maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

It's a little like running into a brick wall, only it's a brick wall wearing a t-shirt and a light jacket, one big hand coming up to her shoulder to steady her. The pitbull at his side balks back a few steps, claws skittering against the pavement, but Frank holds his leash tight, out at arm's length.

"Woah, hey--" His voice is gentler than the rest of him. "It's alright. You okay?"

He steals a glance over her, then back toward the house she came out of, in case there's anyone coming out after her.

Abigail looks up at him once she had cleared the tears from her eyes. "I don't know." She answers. It may have been the most honest thing she'd said to anyone, other than Hannibal, in about a year. "I'm not hurt or anything." She adds quickly.

She notices the way he looks to the house and can easily guess at what he's thinking. She had to spend most of her life in fear of her father and other threats. If their situations were reversed, she would have run away.

"There's no one chasing me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle your dog."

"It's alright. He'll settle." The dog in question lets out a half-hearted woof like he'd forgotten to bark the moment before but doesn't want that reflecting poorly on his watchdog reputation. Frank doesn't seem concerned about the animal, though, and the dog follows that cue, setting to investigate the stranger's shoes instead.

"Rough day?" he asks, his refocused on her. She's not hurt and she's not in danger, and he's relieved for that, but that's clearly not all that's going on.

Abigail glanced down at her shoes, wondering if the dog was picking on the same scents she was, with her now super powered nose. It was the smell of new shoes. Before they'd sent her off in a taxi to this new home, she'd been given new clothes and a chance to freshen up. She figured they didn't want her walking around drenched in blood.

"The worst day ever." Abigail replied with a nod. "I shouldn't be here." She shouldn't even be alive. It was difficult to shake the feeling that Hannibal, or someone else, would come along to kill her again.

Frank's brow knits a touch. "Here on this block or here in this universe?"

Given the kind of housing she's coming out of, it's not much of a stretch to guess she's an imPort. Something in her tone worries him a little more than that, though.

"Here in this universe. Or anywhere at all." Abigail answered. The only places for her left were Hannibal's memory palace and an urn next to wherever her mother's ashes had been kept. Or maybe the FBI would have kept her body as they had done with her dad. Either way, she was meant to be dead.

That's what he was afraid of, that sort of fatalism in her words. It's something he's thought more than once since he'd held pieces of his family in his arms and saw the muzzle flash at his own temple, That should have been it. Done. Finished. Any life he had left after that was just the waiting room before death's door.

"Yeah." But it's one thing to accept his own death wish, and another to encourage a teenager girl's. "Thing is, you are here. No two ways about it," he says, the rhythm of his voice even, and a little apologetic. "So, what do you want to with it?"

Abigail looked at him with genuine confusion. "What..what do I want to do?" She repeated. It made no sense to her. She didn't get to choose. She never had a choice. There had been her father, the hospital staff and Hannibal to control her actions, even her thoughts. She'd been condition to be completely dependent. The idea of being on her own was almost as terrifying as the hell she'd already been through.

"I don't know." She said; she wasn't sure how to go on after what happened in Hannibal's kitchen. She'd wanted things once, an education, a career and a life of her own. But for the past year, the only dream she'd been allowed was Hannibal's dream of a family and a life on the run with him and Will. That would never happen now. She was supposed to have died with that dream. "I can't do anything."

"No offense, but that sounds like some Grade-A bullshit to me." He shrugs lightly, not unkind.

"Look, I don't know your situation, but the only thing all of us can't do is go back home. Anything else is a gonna be a choice."

"And that's just it. I've never had a choice before." Abigail shakes her head. She'd dreamed of freedom once, but even that had been conditioned out of her. She was supposed to want what her father and then Hannibal wanted. She even went to him when she knew he would kill her. Making a choice, having free will, even simply thinking for herself? It all seems impossible now.

Spotting Abigail Hobbs at the shop while business was dead in the water wasn't unusual. This time, however, there was no too-quick blink-and-miss-her flash of appearance. There was no odd light around her, no darkness, no bloody side of her face. There was nothing that he might have seen to signal her as memory, as ghost. That shocked him in his seat, really got his attention, had him watching after her with the color rapidly draining from his face.

The stool collapsed when he put two and two together, Will Graham leaving it behind to haul ass out the door. He didn't bother swapping the open/close sign. Nearly ran into the damn thing, of course he didn't bother with it.

