TDM 005

[etrayamods]

⏵ arrival ⏴ Arrival goes as anticipated. Characters awaken in a sterile hospital bed in a clean, white room to the hum of machines under the unnatural lighting common to well-kept institutions. Every bit was designed to be comforting and calming, even with the jarring undercurrent of this situation. The first face they see is Aurora's: her smile appears to be warm, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She might offer a quick explanation, or leave characters to figure it out for themselves depending on their approach. The door to the room swings open, revealing a hallway that stretches out ahead of them. There’s noise from outside and strong pumpkin spice scents coming from the lobby. Ah, muffins and tea. Grab one and head into the crisp, sunny fall morning ahead. ⏵ potluck ⏴ Cutthroat Iron Etrayan Bake-Off As you step out of the arrival holding area into the main thoroughfare, the entire street has been turned into tents and chef stations to accommodate the activities of thirty people at once. There’s seats, trailers, and robots bustling about to make sure everyone is ready. A couple of cheerful robots in aprons and colorful sweaters approach and redirect you as you step towards the cooking area. There’s gas ranges, ovens, grills, blast chillers, mixers, and set walk-ins and pantries with just about every ingredient you can imagine. There are cameramen (also robots) patrolling the area to capture all your best moments and to broadcast them directly to your fellow citizens’ devices. Your instruction? “Make your signature dish. You have one hour, chef.” It can’t just be straightforward, can it? The land itself is held together with pure chaotic energy. If you’re lucky, all goes as planned. If you aren’t… well… Roll a Die 1 Your leg is now tied to another chef’s 2 Your meal is continually un-cooking itself. 3 All of your ingredients are pickled now 4 The longer you touch an ingredient, the bigger it gets. 5 Every time you lift your pot lid, a component changes. 6 The aromatics are glowing and flashing like LED lights. 7 Your knife has been replaced with a cheese grater. 8 The ingredients are now magnetically stuck together. 9 Your meal is becoming deep fried. 10 Kittens are multiplying out of the cupboard. * 11 All of your ingredients have become incredibly heavy. 12 Your cook pot moves burners whenever you turn around. 13 Eggs scream when you crack them 14 The kitchen has become incredibly slippery. 15 It’s soup now. 16 All utensils have been replaced with crustaceans. ** 17 Your knife has a mind of its own. Watch out! 18 Your fridge catches fire. 19 Your pasta is trying to escape. Go get it. 20 Any ingredient not in the pot starts to float away. * All kittens disappear at the end. ** These however, stay. ⏵ share a meal ⏴ As all the cooking concludes, you will be invited to plate your meal into one of many casserole dishes, regardless of what was made. A ladle will be tucked into the corner and placed on the table with a folded bit of cardstock declaring the chef’s name and the name of the dish. A helper camerabot will come around to each participant and ask for their thinking and their process. Even if you got away without having to cook, even looking towards the table of dishes will spur a helper bot to start making you a plate with one of everything. The helperbot will insist that it is rude to not at least try what their peers have made. In fact, if you are to fill out the score card for each person, you really must taste everything! The robots can’t try the food, so it’s up to you. The cards look like so. The grading system is opaque. Is it meant to be numbers? Stars? Letter grades? Well, you’re the judge. You figure it out. Chef: ___________ Dish:_____________ Judge:___________ Overall Rating:_______ Flavor Presentation Stackability Wet Originality Rizz ⏵ tummy ache survivor ⏴ No matter how well your compatriots cooked or baked their dishes, there are… factors. You see that carrot? It’s really just condensed chaos in the shape of a carrot. No matter how powerful you are, these particular ingredients may not mesh with your being. …And even if it is truly a carrot, do all the chefs know the proper cooking temperature of chicken? Even chickens are aliens to many. (Optional) Roll a Die 1 Tummy Ache. Go lay in bed. Complaining alleviates symptoms. 2 That plate of food has energized you. You feel compelled to race or spar. 3 The food has reminded you of home. You must tell someone a detail of your childhood. 4 That food was so horrible that it simply must be washed out somehow. Spicy peppers? Booze? Gravel??? You’re going to over do it. 5 You have now discovered your new favorite dish. Make them teach it to you or you’ll lose sleep over it. This is all you want to eat for the next week. 6 The oddity of the ingredients has transferred to you. You start floating away. 7 The range of food and textures have inspired you. Acquire an annoying new hobby or habit. 8 You are now haunted by the digital souls of chickens. ⏵ NOTES ⏴ Please direct all questions to our mod queries comment! ⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴

