empathicfault | IC Inbox

Will smiles at Taylor, not opting to talk about the "Hasn't gone back to therapy" sign over her head. Because why would he? And he's gotten a fairly long way during this flood by just ignoring what he can? He suspects plenty of others have done the same for him. (Shaw is the exception, but she is his warden.)

He's currently sitting in the Chair Everyone Sits In when they're alone, because it's the most comfortable to read in. He's been catching up on reptile info, himself (iguanas, right now). But he sets the book down at her question. He eyes her bag with interest and curiosity.

"They're fine. Kind of cute, as long as they weren't eating through my trees." He nods towards her. "You have some beetles in there?"

“Dermestids.” Based on their last real conversation, she’d be surprised if he didn’t recognize them, commonly used to clean skeletal remains. “I’m going to turn them loose on the play pen and give it a good cleaning.”

Her eyes flick to the space above his head, and she’s not quick enough to hide the slight widening of her eyes at ‘murder-date.’

"Dermestids," Will repeats, his smile brightening. "Either the best friends or worst enemies of forensics, depending on what they're trying to analyze. That's ingenious. I'm sure they won't mind cleaning up some dog fur and shed skin cells."

He almost lets it go entirely, but- he does find his own eyes flicking upward, trying to decipher what's never been decipherable. "It's a bad one, huh? You can ask about it." 'If you want to', is Will's implication. He certainly seems like he's not going to be bothered about it either way. He knows the things he's done.

"Does... your 'best cannibal' imply that you have cannibals, plural?" she asks, tipping her bag out into a corner of the big pen. It is indeed a large pile of the fingertip-sized black-brown beetles, enough to fill maybe a gallon jug, and they begin to spread out immediately, spacing themselves with unnatural orderliness to begin the work.

Will's enthusiasm for watching the dermestids immediately crumbles at her question. He lets out an embarrassed chuckle while rubbing his face with both hands. "Oh god, that's...yes. There've been multiple during my past decade or so of time in the FBI, hunting serial killers. 'Best' probably implies Hannibal Lecter, since he was the most successful. And the signs seem to want to be as obnoxious as possible."

He fully expects more signs centered on Hannibal, before the flood is over. There's a lot of material to work with. "Do I even dare ask what it says?" He's a little glad that the beetles are being so attention-grabbing, as his gaze is kind of naturally down there right now, anyway.

Bearing up his theory about the signs being obnoxious, hers cycles over to "Has cut out the eyes of two enemies. Once with a knife, once by eating them with bugs," while he's watching the beetles.

"'Abandoned his family to have a murder-date with his best cannibal,'" she recites, glad she still has the whispers and doesn't have to actually sound out the words. "There are a lot of ways I can interpret that."

Will groans, but it's rather dramatic. "Jesus Christ," he mutters. "Out of all the ways to put it..."

He shakes his head, then looks back at Taylor to explain- and immediately catches at least part of the new sign. His eyes widen a bit, too- apparently it's hard to not do when reading 'cut the eyes out'. But that's as far as he gets before he's focused on his explanation again.

"So that's...I can just tell you what happened. I was in an FBI profiling job that was...let's put it charitably and say 'extremely bad' for my mental health. My fellow consultant and friend made things worse by being the most prolific of the serial killers we were hunting. That's Hannibal Lecter."

Will runs his tongue over his teeth as he thinks about how to continue. "I quit it all when Lecter was finally caught. Moved across country, met a wonderful woman, married her. And three years later, my old boss comes sniffing around, wanting me to do 'one last job.' It ended up with a serial killer targeting my wife and stepson, pointed there by Lecter." He swallows. "They almost died. And it wasn't going to stop unless I stopped it."

"I'm- going to assume that FBI profiling isn't the office job that it is in my world." She glances at him, and while her expression is interested, there's something handcrafted about it. Intentional.

"So you went to kill the serial killer? And Lecter?"

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