abrightboy | Voicemail (IC Contact Post) NEW

"Will."

The noise filters through his subconscious, intertwining with dreams of that cliffside driveway, the black blood in the moonlight, the very real feel of blood-drenched fabric clenched between his shaking fingers...

"Will, it's time to wake up," comes the clipped, accented voice to his right, outside of the warm bed. "Your paramour will be suffering with pavor nocturnus soon."

Will frowns, squeezing his eyes together, before finally opening them onto a confusing sight. Hannibal, somewhat dressed down without his vest or suit jacket, is standing and folding clothes. Will looks to Winston, still fast asleep on one of the dog beds. He looks back up to Hannibal.

"I admit, I didn't expect to be here, either. I thought you had banished me from your thoughts after taking up with Mr. Bright on a more serious basis."

"Not possible," Will says quietly. As he croaks the words, he realizes he's speaking aloud.

Hannibal's lips curl ever-so-slightly into a smile. "Indeed. Well, I will simply have to cherish the time we now have together. You may perhaps want to ready yourself for Mr. Bright's episode. I suspect it will be grander than most."

Malcolm is in his bed, in his cabin on the Barge, with Will. No. He's in his bed, in his loft in SoHo, alone as always, waking with a start. Straining at the restraints, a scream muffled by his mouth guard. No. He's in the Woodsman's cabin in the forest and the restraints are attached to the ceiling, crusted blood in his eyelashes. Another shape hanging slouched from another set of restraints as his eyes adjust to the dark. His father. No. ...Isn't it supposed to be his father? It's Will.

"Will. Will, it's time to wake up."

He doesn't know he's speaking outloud in his sleep, straining at the restraints.

Where's his father?

His father has the knife.

"I was always a good father," he says. "You were never a good son."

He plunges the knife into Will's chest.

Malcolm wakes screaming Will's name, sitting bolt upright, reaching as far as the restraints allow, in the darkness in his cabin on the Barge. Shapes start to emerge. He blinks into the darkness and turns, heart pounding in his chest, to look at where Will should be...

Will's gotten used to this process, at least. There's a lot of times Malcolm's calling for him, and those days are the ones that Will clings, holds Malcolm. But he's bucking more insistently than usual today, and Will gets knocked in the eye with an elbow. He's checking the area for damage (well, blood- any other damage disappears quickly), as Malcolm comes out of it.

"It's all right. I'm here, Malcolm. This is Will, and I'm here. Everything's okay. It's morning," he says, reaching forward for Malcolm's shoulder, hopeful to pull him into the usual hug.

"I see you have your own grounding exercise here," Hannibal notes, now standing behind him. "Does it make you feel as safe as mine did?" Will ignores him, focusing even harder on Malcolm (if such a thing is possible).

Malcolm clings to him. "We were in the Woodsman's cabin, except..."

"I see your night terrors haven't improved any, my boy. Are you sure this place is any better for you than home was?"

Malcolm stills and then slowly, cautiously, warily looks over his shoulder, even as he still holds on to Will. Martin Whitly is standing in front of the kitchen island. Malcolm rolls his eyes.

"It's going to be one of those days, I guess," Malcolm says nuzzling his face back into the crook of Will's neck. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" he murmurs.

Will hears the pause, can feel something in Malcolm tense back up. Will's eyes flick to Hannibal's smug smile as the hallucination stands next to the bed. Hmmm.

"I'm okay. See?" he confirms, pulling back to show not a single bruise on his face.

Although he glances past Malcolm, and something about that makes him reconsider his words. "So...are you hallucinating right now? Because I seem to be." And that's more unusual for Will. A sign that something is wrong- maybe even something outside the two of them.

"...You are too?" It's more common for Malcolm, despite the antipsychotics in his regimen of prescriptions. "That probably... doesn't bode well." He pauses. "Is it... him?"

Will nods, then nods again. "It's Hannibal, yes. Sharper than he's ever been when I pull him up myself."

He sees Hannibal raise an eyebrow and he raises one right back. Then he looks back down at Malcolm. "You have your Dad?"

“Yeah, but…” He glances over and Martin smiles indulgently. “He’s the same as he always is, if maybe more… persistent.”

"All right, well." Will looks at Malcolm, then Hannibal, then...vaguely towards the kitchen, where Martin surely would be. "Tell me if you start seeing my hanger-on and I'll do the same. This could be a coincidence, but-"

Well, it's the Barge. It probably isn't. He leans his forehead against Malcolm's and then leans in for a kiss, pointedly ignoring the sounds of throat-clearing behind him. "I'd say let's go back to sleep, if I thought that was an option for either of us. You want some coffee? I can put it together this time." He's watched Malcolm do it plenty.

Malcolm smiles at the offer of coffee as he cuddles up against him again in the wake of the kiss.