Comments

Will Graham | Hannibal (NBC) | Action or Prose I will match

[this_ismydesign]

[OOC: Given the triggering nature of Hannibal canon, I have a Permission Post that include a link to a screened Opt In/Opt Out. My default with Will is to stay away from his profiling info-modding skills, unless asked for by the other player. I also stay away from direct mention of any cannibal activities or murder stuff in general. Will does reserve the right to make bad puns/innuendos but nothing graphic, unless agreed upon by the other player

Finally, Will will not be outing Hannibal. He is from the cliff dive at the end of S3, so his morals are pretty grey at this point.]

I. Arrival:

This was not what he'd envisioned as he'd embraced Hannibal and taken them both over the edge of the cliff.

Regardless of being incredibly mildly disappointed in this fact, Will remained polite to Aurora as she explained his new situation. Even as she faded from view, Will couldn't completely convince himself that his interaction with her, not to mention his new surroundings, weren't the product of his own mind having finally gone completely feral. However, it seemed as if he was going to have to at least pretend this was his new reality; at least until it was proven otherwise.

First things first, he seriously needed to get cleaned up and attempt to find clean clothes. At clean shirt, at the very least. His wounds appeared to be healed, which was a bonus (and a nod towards this being a product of his imagination) but his clothing was ruined. The pants were dark enough that the blood was mostly camouflaged, but this shirt?

Yeah, that was a total loss.

So his other arrivals, or really anyone in the area, might find themselves coming across a small man, in a tattered blood soaked button down shirt, rummaging in various cupboards, looking for a set of hospital scrubs ... or at least a hospital gown.

II. Pot Luck:

Will did his absolutely damndest to avoid the happy robots, let alone the camerabots milling about. Alas, just when it appeared that he might escape, he was cornered and set in front of a stove.

He was not a cook. Unless you counted roasting a freshly caught fish over a campfire. He stared, looking markedly apathetic, at the wide range of beautiful ingredients. At some point, he gave a little huff of amusement at an inner thought. Hannibal would have a field day with the ingredients and the equipment. Don't worry, he kept that thought to himself.

Eventually, he decided to try to prepare a VEGETARIAN spaghetti. The sauce came together fairly easily, and while it simmered down, he began to cook the pasta.

Only. The pasta kept slipping out of his hands and running away from him? The first escapee noodle, Will just watched with a mix of bewilderment and resignation on his face. When the next group of noodles began to flee, Will sighed deeply and reached up to rub his thumb and index finger over his eyes.

"Very well," he muttered. He was speaking to himself, but they were so close together, other chefs might hear him. "Not the first time I've had to chase down my food."

Looking around, he grabbed a sheet of cheese cloth and began to shake it out. Looked like a good net to him. Time to wrangle some noodles!

III. Share a Meal:

All the cajoling, right up to the more direct attempts at manipulation by the 'bots, couldn't make Will try food from unknown personages.

"It is rude, not to at least sample some of these beautiful dishes" The helperbot insisted, for what felt like the 5th time.

Exhaling a deep breath, briefly looking as if he might be about to cave to the 'bots wheedling, Will pursed his lips, then his expression went flat.

"No."

And this time, he simply turned away from the 'bot, as it launched into another pitch, and headed ... well, truthfully he had no idea where he was headed, but it was definitely away from here.

IV - Wildcard: [OOC: Have an idea for a different prompt/scenario? Throw it at me! Sounds like fun!]

iii

[relished]

[the display of tents and pseudo-chefs is humorous after his dinner and Sam's very obvious network post meant to cast a heavy shadow in Hannibal's direction. it spread his intentions as an infection, but he hasn't received a punishment. Echo isn't involved, and Aurora is either too concerned with the current mission or turning a blind eye. possibly both. what Sam failed to do was include a photo, Hannibal's lack of presence on the network left most in the dark.

he's able to wander as he pleases, thanks to that. no one knows what Hannibal looks like aside from those who came to his dinner, and the planet is large enough that he goes unnoticed. not that he particularly cares, after his abrupt return home and then return to Etraya, as quick as a blink of his eye.

he doesn't expect to see the familiar outline of the man he'd just been with. the brown curls, his set expression as he turns the bot down. six months and a blip back to this planet would normally feel like nothing, but to Hannibal it's been too long. he watches first, seconds ticking away. he could be a hallucination, a trick. he's right there, just out of reach and just out of ear shot.

he moves intentionally. no caution or hesitancy, and he's slipping through people and stopping a few feet behind him. he won't chase, not now.]

