now don't be rude

[maskormods]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Considering apping into MASK OR MENACE? Want to dip your toes into the setting and get a feel of whether your character will fit into it? Or maybe you're just cruising and want to play around? Then you've come to the right place!

Pick any of the following scenarios below or feel free to make up your own, but don't be afraid to throw yourself at anyone's thread, either!

And remember to have fun!

01. Your memory is hazy and you might feel increasingly frustrated or anxious, or maybe you're excited as soldiers march past, barely glimpsing you. One second you're somewhere underground, the next you're enveloped in blue light, and suddenly you find yourself directly under Flordia sun's bright and burning glare. A female soldier steps toward you with a wide smile on her face and directs you to a car, ready to debrief you. You realize you are not the only one, surrounded by equally confused or eager faces... and you're all sporting a digital tattoo on your wrist.

02. Welcome to Cape Canaveral, where the smell of the ocean is in the air and locals are more than pleased to see new imPorts roaming their streets. They wave, they cheer, they ask for pictures as politely as they can. The more inhuman you look, or if you're wearing a costume, the more likely locals are to approach. Hey, enjoy the moment! The popular malt shop is offering you a free drink if you need it.

03. The technology in this world is certainly something. The cars are clearly modeled after popular 50s cars, but they hover several feet above the ground as they drive down the street. There are digital jukeboxes in restaurants, motorcycles also hover through traffic, advertisements can be seen on a digital projector on the taller buildings. Even kids on skateboards appear to drift a safe ten feet off the ground while playing!

04. Wherever you are, you can hear the loud revving of an engine, distance at first before you finally see it: a hovercar bursting around the corner, going beyond the maximum speed limit and just barely making its sharp turn. It doesn't appear to be slowing down any time soon, not with two police cars trailing it... and uh oh. Those skateboarding kids don't have much time to get out of the way as the car comes speeding down the road. You've been brought here for a reason Hero — so you better act fast.

Comments

abigail hobbs | hannibal

[lurings]

[ never has abigail felt so lucky to look human, because those other people that are rocking costumes like its halloween and... does that guy have horns? regardless, she looks like a normal teenager with a scarf wrapped around her throat, so she's not very noticeable. blending in with the crowd is easy when you look like the rest of the crowd.

but you know what, malt shop, she will take that drink. though she just asks for an ice water to take with her to look around. water is probably not people. ]

!!!!!!! yesssssss

[redhairring]

[ The malt shop was slowly becoming one of Freddie's haunts to work. She could sit in the corner, type up an article, enjoy the air conditioning and (if she felt a bit naughty) some ice cream, and just keep to herself while occasionally people watching.

But today? Today Freddie was nursing a mean case of writer's block. As such, she's barely paid any attention to people coming into the malt shop, instead hunched down over her laptop like a college student pulling an all-nighter. But nothing was working. So, after struggling and struggling with this article (and managing to half-ass about half of it) she simply decided to give up, packing up her laptop to leave. Slipping it into her laptop case, Freddie turned to leave...and then stopped and stared, looking straight at Abigail.

This couldn't be right. Abigail was dead. She hadn't seen Abigail for months, didn't even know where the girl's body was. But she was dead. And yet here Abigail was, taking her free drink and standing near the counter. The rational part of Freddie's mind quickly interjected that no, it's entirely possible she could be here, after all Gideon's here...but it's almost instantly overwhelmed by conflicting emotions, a lethal cocktail of "why the hell is Abigail here, she's supposed to be dead" with "oh God, I'm so glad that Abigail is here."

And then it hits Freddie that she's been blatantly staring at Abigail for the past ten seconds or so with an expression like she had seen a ghost. Nuh uh. This wouldn't do. So, she took a step closer to her, trying to put on her best 'everything is totally okay, I'm totally not talking to a dead girl' smile. ]

Abigail?

:) /grabby hands at freddie 5eva

[lurings]

[ abigail, herself, is still trying to get over the whole being dead thing. as it turns out it's not something you get over in the span of a few hours. dead + super powers? she might be fairly certain she's in another lucid coma dream, but she's going with it for the time being. nothing else to do.

when she hears her name she looks over, reflexively smoothing down her hair over her ear. ]

Hi Freddie. [ lucid coma dream now with added tattler. yep, abigail hobbs is just coping so well at not actually coping in any way at all. ]

/grabby hands right back atcha

[redhairring]

[ And more staring. Thankfully, Freddie doesn't notice (or just doesn't pay attention to) Abigail smoothing her hair down over her ear because it's just pure staring, while Freddie's brain tries to connect some synapses that obviously aren't connecting. ]

Hi yourself. [ Would it be weird to hug her? She kind of wants to hug Abigail, if only because Abigail is possibly the only person back home who she remotely liked and, in Freddie's mind at least, she hardly deserved to die. She takes a step forward...then instantly erases the hug plan from her memory, nope, not doing that, new plan. That, however, just leaves Freddie standing awkwardly. ]

Welcome to Heropa, I guess.

