatever, it's all as organic as organic gets, he'll just wash them more thoroughly than usual and everything will be fine.

V. MAURTIA FALLS LIBRARY: Take a look, it's in a book!

He isn't even certain if he can check out anything, considering where he lives and all, but he's been through the Heropa library more times than he can count. It's good to expand one's horizons, isn't it? Maurtia Falls could have something on their shelves Heropa doesn't, so while he's there and following the rule of minding his own damn business, he stops by just to see. Curiosity isn't always a bad thing, after all. Will pointedly avoids any sections that have to do with crime, true or fictional. Fiction is supposed to give him an escape, and hopefully nonfiction will teach him about something that isn't his usual. Why even bother looking at books that won't do either? It's always much better to bump into someone who has a stack of books that relate to dogs, fish, the history of railroads, and what appears to be the first in a series about magical cats that can travel through space and have kept their secret from humans for all of eternity, isn't it? Because that's what Will's going for. Magical alien cats.

VI. BARS, BARS EVERYWHERE: He drinks a whiskey drink, he drinks a vodka drink

Will keeps a rotation of bars in his head, places with a little more shade than usual. No loud and booming music, no crowd of youths looking to get their groove on. Will's more comfortable in the quiet sorts where the jukebox plays "oldies" and no one has any complaints about it. These are the nights were he slaps his watch over that tattoo to keep himself as much of a nobody as, well, everybody else in the dim, sometimes smoky lighting. His pool game isn't anything to write home about, but he's steadily getting better, with the goal to one day wipe the floor with Hank Schrader. And because some of these bars are the places that don't ask questions, or have family members of the owners (or their friends) coming through just a year or so shy of the legal drinking age, Will keeps his job and this aspect of his life completely separate unless there is a real need for someone to step in. He's not a complete hog at the pool tables, though, and some affable competition is bound to only help improve his game. Loser buys the drinks—what a great deal.

Comments

[malodorous]

Oh. There was a guy that went with the totally-not-creepy stag. That grounded the whole thing, at least. It wasn't some sort of phantom out of nowhere or a vision, it was a companion of sorts. For a moment, he was ready to be a little incredulous about this whole encounter, because what kind of guy walks around with a huge deer all willy-nilly?

But, you know. Kristoff. Kristoff walks around with a huge deer, so he ultimately has to accept that other people can do the same thing. Never mind that this guy's deer is weird.

"No, it's--" He waves the tone of apology away. "I'm in the same boat, aren't I?"

He totally hasn't taken somewhat wary eyes off of the black stag. "Where did he come from? I've never seen anything like that."

[infomodder]

Arguably, someone with the name of Will does most everything willy-nilly, but as long as that never comes out of Kristoff's mouth, they're already doing great.

He almost, almost breaks the awkward tension in Will's shoulders with his use of same boat—a fisherman appreciates it more than most—but the following question cancels that out. Will stands there for a second, looking from the reindeer (nothing weird there, not at all) to the ground, finally back at the stag with eyebrows asked. It's as though he's asking some sort of permission, and as soon as the stag catches sight of him, the stag essentially starts to melt.

But no big deal, just a mess of shade that quickly works its way back to where it belongs, settling at last around his feet. And now, for the first time in what feels like hours, Will Graham joins the rest of the world in the simple art of casting a shadow. For someone who's rather returned to normalcy, Will doesn't seem too fond of it, looking at his shadow like he misses what it had been.

"He's one of my. Powers."

Because Kristoff totally couldn't pick up on that on his own or anything.

[malodorous]

When the stag began to melt away, Kristoff jumped back a little bit, which might be something of an unbecoming movement for a large enough fellow. His hand moved from Sven's snout to one of his antlers, pulling the reindeer back a fraction with him. After a moment, everything became a little more clear, and he started to ease out of the startled stance. It was his shadow, then? Kristoff hadn't even looked down to notice that the other man hadn't been casting one.

"Oh. I see. That's... interesting." Perhaps it was something like Gil's huge raven, almost like a summons. It wasn't unheard of. Just like that, the encounter seemed less alien. This was just another imPort with another machine-granted power, nothing to be wary of or worried about, at least for the time being.

"I guess me and Sven aren't the only man-deer duo running around, then, huh? And here I thought we'd cornered the market."

[infomodder]

That sort of reaction isn't something Will is too fond of, but when it seems to clear up and pass over, any need for him to shift uncomfortably and show that much does, too. Will turns his attention to the deer, smiling at the idea of such a market being cornered. The two of them seem far more in tune than Will and his shadow deer, as of now, they've totally corner and won that market.