Will.

[his name breaks into the air and is reminiscent of the teacup. he wants to measure his reaction, to see when, exactly, Will is from.]

[this_ismydesign]

[ Hannibal might be happy to know that Will had yet to encounter even a whisper of his (Hannibal's) recent dinner party shenanigans.

Actually, scratch that. This is Hannibal we're talking about. He'd probably enjoy the chance to show off his cleverness, and preen at his success. Not just the success of the party itself, but of having -for the moment- cleverly escaped the consequences of his actions.

The older man's voice was one that lived, almost permanently, in Will's mind. The monster, within Will himself, embraced the less than tasty urges that spilled through the door, which was now permanently open. The remain shreds of his humanity, just sighed and readied themselves for battle.

This whole cooking event was about chaotic energy? Echo should just plug an extension cord into Will's head, and feed off the chaotic energy of the ex-profiler's mind. It could prove enough power to maintain at least a dozen extra dimensions.

But enough of that.

For perhaps the first time since Will had identified Hannibal's identity as the Ripper, the younger man's shoulders did not tense in response to the apex predator's presence behind him. They didn't relax exactly, but to Hannibal's keen eyes, he might noticed that there was a settled resignation that was reflected from Will's body language. ]

Doctor Lecter. [ His voice maintained its soft spoken, sing song quality, expressing neither joy, nor trepidation at the discovery of the man behind him. But when Will turned, his expression mirrored the look in his eyes as he'd stood over the wounded Hannibal, sipping his wine and waiting for Dolarhyde to join them. That strange mix of affectionate resignation, combined with the 'I'm so very fascinated to stand here and watch you slowly die' darkness.

Sliding his hands in the front pockets of his blood stained trousers, he cocked his head slightly to the side, his patented sardonic smirk settling on his lips. ]

I'd say this suggests we're both in Hell, [ he continued in those same, soft tones ] only I don't believe the fallen angel Lucifer would want to deal with us both, at the same time. [ Making a show of studying the environment, his eyes made their way back to Hannibal's face. ] Thus, I suppose I must accept this as a living reality.

[ A discreet exploration of his own into what memories Hannibal carried. ]

[relished]

[Hannibal has no need for the veil anymore as he once did. His dinner allowed him that freedom. he expects a retaliation at some point, but the planet is currently taken over by another mission that will surely delay it.

Will's posture doesn't go unnoticed, nor does the blood on his clothing. he knows those stains, the spatter of Dolarhyde's flesh that they shared. some relief is there, hidden still beneath the sharp edges and expressions only as the light plays on his features. yes; the veil is gone, only to reveal the creature beneath it. the two of them will always be in an unusual tense game, however or wherever they stand.

only a singular step forward to close some distance between them, one hand into his own pants pocket - a reflection. he smiles, humor behind his eyes.]

If this were Hell, then I would be glad to have you with me. [the shared, inexplicable gaping maw of darkness that envelopes them. Will had changed him, but Hannibal had reached inside of Will and curled his fingers around the potential that he saw and tugged. his tone changes, too - a light fondness.] But it is not. We haven't met our end, not yet.

['we', because of Dolarhyde, because of Hannibal, because of Will.]

[this_ismydesign]

[ They wouldn't be them if they weren't dancing their dance. The game was what had brought them together, romantics might even call it their love language. It hadn't been until Will had said he was done with the game, walking away from it, that there had been the discord between them.

Two monsters, crying out for one another, even as Will ripped them apart.