"Abigail!"

His voice cracked. Hopefully she'd recognize it as hope, not anger.

Abigail had sped up her pace when she heard someone rushing out of the store. She stopped in her tracks when she heard the familiar voice calling her name. Could it really be Will? Had he died that night and been brought back to life in this place too? She turned around slowly and faced him, confusion evident on her face.

"Will?" She asked and looked down at his shirt, almost expecting to see blood soaking through it. "You..you're not..are you okay?" She asked, trying to make sense of them both being alive and unharmed. Her thoughts went to Hannibal. He had been such a powerful figure in her life; the only person she'd contact with for so long. If they were there, it felt like he had to be there too. "Is he here?"

Abigail was here, she was right there, and that filled him with enough selfish joy to help counter the soul-crushing realization she didn't remember. Her life here, the room she'd left Will hadn't touched since—if she was asking after his health...at least that provided balance. As did Hannibal, in a way.

"Hannibal? No. He's not here, and I'm okay." Physically anyway. Will took a step forward, inviting closeness instead of demanding it. She didn't have to come to him unless she wanted to. "It's just you and me. Is that all right?"

And Chilton, but that's for later. Now is not really the time.

Abigail stared at him blankly. It felt as if nothing would ever be alright. The one person she had trusted had cut her throat just as her father had done. And he had hurt Will too, probably just as deeply. Maybe more.

"I don't know about alright. At least we're not dead." She said after a moment. They could find ways to live with what Hannibal had done. She always found ways to live with the things that happened to her. "Not anymore."

She looked past him nervously, almost expecting Hannibal to walk up and the miserable night to repeat itself. "He's really not here?"

That's what they all had to do. Those who survived him, anyway. It was never a matter of living with him, but living with the lasting effects. The damage done. And there was a lot of that damage, especially Abigail. Will knew that even before he followed her look over his shoulder. He looks at passersby down the sidewalk and fights off a frown. She doesn't need to see him frowning. Not after...

"If he is, it's news to me."

He steps forward again, his smile more heartbreaking than any frown. A genuinely happy thing but in the saddest way.

"Like you being here is news to me. Good news."

Abigail stayed put, not wanting to move closer or further away. She needed to sort out how she felt about all of this. She should be relieved that Hannibal wasn't there to hurt them, but there was a strange sense of loss. It was difficult to read the smile on Will's face. Maybe he felt the same way.

"Why?" She asked. She knew Hannibal had framed him and she had stayed hidden. She thought she'd killed Alana that night and he'd still tried to stop her from bleeding out. "Why is it good news? Why did you try to save me? You should think I'm a monster, tainted by my dad and him."

"I don't put much stock in what I should or shouldn't think. Never have."

Casually spoken, hands stuffed into his pants pockets. His whole at ease posture is sort of ruined by stiff shoulders, the way it seems so fake even as he tries his best to keep up the appearance. For Abigail's sake, he couldn't care less about anyone moving by. But still, privacy is important. A sense of safety and security away from the eyes of those who might pass judgment.

"Wanna go inside?" He gestures to the shop with a tilt of his head. "S'got...air conditioning."

Smooth, very smooth.

Abigail gave a small nod; that had been clear from the moment she realized he had found her dad by thinking like him. He should put stock into it though. If he had kept from taking on her father's point of view, he would have had a much simpler life. Of course, he never would have found her dad and when her dad eventually killed her, there would have been no one to save her.

Abigail looked over at the shop. It looked safer than standing on the street. And safety was foremost in her mind now. "Okay." She agreed.

Will holds the door for her, flipping the sign from OPEN to CLOSED after she steps in. Hook, Line, & Tinker is full of everything necessary for fishing and a mustached dog stepping out from behind the counter with perked up ears. He's quick to trot over to Abigail, snout first, the very friendly fellow seeking hands or knees or shoes to sniff.

"That's Gunther." Will moves to the phone and promptly pulls out the cord hooking it to the wall. He is not having a single interruption right now, nothing short of an emergency would get his focus off Abigail. "You thirsty? Got some drinks in the back room if you...want anything."

He is not the best host in the world, but he tries.

"You're closing the shop? Can we do that?" Abigail asks, wondering if he'll even know what's allowed. Will can't have been there that much longer than her. He'd been back in Hannibal's kitchen trying to save her, not that long ago. She doesn't want to do anything to get herself in trouble and risk being sent back to being dead. "And the phone?"