“Only if I can come with you,” he murmurs.

“Careful, son. That could come across as a little codependent. You don’t want to scare him away.”

“If one more person - real or imaginary - gives me relationship advice this week, I’m throwing something heavy at their head,” he tells the empty space behind him sharply.

Will smiles back, saying, "Of course you can. It's your house, after all."

But he realizes as he starts shifting to get up that Martin had to have been talking over him. Malcolm's complaint gets a huge scoff. "You know, I don't think your father has any business giving relationship advice. Nor do half the people on the Barge."

He rolls his eyes and stands, then holds a hand out as an invitation to help Malcolm up. He's not letting these two imaginary men mess up his morning.

God, Will’s the best. He’s just the best.

Malcolm takes his hand and doesn’t let go of it until they reach the kitchen and he needs it back. Then he leans on the counter near his elbow to watch him work.

“I thought we just had a flood. I wonder what…” He gestures vaguely around them at the talkative empty spaces. “All this is about.”

Will squeezes Malcolm's hand as they head to the kitchen. Hannibal follows them, looking at various items in the open concept apartment and seeming pleased by every new encounter. "He has better taste than you, Will. On those occasions when you let yourself have any at all."

Will starts the kettle boiling and sets up the grounds in the French press, ignoring further backhanded compliments and a one-sided discussion on the most appropriate technique for using this particular device.

Other than a couple of twitches in his eyes, his distraction is not particularly noticeable- or it wouldn't be if Malcolm wasn't so observant. "It really is too soon for a flood. The more veteran residents are probably being blindsided by this, too. We can check the Network after breakfast-" 'Breakfast' being a more nebulous term for the two of them, which didn't always include food, but always involved coffee or tea. "Maybe someone has an idea."

He chuckles a bit, his cheer feeling only slightly forced. He rubs the kinks out of the back of his neck as he considers how to put it. "I wonder if we're too used to this place. I'm thinking about hallucinations like a hurricane or a blizzard. Just have to wait for it to pass over and the weather to return to normal."

Edited 2023-10-18 23:40 (UTC)

“Usually I can make him go away. You know. Squeeze my eyes shut, tell myself he’s not real…”

“Ah, but what if the obvious fact that you’re just glossing right past is that maybe I AM real?”

He sighs

“I feel like that’s not going to cut it this time.”

He reaches across the counter for his pill bottles.

"Nope. Mine's too smart to claim he's real himself-" Will looks up at Hannibal and glares, but the little twinkle in Hannibal's eyes as he smiles back makes Will look away. "-but I don't doubt he'd claim so if he thought he'd get it past me."

Will pours the water, sets a timer, and stares at the liquid and grounds swirling together in the French press. "Hope we've got it worse than others, just because we're prone to it."

“Unless we have it easier because we have it the same except we do it all the time,” Malcolm suggests.

Will lets out a (rather overdramatic, especially for him) sigh, then smiles wryly at Malcolm.

"I was hoping that wouldn't be true if we didn't say it," he says with a chuckle. "Yeah, I can already tell- today's going to be one of those we talk about to other newcomers in hushed tones and grumbles. Like the time Steve tried to mutiny and got demoted."

"Steve tried to mutiny? Captain Perfect? What for?" Malcolm asks.

"Oh, Steve's not perfect. Idealistic, yes," Will replies. "I think he took issue with people being brought here against their will. I still haven't talked with him about it."

The timer goes off and Will pushes the plunger down slowly, then goes about the business of pouring a cup for both of them. "I suspect asking inmates if they want to join up came after that display, although I'm not sure. I know it's still a fairly new development."

"I guess he does seem like a smash all the walls for specifically his idea of justice sort of guy," Malcolm concedes. He takes his cup and wraps his hands around it, taking a cautious sip. "The only time he's ever spoken to me was when Kikimora threw a glass at Laura for hitting me at the party. And only then because she asked him to tell me not to talk to her."

Edited 2023-10-19 20:31 (UTC)

Will doesn't comment that he's that type of guy, but he doesn't have to- Hannibal makes sure to note it. Will glares in his direction and just thinks: 'Have you always been this chatty?'

He almost misses the last bit of what Malcolm's saying, but he makes a a face once it registers. "What a great first impression. Well, I like him all right, but I don't know how well you two would get along, even without your inmates at cross purposes."

“His inmate has been coming to me for therapy,” Malcolm tells him with a quirk of his lips.

"Has she?" Will says, a surprised smile crossing his face. "Good for her. I'm curious what changed her mind, but I probably shouldn't ask now that she's a patient."

“That’s okay, because I don’t really know,” Malcolm admits. “Sometimes people are resistant to visiting their problems until they reach a point where they just want any help and they don’t care what it is. Maybe it was that.”

Voicemail (IC Contact Post) NEW

October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning

Re: October 17th, morning