As is Will's way, when his monster is closer to the surface than his humanity, his head slowly tilts first one way and then the other as he calmly assess Hannibal. Where, back in the beginning, Will would have retreated when Hannibal moved into his space, now he held his ground. In a way, that might have made sense only to the two of them, it was an incredibly intimate gesture. Even more intimate than had they grabbed one another and kissed. ]

Were we together, it certainly would have alleviated any risk of boredom. [ His voice remains soft, but there is a ... not a twinkle exactly, but a slide of something within his eyes. He was acknowledging a call back to when Hannibal had told him to 'think of me, Will' when life gets boring.

Will keeps his expression blank in response to Hannibal's latter words, too tired in general to try to interpret their meaning at this time. ]

Where would you rank this place, along the scale of the beautiful horror of Hell, to the placid tedium of Heaven? [ Yes. Big assumption on Will's part that Hannibal hasn't only just arrived himself, but he feels confident in his instincts.

Were Hannibal as new to this place as Will himself, he'd have the veil in place. Perhaps not as aggressively as he'd maintained it, back when they first met, but to a greater extent than what Will sees in the older man's eyes as he studies him now. ]

[relished]

[people brush past them, their minute interaction creating a bubble of space to be avoided automatically. Hannibal always has three trains of thought at once, and he's currently riding one in particular. subtle amusement in how he looks at him, eyes narrowing.]

It would.

[the mentions of heaven and hell could make him laugh. could. he clicks his tongue, momentarily breaking eye contact to look up at their faux-sky. he can appreciate the detail, however artificial. some may argue that no matter how artificial Etraya is, it still feels real enough. and if reality is based off of perception, then it's very real indeed.

still lingering on the curve of the open sky, he answers.]

Akin to limbo. An oblivion using us as a last resort. [his gaze lowers, scrutinizing.] There is no devil here, Will. Only man and the creature that keeps us here.

ii. Potluck

[levelshift]

Having unfortunately been placed in the cooking booth next to Will, Accelerator has his own problems he's stuck dealing with. For one, he doesn't cook. He's never learned, and never had any inclination towards it as a hobby. Why bother when you can afford to live off of cheap restaurants and takeout?

Needless to say, he isn't thrilled to be herded into a cooking competition by the companion bots. With no real desire to compete and definitely no 'signature dish' in mind, he figures he'll just half-ass it until the competition is over, and then lose. Perfect plan, no notes.

His first mistake was opening a cupboard to look for a rice cooker, because if his ex-legal guardian can do entire meals with one of those then he can manage to cook some rice. Simple enough, except as soon as he opens the door several kittens burst out, mewling excitedly.

And then several more.

And by the time a rogue spaghetti noodle makes its way over to his booth he's got a couple kittens in his free hand, and more rolling around at his feet. One of them even goes after the noodle, pouncing on it like its prey. More of them keep piling out of the cupboard, and start making their way towards Will's booth where there's more spaghetti to attack.

Accelerator can only stare, bewildered, the kittens he's holding meowing for attention. "What the fuck, are your noodles trying to escape?"

[this_ismydesign]

Depending upon how much of a damn Accelerator gave about the people on either side of him, he may or may not have noticed that -to this point- Will had been quiet and morose.

Not only had he been quiet and morose, but there was something about his face, and the way he carried his shoulders, to suggest that quiet and morose was Will's default setting.

He certainly hadn't tried to introduce himself to his neighbor, or ask any questions, despite the fact that his appearance, particularly the scrub top he'd rummaged up, suggested he was a new arrival. Will had been keeping himself to his own damn self, and making sure his go away vibes were as clear and distinct as a neon sign.

Then, his pasta began to escape and ... kittens??

Will was first, and foremost a dog person, but in general he was an animal lover. People could go get stuffed; sometimes literally. As he hunkered down on his heels, a smile broke across his face as he scooped up one of the kittens not currently engaged in chasing pasta. Lifting the little one up, Will booped its nose against his own, laughing when a small paw -complete with claws- pressed against his cheek and tried to push his face away.

Accelerator words penetrated Will's kitten fog, and he looked towards the man. There was no way to hide the way his expression went from KITTEN!! to, ew ... person, before slipping back to neutrality.

"What are you doing with all these kittens?"

His response was two fold. He was avoiding Accelerator's question because it sounded rhetorical. The man had eyes, surely he could see what the noodles were trying to do. Second, if Accelerator had nefarious intent towards these kittens, Will was about to come out of his crouch and attempt to beat the other man's face through the back of his skull.

