riverviewlogs | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

who: Will Graham & Open prompts
what: Taget Practice | Class on Monsters | Floor 1 in the dead of night.
when: The month of September
where: Various locations
warnings: Will's mental instability?

A - Target Practice

[ At some safe target range within the city walls ~~perhaps near the Perimeter Guard barracks~~ Will was attempting to practice on the pointers he'd gotten from Beverly, and more recently James. He was in his Weaver stance, the Sig Sauer settled in his two handed grip as he muttered softly to himself. ]

Relax the elbow to absorb the recoil ...

[ And ... bam bam bam. He fired off three shots. The first struck the target, center mass but the other two spread wide; evidence that he hadn't been able to absorb and adjust for the recoil.

Exhaling a frustrated breath, Will dropped his head and tried to ignore the way his overly long curls fell into his face. He may have muttered a curse before lowering the Sig Sauer and setting the safety. Staring at the target for a long minute, he set down the handgun and reached for a shot gun that he'd picked up somewhere.

Expertly racking the cartridges, he lifted it to his shoulder and unloaded two shots back to back into the targets, obliterating the cardboard into confetti. Will smiled -in a vaguely unsettling manner- and lowered the weapon, cracking it open to secure it. ]

There we go. I'll just walk around with this shoved in my waistband. [ The bite of sarcasm was high. ]

B - Perimeter Guard Barracks: Will's Classroom

[ As he'd discussed back in the beginning, Will had finally put together enough material to start holding a class on monsters.

He had some details on the monsters known to the immediate area and gave tutorials on what was known about their habits, habitats and what was effective against them in order to keep one from becoming lunch. But he also spoke to what it meant to be a monster.

Yes it was a bit of psychology sneaking in. He couldn't help it. Too many years teaching about the psychologically challenging monsters he hunted back home.

Despite his general aversion to anything resembling socialization, he wasn't a bad lecturer. Will made sure to give his voice lifts and drops, rather than simply droning on and on. He used visual aids and most importantly, he asked questions. They weren't always intended to be answered in the lecture, but rather to help his listeners start thinking through their own scenarios.

Today's lecture was about understanding monsters vs simply killing on sight. ]

I'd like you all to take a moment and try to put yourself in their perspective. Look inside yourself, think about who you are and what sort of monster you would be. How do you imagine you'd be perceived from the outside? How do you feel your actions, for survival, would be perceived by those who didn't understand your design?

C - Floor 1 Communal Housing

[ Will was close to being in a position to move out, but he hadn't yet bothered to pursue it with any serious intent. He was barely around as it was and so far the other people on his floor seemed as often absent as around so there was no rush.

Of course it helped that he didn't spend a lot of time sleeping. This night (or early morning, however you wanted to mark time) was no different.

Nightmares had woken Will up. They were old friends in so many ways, but still disturbing and he was fairly certain if anyone else was on the floor and trying to sleep, they didn't need him screaming down the walls; again. So he'd gone ahead and gotten up, taken a shower and gotten into dry clothes, before taking himself out to the common area to make some coffee.

Coffee in hand, he walked over to one of the walls. It was a spot that was out of the way and sheltered by some chairs. Sitting down, cross-legged, Will sipped his coffee and then reached into his pocket for the pencil he had stashed there. Taking a small knife out of his other pocket he carved down the point on the pencil until satisfied and then set the knife down on the floor next to the coffee mug.

Leaning forward, he began to sketch lightly on the bland, industrial off-ivory colored wall.

This was not the first time he'd done this, he had an eraser at the ready and would scrub out his marks just after sunrise, before he set off to start his day. But now, in these silent hours of true dark, he could be caught sketching nightmareish images in loving detail. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Ronan wondered when this would happen again. It seems now is the night. He's learned through trial and error to keep his footsteps light and it's worth the effort. He stops as he enters the common area.

Unlike Will, he expected to return to bed, so he's only half dressed. Ronan has nightmares as well and the last one left his shirt drenched and his mouth parched. Without his shirt, the tattoo that covers his back is visible to all but only so long as they view him from behind. It too is covered in the images of nightmares-- his nightmares. The differences between it and Will's art strikes him.

He leans against one of the untouched walls and folds his arms over his chest.]

Does it count as vandalism if you live here?

[ Will twitched when Ronan spoke, the soft-footed approach having definitely caught him unawares. Didn't hurt that mentally speaking he'd been far away on a bit of an emotional walk about.