[ Wow. Smooth job. ]

[lurings]

I thought that was just one of Jupiter's moons. [ no, abigail, that is europa. but she just died. give the girl a break.

shifting awkwardly on her feet, she reaches up with her free hand to adjust her scarf and rakes her eyes over freddie. same hair, ski jump nose, kind of pale. laptop. it's like her subconscious really remembered freddie with perfect clarity. (she is very much still on the coma dream train.) it helps that she doesn't think freddie ever lied to her. manipulated to get her story, sure, but abigail doesn't think she ever outright lied.

which is why it doesn't feel odd to bluntly ask what she wants to know. even in the middle of a malt shop. full of strangers. ] I died, didn't I? I'm dead.

[redhairring]

[ Oh. Shit. She knows. Freddie pauses, and then nods. Better to hear it from her than Chilton or (God forbid) Hannibal, after all. ]

You did. We-- [ And another pause because oh man is this hard to say. ] We don't know what happened. The only part of you that anyone found was an ear.

[ To her credit, Freddie is pointedly NOT staring at Abigail's ears, and is forcing herself to make eye contact, small smile on her face, trying to seem like everything's okay. ]

[mattelrealist]

[ but where is the fun in just plain old water?

when barbie first spots abigail, she looks like a sweet girl, but one that might—like barbie—be a stranger to this new town, and so might be a little lonely, or feeling a little lost. she could use a pick-me-up, she thinks, and so with a little finagling with the malt vendor...

so instead of escaping with only her cup of water and a complete lack of being noticed, abigail will find, quite suddenly, a blonde woman in pink by her side, smiling in warm greeting. ]

Have you tried the ice cream here yet? It's amaze.

[lurings]

[ whoa hey now, that is some pep abigail hasn't seen outside of the nurses at port haven trying to convince her that group therapy is the most happening place to be. spoilers, it's not. it's really not.

she blinks, taken aback, but slowly shakes her head in answer. ] N-no. I haven't. Not yet.

[ definitely a coma dream. ]

[mattelrealist]

Would you like some? It'll be my treat.

[ It's a little forward, but it's hard for a girl to get anywhere in life if she always second-guesses herself. It's all about confidence, honesty, and the dedication to be true to yourself.

in this case, "true-to-yourself" means taking the first step in making new friends—besides, who ever says no to free ice cream? ]

What's your fave?

[lurings]

Vanilla? [ she's not entirely sure, as she doesn't take any time to turn back and look at the options she has, she just pulls out the first flavor she could think of. (it's followed by chocolate and mint chocolate chip, but she stays with vanilla.) she seems to be unused to strangers being genuinely kind.

she's a little weirded out, but she covers it well, only the line between her furrowed eyebrows left as evidence. ]

[mattelrealist]

Be back in a jiff!

[ so quickly, in fact, it seems to take barbie more time to say that than it does for her to leave abigail's side, head back to the counter, purchase a couple desserts, and return--for in just the blink of an eye, she's returned with two bowls of ice cream. the one she offers to abigail is two scoops of french vanilla topped with a light smattering of chocolate sprinkles, while the bowl for barbie is two scoops of french vanilla dusted with pink sugar crystals. ]

Here you go. [ said with a smile, offering over the bowl that doesn't look like a fairy started shedding on it. ] I hope you like it. It just isn't ice cream without sprinkles!

Re: abigail hobbs | hannibal

[slightlyoffchilt]

[Malt wasn't quite his thing -- unless of course, it was a scotch single malt. But as so many were cluttered around Heropa, it was difficult to discern the difference between the masses. Curiosity of malt variations wasn't what drew Chilton into one, some warm sunny afternoon.

Abigail Hobbs was.

A vague ghost from his past. He had no direct contact with the Hobbs girl, of course, outside of distant psychological profiling -- but everyone knew of her. What she looked like. What was done to her.

He darted into the malt shop, his movements jolted and stiff.]

I don't suppose -- Abigail Hobbs?

[lurings]

[ when freddie said her name it was familiar and allowed her to keep the coma dream delusion running even with little to know fuel, she's has coma dreams before, after all, she knows that the people to star in them are often people you've met before. even strangers in dreams are strangers you've seen on the street, your subconscious lacks the ability to invent the faces of people it doesn't know.

so even if she could manage playing this off as part of a coma he would still be a stranger and hearing her name in a stranger's voice is... odd at best.

she turns pale blue eyes on him, moving slowly so her hair doesn't fly away from her ear or lack there of. they narrow slightly as her fingers tighten against her cup. not enough people here know her name which leaves two options: government or home. she can't decide which she would prefer, being a "hero" or being "the hobbs girl" again. ]

Yes.

[slightlyoffchilt]

I know you.

[He didn't offer a hand, didn't smooth over his haunting stare. There was that degree of spectacle -- here she was, alive once more. The last he had even heard of Abigail Hobbs involved her ear as evidence in the trial of Will Graham; gruesome testimony, as it were.]

From -- back home, I mean. I'm from Baltimore, myself.