Nothing personal. But it was safer not to harm, or even joke about harming innocent, and all animals were innocent, animals in Will's presence.

[levelshift]

Being forced into a social situation, especially one involving equipment that requires one's attention like the stove and knives, means Accelerator has been slightly more observant than usual. He noticed Will, was grateful that the guy made exactly zero attempts to say 'hello,' and proceeded to be just as antisocial as him. Peopleing is hard.

Thankfully, he isn't offended by the reaction he gets out of Will. Clearly the guy has an appreciation for animals over people, which is understandable. He personally prefers neither, but he's aware animals on the whole tend to be easier to manage compared to a fellow human being.

... In theory, anyways. Turns out when you have exactly zero experience with animals it's easy to get in over your head.

"I don't know, they keep coming out of the fucking cabinets. I think the robots put them in there," he answers exasperatedly, leaning more heavily on his crutch as he kittens he's holding start squirming. "What the hell am I supposed to do, keep them away from the fucking knives?"

In spite of his young age, Accelerator isn't reacting to the cats in a normal way a kid would. What little information he has on cats is that they're very finicky, especially when it comes to stuff like electromagnetic fields, and that they're independent. That's about it. Kittens are beyond him.

[this_ismydesign]

The fact that they young (teenager??) had kept himself to himself, had not gone unappreciated by Will. It was probably why the older man was being sociable, in his unique Will Graham way.

Reaching out his hands, he offers to take the squirming kittens from Accelerator, before anyone comes to grief.

"That would be a start," he agreed about the knives. "They appear engaged by the noodles, and given my lack of skill with the culinary arts, the noodles are no doubt better used as kitten toys, than as a food item."

Give him the kittens, Accelerator, and he'll fob them off on escapee noodles! Blah Blah, stones and birds.

"Is this," Will motions around at the stoves and cooking going on around them. "A usual activity around here?"

[levelshift]

Well, if he's offering --

Accelerator is happy to offload the kittens onto someone else more capable of dealing with them than he is, handing the two he's holding over very quickly. That still leaves the ones at his feet, but this is a good start.

From there he's going to try and start nudging the rest of the kittens towards Will's booth. Fortunately, it isn't hard to herd them in that direction thanks to the stray spaghetti noodles still wiggling around.

"Yeah," he replies, staring down at the cats and carefully trying not to step on any tails. "Sometimes. This is more ridiculous and less deadly, though, so I guess it's something of a break."

iii

[maoa]

Sam's been wary about food in party settings since the incident with the food trucks that had lead to her seeing hallucinations of her biological father. That in and of itself isn't anything unusual, but she'd been trying to keep herself from seeing them an having them back in full force after everything else that had happened lately, up to and including being brought here, had rattled her.

So she's stuck mostly to the back, a cup of cider in hand as she observes the people eating and any possible side effects. She's taking a sip when Will nearly clips her, but she steps aside just in time.

"Hey," she starts, but then she catches his expression and shifts from being annoyed to concerned. " - Wait, are you okay?"

[this_ismydesign]

Usually Will is more aware of his surroundings, particularly in regards to his personal space, and instinctively avoids physical contact.

But.

It has been a bit of a day, which has affected him more than he would ever admit.

He had been prepared to keep walking. No apology offered, not his way these days even if he had recognized her originally -rightfully- aggrieved tone. Had she continued in that vein, he would have just kept walking. But when her tone shifts, he stops and half turns back.

"Depends upon who you ask," he can't help the quipped line. It is delivered in a soft voice, that almost sounds like a gentle lullaby. There is a beat, during which he appears to give himself a mental shake, recognizing that his cryptic response is ruder than she deserves, he turns around the rest of the way to face her.

"I apologize," for which? The quip, or bumping into her? Probably both, but he'll let her decide which of his trespasses she'd like to apply it too. "I should have paid closer attention to here I was going. I was too focused on getting away from," he gesticulates to the helperbots, and the whole cooking chaos in general.

[maoa]

For whatever it's worth, the quip earns him a small smile. It's unexpected, given his tone and how rattled he'd seemed just a few moments ago, and she'd laugh if she weren't still concerned.

"It's okay," she responds, nodding her understanding. She glances back to where the bots are gathered, still trying to get others to rate the dishes on display. "I know they mean well, but they can be overwhelming, especially if you're new."