"Sven?" Even more apparent that they're victorious in this realm: this guy's stag has a name. Will's doesn't. He's never thought it necessary. He'd also never wondered much about how the shadow of a stag might react to becoming another, different sort of stag, but now that he's faced with one? Damn right it's on his mind. "I didn't mean to step on any toes or hooves. You'll have to take that one up with the Porter, but. I haven't been using it much, so if word doesn't spread..."

A half shrug, eyes settling on Kristoff as Will keeps his distance still. If the secret shadow-stag-and-man duo isn't outed to the world, one of them remains the top dog. The power is in his hands (and perhaps Sven's hooves; if Ace and Bader and Doctor Dinosaur could talk, a deer sure could).

[malodorous]

Kristoff shrugs. He'd been joking, but he's not good enough with it to gauge whether that response was a joke in return or what he ought to quip back. He shrugs in turn and releases Sven's antler, hand settling on his friend's neck instead, fingers curling to scratch idly. There's a brief pause, and finally he remarks casually, as if he'd thought the whole thing over, "It's not really my business to tell any else's."

He's a pretty quiet guy, after all, still decently non-social for how much he's improved upon that aspect here. With nothing else to say on the subject, his eyes wander the trees around them like that might help him figure out how to handle the presence of a stranger in initially odd circumstances.

"Nonah's a little better than the other places for large animals, huh? There wasn't much like the woods here in Florida. Too swampy."

[infomodder]

They're a much better duo of man and stag, the evidence just keeps piling up right before Will's eyes. They seem to actually like each other, for one thing, and he'd bet his tacky fishing hats that if this kid ever has a dream wherein that reindeer ends up dead by his own hands or anyone else's, he'd take it an actual nightmare. But gosh, he has to wonder where he's been all along; he can keep his mouth shut, what a good kid.

"Swampy and muggy." One hand slides into his pockets as the other moves the collar of his shirt, like he can feel Florida's heat just talking about it. "Used to live in De Chima—if it wasn't for air conditioning, I know the dog wouldn't have liked the move back down to Heropa at all."

It takes him a second to realize this whole talk has come without imPort fear or admiration...or introductions. Considering one of his jobs, he really should remedy that. It's only polite. Manners are good to have, but only if he actually uses them.

"Name's Will Graham. You?"

There was an attempt.

[malodorous]

Oh, right. Niceties. Those are a thing that exists. Kristoff looks a little surprised at the question for a beat, but at least it's easy enough to answer once it's processed. "Kristoff. Er... Kristoff Bjorgman."

Because he does have a whole name, and Will had given his. Kristoff then lifts his hand to firmly pat Sven's side. "And this is Sven. Which... I definitely already mentioned, didn't I?"

[infomodder]

A thing that exists indeed, but not a thing that everyone is a good at. The hold between first name and last, the repetition of the deer's name—Will can't help but find him endearing more than anything else. In the spirit of fairness, he raises one hand to give Sven a wave, treating him like he's just a very quiet human friend instead of a reindeer. Clearly Kristoff likes him enough to be seen with him, it's not sporting if Will ignores him like he's not there at all.

"You did." Amused, but not at Kristoff's expense. He's been socially awkward before, he's probably been a bit awkward this whole time, there's no standing on pretense otherwise. "Nothing wrong with clarifying, though. It's not every day you get to see a reindeer up close and personal, at least not where I'm from."

Cautiously, because maybe these two don't want him closer and not because he's afraid of getting the sharp end of those antlers, Will takes a step forward with his hand slightly outstretched. A gesture similar to what he'd do with a dog he didn't personally know. Too bad he doesn't have any deer feed on him.

"He's not wild, is he?"

Seems a nicer way to ask than using words such as tame, friendly, or the worst: domesticated.

[malodorous]

Whenever Will draws close enough, Sven takes a half-step forward and cranes his neck to press his nose to the man's outstretched hand. There's some snuffling around the palm to the cuff of his shirt, as if the animal suspects there might be a treat hidden somewhere. When nothing turns up in the search, there's a seemingly unimpressed snort.

Kristoff thinks that Sven's actions answer the question well enough, but he still considers the technicalities of it. Ultimately, he's not completely sure where Sven comes from, but more that likely...

"I found him when I was little. He was by himself, too, but it's pretty likely he came from a controlled herd that passed through. There's always a few of 'em wandering around here and there, depending on the season."