He didn't snap, like some people who were caught doing something personal might have done, didn't go on the defensive as if he were doing anything wrong. Instead, he paused in his sketching, and glanced over his shoulder confirming the face with the familiar voice. ]

Only if I keep us all from getting our security deposit back, but I suspect the fire from a few weeks ago probably took care of that.

Yeah, we're all fucked there.

[Ronan remains against the wall. He moves one foot to press against it, ready to push off at a moment's notice.]

Gotta admit, I didn't peg you as the crazy artist type.

[In spite of the words, his tone carries no judgment. As usual, he's just smugly rude.]

Artist might be a bit of a stretch. [ Will remarked wryly, only too well aware that he was nowhere near Hannibal's skill in that department.

But he leans back, exposing what he's working on so Ronan can see it more clearly if he wishes. It's never going to hang in any art museum but it wouldn't shame a police sketch artist.

However it is incredible grotesque. A totem pole made out of human corpses in varying stages of decay. From fully skeletal at the bottom to, uhm more fresh at the top.]

I should probably refute the 'crazy' part but uhm ... [ he just motions to what he's sketching. ] Occupational hazard.

[To think, people are (were?) intimidated by the claws, thorns, and vines emerging from screaming faces on Ronan's back. Now this art unsettles even Ronan. It takes a moment to realize why exactly. He knows better than to judge a mind for its subconscious. No, he suspects the reason is the kind of knowledge required to represent the stages of death.

After their last real encounter, this does not comfort him.]

Remind me. What is it you do? You know, other than harrass people and-- that.

[He gestures toward the wall.]

[ To be fair, tattoos could be incredibly unsettling. The way they could move atop the flex and release of muscles, making the art come alive.

At least Will's sketching was mostly 2-D.

He glanced over at Ronan, lips quirking in a wry half smile. ]

It wouldn't be reminding you, if I never told you in the first place. [ He wouldn't deny that he harassed people, just going to let that charge slide. Instead he sat back on one hip and put his full focus on the young man in the shadows. ]

I teach young FBI agents how to hunt serial killers and then the BAU has a particularly creative individual, I go out into the field as a special investigator to help hunt them.

[ He looked down, but pointed towards the totem pole with his pencil. ]

This was the work of a man who had killed for over fifteen years. He was at the end of his life, so he dug up all his victims and built that out of them, as a legacy. Ironic part was, the man he killed to put at the top, he thought he was killing the son of the man who stole the woman he loved. Turned out he killed his own biological son.

[Ronan knows death. He's seen it many times, usually peaceful for animals and gruesome for-- well, his family. If he tries, Ronan can imagine the orchestrator of his father's death doing this, if he were alive, but only if promised enough artifacts. It sounds like the killer Will spoke of did it just for kicks.

In some ways, it's easier to wrap his head around real demons. Their purpose is to destroy. Humans find their own purpose and this is what some of them do.

All those thoughts flit through his mind as he stares. Maybe Will's lying through his teeth to scare him. After all, the best stories are lies.]

You saw that? For real? That's fucked. Are you telling me that's all in a day's work?

Does it sound like something a person would be given to lying about?

[ Seriously, if he was going to make shit up it would be along the lines of a multi-millionaire CEO or some tech genius.

Not a lowly government paid employee who is asked to stare at the most depraved expressions of humanity's broken psyche. ]

But no. Some days I'm teaching students how to interpret [ Will waved the pencil again ] crime scenes like that.

I wouldn't be surprised. Ever seen a horror movie?

[Ronan steps closer. Now that the initial shock is gone, he regards it with interest. He'll never understand it. Maybe that's why it's intriguing.]

Well shit, now I get why you can't sleep. A sick man's dreams.

[The translation kicks in, but the words Ronan says are latin. Aegri somnia.]

Shrinks say crap like this helps. I always thought they were full of shit. What do you think?

[ Sorry Ronan but he starts to laugh at the question. It's soft and wry and he looks down in a way that suggests he not laughing at Ronan.

An assumption he seeks to support with his next words. ]

I think, actually I know, that my psychiatrist of record would have advised I'd be better off not drawing this but rather doing it myself. Though he'd have advised I make something of my own design and not just copy someone else's work.