She's guessing he is.

[this_ismydesign]

Will doesn't exactly smile in return, but his lips drift upwards in a way that softens his eyes.

There is no way, or reason really, for him to deny that he's new. Will gives a small nod of his head to confirm her assessment. "I lost my watch," while he'd been busy murdering Dolarhyde. "But I started in that building," he motions towards the hospital, "and walked out to all of this."

Not that he's always been able to track the passage of time, even when he had his watch and was in his original reality. A fact he'll keep to himself. Especially as he's hoping that she may share how time passes, or at least how it is tracked in this reality.

[maoa]

Unfortunately for Will, Sam’s not sure how time is tracked in this place compared to where she’s from. She just knows she’s been here about a month by her own count of days (measured by her attempt to keep a calendar by tracking how many days she’s been here) and that she’d arrived around the time of Halloween, which she’d just been coming from. It feels like the standard 24/7 model she’s used to, but who knows how everyone else is measuring it?

“That kind of happened to me, only I walked out to a food truck fair.” Of sorts. “I don’t know if you’ve eaten anything yet but I’d avoid it until seeing how it affects others.”

Though she’s guessing that’s why he’d been trying to avoid the bots.

Arrival

[aimsforknees]

John is at the hospital to gather supplies for an "at home" medical kit. There's truly no telling what they'll run into here and it's important to be prepared. He's at the hospital in his usual black suit, white shirt with the top buttons undone, hair gelled just the way he likes; some things haven't changed despite his time in Etraya. That's when he spots someone going through cupboards in what is decidedly a bloody shirt. And pants. John has seen enough blood to spot it even on dark clothing. He hesitates for a moment before approaching. Part of him knows that it doesn't truly matter; despite what everyone (including Aurora) says, they're in direct competition, at least to some extent. He should be glad for someone to succumb to injuries indicated by that much blood. On the other... death isn't permanent here. And really— he wants to help people. At the end of the day. That's all he wants to do.

So he approaches, making sure he makes enough noise to be noticeable as he does it. Certainly he could be silent, surprise whoever this is— but he makes enough noise. Puts his feet down in just the right way, rustles the tote bag he's carrying. He makes sure to give the other person enough space when he gets close, no need to crowd.

"Hey, are you alright?" He's genuinely concerned and lets that show in his voice, just a little. Enough that it's noticeable.

[ ooc: feel free to profile the shit out of John! I'll try to provide you context but if you have any questions feel free to hmu at biowafers @ plurk/discord. also you can mention w/e in your tags with me! ]

[this_ismydesign]

[OOC: Thank you so much for this!!!! Same, if you have any questions or need me to edit something! My p!Plurk's are open to all, please don't hesitate to reach out!]

The good news is -and this is for both of them really- Will is in a relatively calm state of mind. In the past, when overwhelmed and uncertain, the smaller man was ready to fly off the handle with cutting, near cruel, sarcasm, and this could of ended the conversation before it even began.

But in recent days, even before Dolarhyde and the swan dive off the cliff, as Will had become more resigned his emotions were less volatile. Instead of immediately looking at Reese with suspicion, he paused his pawing through linens and blinked owlishly at the man.

Will tries not to profile people these days. He doesn't hide behind glasses, and his general avoidance of looking at someone's face is less a twitchy action, but it still isn't comfortable for him. Also, he'd been trying to shove that damn door closed for the past three years.

Damn you Jack Crawford.

In this instance, however, Reese is too hard a subject to ignore.

Despite the rustling, and Will silently thanks the dark suited stranger for that, the way Reese holds himself strongly suggests the noise had been deliberate. There is too much raw predator in the other man's body language, or perhaps Will has spent so many years masking his own predator, he's biased to that opinion.

Mob? No
Solider? In the beginning
FBI? Can't assume from Earth, but suit suggests twenty-first century earth. Suit is generic enough to be FBI, but physicality and tone are too disciplined.
Serial killer? - Heh. Eyes are too haunted, not dead enough.
Intelligence operative? Yes. More clandestine than FBI. CIA? MI-5? Russian? No, not Russian, too much pain from personal betrayal, in eyes for a double agent prepared to betray friends.