Abigail give a faint smile, glad she hasn't startled another dog and holds out her hand to him to sniff. "Hi there, Gunther. Can I pet him?" The question is for Will, but her eyes are still on Gunther. She's never had a pet and hadn't spent much time around them. Her father wouldn't let her, and after that there'd been the hospital and life in hiding with Hannibal.

"I'd like some juice, if you have it." Abigail says and quickly adds. "Please." Hannibal would never let her forgot her manners.

"'Course. It's my shop."

Zzzz, the blinds to one window go down in a free fall, loud and zipping to cover the outside. He doesn't go for the other set, the big window, doesn't want to make it feel stifling and too close. He doesn't want to risk scaring Abigail. That had never been his intention.

"And sure, but be careful. He'll have you down on the floor rubbing his belly if you aren't."

He points to the dog, ignoring Will's presence in favor of Abigail. Familiar scent, but she doesn't know him, so what does that mean? New friends, and he is all about new friends. So much so he's ignoring his old friend, headed to the back to fetch some juice. Thankfully there's a fresh batch of orange juice and plastic cups. Otherwise he'd have concerns about dropping one and shattering glass all over the place, and neither of them needed reminders of anything or anyone breaking apart so completely.

He returns with one of those plastic cups, bright colors with bug-eyed fish like one associates more with young children, and extends it to Abigail with the fondest smile he has. If her fingers touch his, even just a little, that's proof this is real, isn't it? That's proof he's not having a very, very vivid daydream.

"It's your shop? How-Oh, yeah. They said they gave me a job too, at an art shop."

Abigail is actually looking forward to being out in the world and being productive. And living with Hannibal had taught her to appreciate art. She thinks she might be good at her job. Even so, watching the blinds close over the window feels familiar and comfortable after so much time spent in hiding. She will not mind if he covers the larger window as well.

"Did they give you Gunther?"

Abigail crouches down a little, to be on the dog's level and scratches behind his ears. "Hey there, you're a good boy, aren't you?" She strokes her hand over his fur gently.

She straightens up when Will returns with the juice and takes it from him carefully. The talk of shattered tea cups is still fresh in her mind, though she didn't completely understand it. She just knew it meant Hannibal would kill her.

"Thank you." She says and takes a sip.

Gunther is 1000% a good boy, and he is more than prepared to show off how good of a boy he is if it means Abigail shows him some love. So he doesn't try to slobber all over her face or anything obscene; her fingers get some appreciative licks and that's about it. He knows that going overboard is not something everyone enjoys. Better to play it safe at first. Which is exactly what Will is trying to do, leaving his hand on that cup a moment longer than necessary just to feel fingertips. Something real. Evidence.

"You're welcome." Low, politeness returned. "No, I found Gunther. And a few others."

A few, he says. It's not a few to anyone except Will.

"It's a lot to take in, showing up here. I know. It was a lot for me, too. But you're not alone."

Wait. That might be aggressive.

"You don't...you don't have to be alone."

Abigail holds the cup with one hand and gave Gunther a few more scratches behind the ears with her other hand. She watches Will, feeling as if she's waiting for some other shoe to drop and then she glances around the shop.

"Others? Where are they? How did you find them so fast? Did they make you a dog magnet or something?"

She knows they've done something to her. Things smell differently now. And there were mentions of other changes in the file she'd been given. Of all the superpowers, being a dog whisperer sounds like it might be the best. It actually seems fun.

"I don't want to be alone. I never wanted to be alone."

She looks at Will again, wondering if he can understand her fear of being alone in a jail cell with her guilt and the nightmares. She wonders if he'd see the appeal of what Hannibal offered her, a family, and what that meant to her. She can't bring herself to apologize for her role in framing him. Maybe he'll understand.

He opens his mouth, wanting to answer. Trying to find the perfect way to phrase it. Then he closes it. Apparently he hadn't found the proper way to say things, or just had no idea what to say. But he had to break the relative distance between them, help ease the potential blow.

Will reaches out for the cup first, then her hand. The counter's edge isn't a proper seat but it'll do in case she feels light on her feet and that's exactly where he leads her. A short distance, shorter when the dog gets out of their way, and Will doesn't shy away from keeping that contact. She doesn't want to be alone, he won't let her feel that way. She might notice a wedding band he certainly wasn't wearing when his hand was fumbling at her slippery bloody neck...