[ Will paused and looked at the horror on the wall for a moment, before he moved to lean his shoulders back against the adjoining wall. ]

The psychiatrist the F.B.I. set me up with, in an attempt to keep me from succumbing to the darkness of serial killers, turned out to be the most wanted serial killer on the F.B.I.'s list.

The irony was ... rather epic in my opinion.

[Ronan nearly laughs at the absurdity of that situation. He turns to look at Will.]

Christ, that's a coincidence.

[It's clear in his dry voice that Ronan's not a believer of coincidences. They too often prove to be intentional.]

Leave it to the government to fuck up that badly, right? What happened? Did he fuck you over or did you send his sadistic ass to prison?

[ Despite the horror of living it, Will would be able to see the absurd humor in it all. Perhaps further evidence of just how cracked in the head he was these days.

His lips twitched into a wry little smile. ]

We were something of a zero sum game, if you will. I figured out who he was but couldn't convince any of my peers before he set me up and got me sent to the hospital for the criminally insane. I tried to send someone to kill him, he sent someone to try to kill me, then things got really weird.

[ Leaning back against the wall, Will fluttered the pencil in between his fingers. ]

I sent him to the same hospital for the criminally insane, then helped break him out so we could stop another serial killer together. Last thing I remember I wrapped my arms around him and threw both of us off a cliff. Over a hundred foot plunge to the ocean below.

Can't tell you how that ended up, I was pulled here during the plummet.

[Ronan is quiet. That's a lot to processs for the middle of the night, when he just wants a drink. Next time, maybe he'll think before asking personal questions.

...Nah.]

Not where you expected your one way ticket to take you, huh? Damn. Guess I am stuck with you as a roommate.

[He puts some distance between them again, edging closer to the kichen area.]

Well, you fucked up on the delivery, but I gotta appreciate your dedication to serving justice.

(no subject)

ex_this_ismydesign36 - 2017-09-27 15:06 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

somnioergosum - 2017-09-29 01:34 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

ex_this_ismydesign36 - 2017-09-30 20:57 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

somnioergosum - 2017-09-30 23:52 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

ex_this_ismydesign36 - 2017-10-01 00:03 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

somnioergosum - 2017-10-01 22:02 (UTC) - Expand

[Will might have noticed, or he might not realise, that he has an audience many times when he comes to practise. Bucky stays out of the way, perched on top of the ammunition hut, and watches keenly to see if he's getting better.

He should go down and talk to him, but he's still not sure how to feel about him after their last conversation got much more personal than he intended it to. But as much as he's like to, he can't avoid people forever and so he calls out from the top of the roof when Will seems to be done.]

Better with a shotgun.

[ At the sound of James' voice Will turned quickly, evidence of his generally hyper-reactive nerves, but he relaxed just as quickly and turned his gaze back towards the shotgun in his hand. ]

Shotguns and rifles, [ he remarked, reaching to pull the spent shells out of the barrels. ] But they don't fit discreetly under a sports coat.

[ Thus, the never ending challenge of trying to get control over a handgun. ]

How are you doing, James?

Me too, I was a sniper.

[That always had been his speciality, even before the Soldier, and it still was. He's made some incredible shots from distance before, though somehow sniping always feels more personal than a handgun.

He deliberately ignores that question.]

So why doesn't the recoil bother you on a shotgun?

Even with a rifle, my aim has never been that good. [ Snipers were rarefied air, as far as Will was concerned.

As far as his BAU profiling skills were concerned, snipers were an animal all their own, but he firmly shut the door before he could start analysing that too much. Not that he'd forget the tidbit of information, just ... shotsguns.

He looked down at the weapon and then up towards James and simply shrugged. ]

More evidence that whatever is wrong with my handling of a handgun, is psychological rather than physical, but I couldn't tell you what that might be. My last psychiatrist didn't like to discuss guns; he felt they were crude, impersonal weapons.

I'm not gonna be able to tell you why it is, I'm no psychiatrist myself.

[He struggles enough with his own issues, let alone trying to analyse the problems of others.]

I didn't think a guy like you would have a psychiatrist.

[ 'I didn't think a guy like you would have a psychiatrist.'

It took a couple of minutes for the words to sink in fully and for Will's brain to confirm that he'd heard James right. A number of responses came to the forefront, some less kind than others (both towards himself and James) but in a rare moment of self-awareness, Will didn't blurt out the first words he thought.