In a blink Will feels himself start to slip. Solider --> Clandestine organization --> duty/greater good --> Betrayed, disillusioned --> Self-employed? No .. not mercenary enough. Purpose...

But what sort of purpose, or anything beyond that, Will doesn't know enough to add to his mental, canvas, portrait of Suit Man. He sets the half-finished art up on a wall in his mind palace, to be revisited later. What he does recognize, is that the man's question comes from a genuine place, which helps Will relax. He is able to resist the urge towards a dry, sarcastic response, and offers a more genuine one instead.

"Define 'alright'?" His voice is soft, almost like a lullaby. Someone with Reese's training, and experience might identify that this unassuming, little man is more than he is trying to seem.

Will is at least self aware enough to pointedly look down at his shirt, and trousers, before giving Reese a tired -whatchagonnado- look; directly into dark eyes. "Wouldn't be truthful to say 'none of this is mine' but it seems this ..." he looks around the walls of the hallway they're in, "facility, has taken care of those wounds."

His eyes turn back to the cupboard, where he has come up empty. "Would have appreciated a fresh shirt, at least." Closing that door, Will does something that is almost unheard of for him. He turns towards Reese, and while he doesn't extend his hand, he offers his name.

"Will Graham, uhm .. new arrival, I suppose you'd say." His face is lifted up -damn Reese is tall- towards Reese's face, but now his eyes skirt off to the side, looking over the other man's shoulder, rather than directly at him. It's safer to, if not make friends exactly, try to maintain a civil footing with the other predators in a territory.

[ooc: Let me know if you'd like me to edit any of this!!]

[aimsforknees]

With a better angle, John can take in the state of Will's clothing better. It really, truly is a lot of blood. And the way he phrased "wouldn't be truthful" makes it seem like some of it isn't his. So then he was in a fight before coming here? Arrived injured and was taken care of in the hospital? Things to think about later. Just because someone appears unassuming doesn't mean anything in this place; for all he knows this Will has some sort of supernatural powers and doesn't need a weapon like the gun John keeps out of sight.

"I'm John. There's a clothing store not far away, they have almost anything you could want and it's all free. I'll show you the way and can answer any questions you have."

He's noted the way Will is avoiding eye contact, wonders if that's a nervous reaction. Certainly he'd paid close attention during his initial foray into the conversation. But John remembers his own arrival, his deep paranoia and suspicion of everyone he ran into. He can't exactly point fingers at anyone who does the same to him.

[this_ismydesign]

For what it's worth, most of Will's friends and colleagues would rather Will never use a gun again. He is a terrible shot. More and more, he relies on a plain edged Spyderco Harpy knife, like the one that is tucked in his pocket, or his bare hands if properly motivated.

His most lethal weapon, without a doubt, has always been his imagination. Whether a person wanted to label his 'pure empathy' a superpower; he'd leave to the individual to decide.

"Will." He responds, upon the prompting towards polite manners. "Graham." 'Keep trying Will'. His head bobs a little, as if an inner voice is prodding him to do better and, on the heels of a deep sigh, he clarifies. "Will Graham. My name is Will Graham."

'It's ...,' he glances at his watch, before realizing it's unlikely to align with the passage of time in this reality, 'and I'm ... nope, no clue where I am.

Two realizations that nudge him towards being more open to the idea of an escort, than he normally would have tolerated. He still takes a moment to accept that traveling with, this man -John- might help reassure any people they might encounter that there was no need to make a scene about the blood soaked fabric.

'So much for finding a dark hole to hide in until I process this.'

"I'd ..." sorry John, it takes Will a minute to decide on an appropriate word ..."appreciate that. I haven't had much luck finding anything around here. Which I should have anticipated since the only individual I've seen introduced herself as Aurora and appeared to be," 'a hallucination, a figment of my imagination', "incorporeal."

Nailed it!

[aimsforknees]

John can tell that Will is finding this difficult, in some way. It is difficult. John didn't take his arrival very well, and he didn't arrive soaked in blood. It must be whiplash for Will. Just on the other side of bloody combat (or even perhaps in the middle of it) one moment and then waking up to an AI the next. He finds himself sympathetic towards the other man, and patience in sympathy. He just waits until Will seems like he's completed his thought.