"This world's...different. Before we get into that, Abigail, what's the last thing that you remember? From home. Him leaving us in the kitchen?"

He left us to die.

She doesn't need to apologize. Will is the one who's always felt he needed to apologize. If he'd been more together, if he'd taken care of himself, if he'd seen through Hannibal sooner, if he'd listened better, if he'd done a more thorough job of the whole set up, if he'd thrown any silly morality to the wind and agreed to actually leave with Hannibal, if he'd just stopped lying, her fate might have been avoided. Of course, he knew Hannibal was the only one to blame there, but guilt had a funny way of flying in the face of logic.

His voice stays strong and concerned but he looks ready to start spilling those apologies anyway.

Abigail worries she has made a mistake by bringing up the way this place changes people. She braces herself to hear about something they'd done to him when he arrived there. His question is even worse than what she expects to hear. It makes her stare down at the ground, with tears building in her eyes as she thinks back to her final moments. She remembers all of it; the look in Hannibal eye's when he called her to him, Will begging him not to do it, the pain of the knife across her throat, Will's red stained palms moving off of her neck and taking all of her hope with them, and finally her life slipping away.

"I remember dying." She answers and sets her glass down on the counter with a shaky hand.

She manages to look up at Will after a moment. The tears spill down her cheeks and she wipes at them with her hand. She knows she can't bury her face in his shirt and cling onto him. She thinks she shouldn't expect him to hug her close and comfort her the way Hannibal had each time she broken down crying in the past. Instead, she moves closer and simply leans on Will.

He puts an arm around her shoulders, at first keeping things almost cold. Too cold, considering the fact he's fighting back a couple of tears himself. Then the only response is to wrap his other arm around her, to let what she knows change. Yes, she can bury her face in his shirt and cling to him if she wants. No, she doesn't have to if she doesn't want to. But she can. He's not Hannibal, after all. He's not going to find a way to get her to do as he so thinks she must and still slaughter her like nothing more than a particularly clever pig if he feels the urge. If he wants to make a point.

"I remember you dying," he says after a few moments, but the crack in his voice still comes through. "I didn't...I didn't know."

That she was still alive. That Hannibal had her. Whatever Hannibal had fed her about the world outside, Will wasn't aware at the time. He hadn't said no to both of them with his actions that night. If he'd known her life was on the line as well...a little less lying would have gone on.

Abigail takes the arm around her as an invitation and rests her head against him gently. As the other arm moves around her, she puts both her arms around him as well, holding him in a hug. She tries to find some sense of security there, even though Hannibal's actions had left her feeling as if nothing would ever be safe again.

"It was supposed to be a surprise. We were going to be a family and look after each other." She tells him. Hannibal's promises are still so fresh in her mind. There had been hope in her life, until those last moments. It was why she had done everything Hannibal wanted her to do. "He said I'd have a new life and that he'd protect me."

At least with her father, she'd always known he wanted to kill her. With Hannibal she hadn't known until the moment he stabbed Will, that none of those promises were real. It had broken her heart after all the planning they'd done for a future together.

"I didn't want to die. I knew you were trying to save me. I tried to..." Her words stop as she begins to sob. She feels as if she's done something wrong to deserve what her father and Hannibal had done to her. And as if she failed Will too, by dying.

He hopes he can offer that sense of security. If not, at least he's steady, very much solid and real, one hand gently moving over her hair and down her back as he listens. Later, they can talk about her presence before. They'll have to. He's got almost a damn shrine of her back home. Now isn't the time for that, though. Grief comes first. Seems to be a common thread with Baltimore, always losing and mourning for someone or something.

"Well, he isn't here." Will says calmly after some time, enough for Abigail to have had some room and space to let her tears flow and hopefully realize that he isn't mad, that he is a safe harbor. "But I am. S'a new life. We can be a family and look after each other here. If you want to."

Will wants to, but Abigail's had enough decisions made for her. Not going to continue that tradition. He is the less awful dad, after all. Hopefully he doesn't have to verbalize the fact he's willing to go to extremes to protect her.