Instead he gave it a moment's thought and then gave a small, genuine half smile. ]

I believe that may be one of the kindest things anyone has said to me in a very long time.

[Oh.

Well now that Will has said that, taking it so obviously as a compliment, Bucky can't really tell him that the reason he doesn't think a guy like him would have a psychiatrist is because he'd end up analysing the psychiatrist too much and drive them off.]

...sure.

[Now he just looks uncomfortable.]

[ The rather flat response, combined with the uncomfortable body language were a quick tell that Will had read that wrong.

Rather than become flustered, he took it with a certain level of grace and walked over to set down the shotgun. ]

James, I have a laundry list of psychosis that at best, the psychiatrists can only term as 'pure empathy'. [ He turned and leaned against the counter, looking up at the man. ]

I can assume the point of view of almost anyone I encounter, feel what they feel, understand their motivations, their needs, where they come from where they're going.

Where I am particularly useful, is getting into the heads of serial killers. I go to crime scenes and I process them in my head as if I were the killer. What they wanted, what they did, how they did it. From design, to execution -if you'll pardon the unfortunate pun- I can process the tiniest bit of evidence into a profile that catches even the most prolific killers because I literally become them in my head.

[ He reached up and rubbed his hand over his face. ]

But you spend enough time with all those thoughts in your head, untangling yourself from the killers gets challenging. So when the FBI put me out in the field, they gave me an anchor, a psychiatrist.

Only it turned out this psychiatrist was the most notorious serial killer and cannibal on the FBI's most wanted list. Just the kind of individual you want tinkering around in your head. [ Will finished this with a waggled of his hand up by his temple. ]

He's also the individual who gave me the permanent smile on my abdomen.

[ Pushing away from the counter, he turned to begin to clean up his station. ]

So you say you can't imagine me with a psychiatrist. I wish I could I could have agreed with you, because I ended up with a doozie.

[That's... horrific.

He would be more uncomfortable at the idea of Will being able to put himself inside anyone's head with unerring accuracy, if he hadn't already tried it on Bucky and got only the broad strokes right. Still impressive, but not enough to twitch him completely out of the conversation.]

Those are the kind of scars that don't fade.

[He doesn't mean the physical one, but more the mental ones that come from having someone you should be able to rely on tinkering with your head.]

[ It had always been something of an inexact science, at least with people he had face to face interaction with. Evidence was easier.

Turning back to where he could look up at the roof as he reloaded the clip for his Sig, his lips twitched. ]

No they don't. [ He agreed. Which was probably why, back when they last talked, Will hadn't tried to tell James that he would be able to go back to being the man he'd been before the war, before the fall, before the Winter Soldier.

Will knew better. ]

But I gave back some of what I got. Don't mean to stand here and act a victim. The problem was, a mind like his ... he sees beauty in the horror. It meant we were always a zero sum game.

Last thing I remember we'd fought and killed another serial killer, a family annihilator who was trying to kill us. We were on the top of a cliff injured but alive and I put my arms around him and threw us both off the cliff, over a hundred feet down towards the Atlantic Ocean.

[ The last bullet went in place and Will moved to set the slide in the Sig, chambering a round and flipping the safety on. ]

I was in the midst of that fall when I ended up here. So your guess is as good as mine, if I succeed in killing both of us or ... [ Will just shrugged, setting the Sig into the back of his waistband and then crossing his arms protectively over his chest.

After a moment, he straightened up. ]

I need a drink.

Edited 2017-09-14 20:45 (UTC)

[He doesn't want to be the bearer of bad news, but he knows for sure that falls like that don't always kill a man. He's the proof of that, with the metal arm to show for it.

But that isn't for him to say. Not now, maybe not ever. Not when Will doesn't know if it worked, when he might have sacrificed his life, or be about to sacrifice his life, back home to rid the world of a psychotic serial killer.]

I don't drink.

[He shrugs, but after a moment he does offer a slight olive branch.]

But I'll sit with you if you want the company.

[ Will considered the offer, the olive branch and then nodded. ]

Having company will help me feel a bit less pathetic, yes thank you. [ He was not above drinking on his own but eventually he got fed up with the pitying looks from the other barflies.

Picking up the shotgun and the box of shells he nodded towards the campus of buildings. ]

Let me secure this in my office, so I can clean it later. Do you know any better places than that small joint two blocks down from communal housing?