"Aurora is an AI, if you know what those are." John makes a little motion with his hand to indicate Will should follow him out of the hospital. "This way."

He makes sure his pace is comfortable, a little slower than how he prefers, both to accommodate Will's shorter stature and because he doesn't need to push him in what's already a difficult situation.

I (cw: cult shit)

[fortitudosalutis]

[ This place makes sense the way Carver assumes repeated head trauma and psychotic breaks make sense when you're in the middle of them, the wave crushing the human below and pulping the bones into fine sand. He breathes in deep and smells coffee and an astringent note of cleaning supplies. No rot, though. No decay. And then there was the projection, the woman who wasn't a woman calling herself Aurora.

Madness upon madness. But then again, he's had his head knocked in recently. He's got history upon history of head trauma if they're completely honest about it and a long relationship with bad dreams. This might just be the latest. A test from God, if he's going there.

He wanders through the space, touching nothing, speaking to no one. His own clothes are tattered blacks, a uniform repaired and stained and repaired again. Black to hide the blood, the rot, black to remember the ones they lost. Reapers never forget. He wonders if he's walking among ghosts - right up until he spots the familiar cast of dark, drying blood. And some tension uncoils in his chest.

This, at least, he knows. Even if the face belongs to a stranger.

Carver tilts his head one way, then the other. Doglike. ]

Who'd you gut?

[this_ismydesign]

[ Standing in the middle of a hallway, Will was trying to decide where he wanted to look next in his search for, at the very least, a clean shirt.

The stranger's voice is neither welcome, nor unwelcome, though Will's eyes narrow a little as he tries to determine if this individual is real, or another hallucination incorporeal entity. Like the one who had originally greeted him.

Taking in the tattered clothing hanging from the man's body, the scent of something dark in the air, Will comes down on the side of Carver being, flesh and blood. He won't say real because he hasn't decided what 'real' even means at the moment. ]

As small talk goes, [ he responds, in a very soft almost sing-song like voice ] I've heard worse conversational gambits.

[ Was that an answer to the question? Nope. Is he going to give Carver an answer to his question? Not definitively. If he's learned anything from Hannibal over the years, it is how to converse without ever admitting to anything. ]

[fortitudosalutis]

[ He smiles with his teeth, the way animals do, the way the mask hooked to his belt smiles. Sometimes, it's good to mirror, to remember an abstract concept and school your face into a new shape to match it. He had to practice that a lot as a young corporal. Shaw was always on him for showing too much emotion. The only useful thing for a soldier to show on their face, she used to say, with no small amount of bitterness, is anger, or nothing at all. Sergeant Shaw always knew best. It's not her fault he didn't listen.

No, Carver thinks. That's all on him. ]

Is that what we're doing?

[ Small talk. Maybe this really is a dream. Or Hell. That's okay, Carver thinks. Sometimes, he sees ghosts in his corners. Sometimes, he hears their voices. Is this really so different? ]

Small talk.

[ It comes out in a drawl, the syllables pulled apart like taffy. Carver spreads his hands out wide, motion to draw the eye because if a stranger's watching his hands, then by God they aren't watching the rest of him. And he might need to close the distance between them fast. He might just need to bash this man's head into the wall and beat his skull in with his sap gloves.

Maybe.

Hard to say. But this is how it generally goes, isn't it? Everyone's an enemy now, everyone but the chosen, and maybe this isn't a dream but it feels like penance for his sins; chief among them that he didn't kill Dixon before it all went wrong. ]

[this_ismydesign]

[ The threat display earns Carver an upwards twitch of Will's eyebrows. The man is giving off serious Matthew Brown energy, and Will feels the stirring of his monster wanting to come out and play. That monster moves behind his eyes for just a flash before he reins it back.

This was neither the time, nor the place. ]

I am looking for a clean shirt. You're the one ... [ and now it's Will's turn to tilt his head from side to side, imitating Winston. With the monster tucked back in its box, Will's imagination is itching to take the wheel. He quickly drops his gaze away from Carver before the inevitable starts to happen.

Something tells Will he'd like to stay out of this man's head. ]

I did not see anyone else in the room with me. [ The words are a statement, laced with a question. Like a subtle spice, enhancing the flavor of the main course. An invitation that Carver can take, to talk about whether he's also just arrived, or ignore. ]