Abigail keeps clinging to him tightly as she cries. His presence, especially the hand soothing through her hair, is a comfort, reminding her of times when she let herself feel safe. The idea of letting go is terrifying, as if he'll disappear the moment she lessens her grip. Or worse, he'll remember that she's a monster and tell her to leave.

As the tears began to slow down, she manages to lift her head and look up at him. It's tempting to simply agree to be a family with him and let him become another parental figure. She wonders if she can trust him to keep her safe from the past. It's dangerous. She knows she's tainted by everything she's done. She could damage him, not in the way she did Alana, but in the same way her very existence drove her father crazy, or the way she changed Hannibal.

"What about what you want?" She asks. "I don't want to wreck you too. I ruin everything."

Will pulls back just enough to see, give them a little space without loosening his arms. His eyebrows lift, surprise slight but still there. He's not about to tell her to leave. There are a variety of monsters in the great wide world, and whatever sort Abigail might think of herself as, well. She's a welcome monster when it comes to Will Graham.

"You won't." He's certain of that. He's already been put through the grinder in all but one sense of the word. Abigail might drive his hair to gray quicker, but she's not going to destroy him. "I wouldn't, I wouldn't put it out there if I didn't want that, too. But you can take your time to think about it. They always give you a place to stay when you first get here."

Abigail looks up into his eyes, trying to decide how much she can trust his words. She knows he had thought like her father once; it was how he found him. She doesn't want to be the one to nudge him over the edge into insanity in this strange, new place. He had already seemed crazy that day he took her to her father's cabin. But he is also the one that tried to save her. The only one who was there for her at the end.

"They did give me a house, with roommates. I haven't met them yet." Abigail says and lets go of him to wipe her face. She doesn't want to rush anything or risk angering the people in charge of this new world. It was all so new. "We can look after each other even if we live in separate houses, right? Maybe you can come with me when I go places, at least until I get used to being able to be outside in public again." She pauses and then asks. "Will? How do you know what they always do? How do you have a store and dogs already?"

Gunther quietly walks over to plop down near Abigail's feet. He is now a furry buffer between her and anyone who'd dare walk in a closed shop. Will internally debates reaching under the counter to get some tissues, unconcerned with the idea of being driven over the edge. He opts for that, too, and is glad for it when the questions hit. To be expect, really. But he appreciates having a moment or two to get his face under control and neutral without Abigail being able to see it.

"Because..." He takes a moment, holding the box of tissue loosely between them. She can take one, or the box, or ignore it entirely. "I've been here for a while. I have the shop, a house, dogs. A wife."

Casually tacks that on at the end. Maybe it's not overwhelming that way.

"What?" Abigail tries to make sense of what he's saying. He was there with her, in Hannibal's kitchen. She takes a couple of tissues and cleans her face. Her eyes travel down to hands again, noting his ring, and than back up to his face.

"How..how long was I dead?" She asks. It must have been a long time, maybe years if he's married.

The thought brings ugly pictures to her mind, and she blinks rapidly, forcing back more tears. She thinks of her dead body, next to Will's body, being taken away from Hannibal's kitchen. She remembers how much she wanted to leave that night and it would have been in a body bag, instead of a plane ride to a new life. She imagines the FBI using her body for evidence, as they did with her father and then her body being cremated like her mother. Her ashes had probably been left wherever they put paupers, until she had been resurrected in this strange place.

What a depressing question. More depressing is the thought after, that it's not the worst anyone from Baltimore could ask. Just the worst for Will, personally, considering the source and the context. He can't bother to fake a smile. Doesn't seem like a good point to. Instead, he pats her hand and keeps a gentle, comforting hold.

"Too long." A single second of death had been too long for Abigail Hobbs, in Will's mind. He'd tucked her away in his imagination for an oceanic trip to track Hannibal Lecter down, he hadn't been ready to accept it until he absolutely had to. "Time's not the same here as it where we come from. Where any of us come from. Kinda hard to explain. You'll see for yourself."

Abigail would have wondered if anyone had mourned for her. One look at Will's face seemed to answer that question. It was another reminder that she had placed all her trust and hope in the wrong person before. She gently squeezed Will's hand when he held it. It still didn't seem right for him to care about her, but she wouldn't throw it away this time.

"I'm scared to see any of it for myself. I wouldn't even know how to get by in the real world anymore, let alone this weird place." Abigail admitted. She had spent so much time hidden away from everyone but Hannibal. She had come to depend on him for everything. It was almost as scary to be away from him as it would be to have him there. "How can I have a life now?"

Will frowns, thinking over a proper answer to her question. After a few seconds, he decides there isn't one. Not a verbal answer, at any rate. Taking action? Yes. That was much better. So he pushes off the counter to pull a dog leash out from underneath the register, which causes Gunther to jump up immediately. He knows what's up. Will keeps a close space to Abigail the whole time, clasping leash to collar and pulling out a ring of keys before he straightens up and raises his eyebrows at Abigail.

"We'll find out." He gestures to the door. He has a wallet. There are restaurants and stores nearby. They can start small. Ordering a meal, ice cream, something. Walking around for a half hour and checking out a few items. Anything is a start. Sitting around is not. "You and me. Together."

Maybe a new scarf?

Abigail reaches down to pat Gunther's head when he stands up. He is clearly a dog that likes people, staying by her side and watching them closely enough to see Will get the leash. Her gaze travels to the door when Will gestures to it. The idea of going back out into the new world is both exciting and daunting. She likes the freedom, but the only person she trusts now is Will. The fact that he tried to save her is the only thing she's certain about. The world outside the shop is full of other people, which means danger to her now.

Abigail nods. "Together." She takes small steps to the door. "You'll stay close, right?" She's tempted to hold onto his hand, and use him as a lifeline to keep her from being dragged back to that other world where she died.

If she wanted it, he wouldn't deny her. Couldn't deny her. All those years without her left him rather starved, despite the fact he'd "sent her off" more or less. Despite the fact he was the one of the few still around who could and would tend to her grave. Keeping hold of her hand would be an honor, not a burden.

"Right." He smiles, opening the door so she can head out first. Then it's just a matter of turning the main lights off, locking it behind them, and heading down to...wherever. He didn't have a plan past baby steps and making sure close is just what he stayed.

"Thank you." Abigail says and steps outside. This new world is slightly less scary, knowing that Will is there. She takes a good look around, paying special attention to the people walking by. No one reacts with horror, tries to take her picture, or even notices her. It's as if she can be an ordinary girl.

Abigail doesn't go far from the shop, making sure Will joins her. With her newly enhanced sense of smell, she can picks on on a nice scent, that reminds her of cinnamon and vanilla. It might be a bakery with fresh treats. "Should we go this way?" She asks, gesturing in the direction of the scent.

She gestures and Will looks, nostrils flaring so he can take a subtle sniff of his own. That sugary, cozy scent is nearly overwhelming when he does—is it possible they have some matching skills in this new world? Curious. Fitting, and curious. He looks at her and nods, saving that question for later. Gunther is just happy to be included.

"Sure. Couple nice places over that way. Sub shop, little coffee shop, a bakery. I don't get down this way as much as I should, there's gotta be more."

A wrong he'll right if Abigail proves to like wherever they're headed. By God he will fix it. He will pick her up fresh treats every day if she wants him to.

Abigail watches Will closely, seeing something familiar. She wonders if this place changed him, or if he had been trained by Hannibal to recognize scents. Whether it was an enhanced sense of smell, or strange 'therapy' sessions, it would be something they'd have in common. Maybe Hannibal had given him a desire for family too. It might explain everything he'd done for her.

"I thought I smelled a bakery." She comments, looking at him for a moment to see his reaction. She then takes a few steps in the right direction, but never moves too far from him and Gunther.

He catches that look when he returns it, and his smile is one of those slow, genuinely happy things. He doesn't know about therapy sessions with Dad's corpse and familial smells. He can't. Even if Hannibal offered, he wouldn't want to hear it. Just more rubbing in that he got more time with her than Will and it's Will's fault for all that.

"Me too." No point in hiding new skills, especially not something that can straddle the line of useful and useless. "That what you have now? A better sense of smell?"

He's pleased by the idea, something shared between Abigail and he that isn't painful.

Abigail gives a smile and a small nod when Will confirms her guess. "Yeah. The file they gave me mentioned the new sense of smell and a couple of other things." All of her new powers had been reminders of Hannibal in one way, or another. That could change now. The sense of smell could be a connection to Will and her new life instead.

"The smell's the only power I've used." She hasn't been there long enough to find the tools she needs for the other skill sets. She isn't sure if she can even find a harpsichord, let alone convince her roommates to let her put one in the house.