[And speaking of Will Graham -- here was someone the once-alleged Chesapeake Ripper was invested in (apparently). Granted, much of the public's information about the Hobbs girl was filtered through Freddie Lounds, but if that investment was accurate to any degree... This was quite the find.

Quite the collateral.]

I'm Doctor Chilton.

[A beat.]

Would you like a -- [He pauses, something flickering in his mind. She moved so cautiously, so oddly. His eyes, of course, were looking for any sign of the extracted ear (a connection made in his mind only because of the trial's theatrics).] -- a malt, I suppose?

[lurings]

No, thank you. [ that's all the answer he gets so far. she doesn't correct him that she's not from baltimore, she's from minnesota, the littlest shrike. it's unimportant, she thinks. she's not abigail to him, she's garrett jacob hobbs' daughter, will graham's victim. they're all so deluded to have believed that. no matter the damning evidence. it was stupid to think will would have killed abigail and left nothing but her ear.

that was hardly his design. ]

It's rude to stare. I'm dead and even I know that. [ she sweeps her hair back from her face, putting the smooth, nearly healed swath of skin where her ear should be on display. a moment later she smooths that hair back down, covering her scar. it came so easily now. with her scarf and her hair she looked normal, not the scarred survivor of two serial killers. ] Satisfied?

[slightlyoffchilt]

[Upping the ante, wasn't she? When Abigail called Chilton on his slithering scheme, when she so bluntly revealed the physical scar, the lacking ear, he didn't have his slick swarm to rely upon. Chilton knew Will Graham wasn't the Chesapeake Ripper, at least at this point in his career, and he knew that Abigail Hobbs was not Will Graham's victim.

He knew what Hannibal Lecter was, had always been, beneath that friendly and composed smile.

But Chilton also understood the value of information. He knew what power was inherent, if Hobbs wasn't aware that either of those men were indeed lodge within Heropa's boundaries.

His raised eyebrows didn't surrender to their normal positioning.]

You'll find that it isn't uncommon for the dead to return, in this world.

[Or for scars to remain. Chilton himself was between scars, the one long incision down his torso acquired -- and the bullet to his face only incoming.]

How is it that your ear -- well, where it was -- is healed?

[Gideon had returned with his stump still bleeding.]

[enabeled]

[ Normal-looking she may be, but to those few faces from a very particular version of Baltimore, Abigail Hobbs is still a recognizable face.

Since his "accidents," Gideon does not venture out and about recklessly around the town; only local, only public spaces, and of course, only wheelchair accessible. It's not frequently he's out -- he's a dignified man who does not like advertising a vulnerability like being down one leg -- but occasionally the alternative is to stay inside and slowly go even madder.

He sits in the malt shop inconspicuously, people-watching and enjoying the views from the windows -- the ambiance -- more than he is a beverage, but when noticing Abigail Hobbs he very slowly stirs his milkshake by the straw before deciding to speak with her. ]

Rough day?

[lurings]

[ instead of answering right away, abigail hums an agreeable sounding noise. rough day, month, life. well, no, not the last part. she'd had an okay life until her day started murdering (and eating!) girls that looked just like her. regrettably, the past year has tarnished the golden idealism of the rest of her seemingly idyllic childhood.

he was a good dad until he wasn't.

story of her life.

after some silence, sipping her water, she verbalizes an answer. ] Could be worse.

[enabeled]

Could be.

[ He says it agreeably, although thinks to himself she may sing a different tune if she finds out Will Graham is here. Not that Gideon's in much of a position to give her the head's up there; those that get close to Will Graham may suffer, but Gideon has gotten involved enough in that area not to want to tempt fate any further.

Besides, he doesn't actually know Abigail, nor she him. It might seem strange. ]

It's Ms. Hobbs, isn't it? Abigail Hobbs? Or have I got the wrong person?

[lurings]

[ attention effectively captured, she turns to face him fully, cool blue eyes taking him in. it's disconcerting the way her mind immediately jumps to whether or not hannibal put him in the wheel chair. would be strange though, to have kept him alive. maybe he was useful. or maybe it had nothing to do with hannibal at all and she needs to train herself to stop thinking like that. ]

I'm Abigail Hobbs. [ he doesn't look overly familiar to her, turning her expression wary. maybe he was the pharmacist who tried to turn her into fertilizer when she was comatose.

stop. he could just be some ordinary person who saw her on tattlecrime.

but no, this is abigail, serial killer catnip. it's never just someone ordinary. ] Who are you?

[enabeled]

[ It's a good thing that even here, Gideon can't read minds. It'd be hard even for him to keep a straight face if he knew she was thinking about Hannibal Lecter.

He wheels himself back slightly so as better to face her, leaving his drink on the edge of the counter so he can rest his hands on his thighs. (Normally it would be the knees, but--) ]

Dr. Abel Gideon. I'm acquainted with Will Graham and Tattlecrime's Freddie Lounds... only ever read about you in passing, but I find it always nice to truly put a face to the name.

fry's dog

[infomodder]

[There were other shops that had good malt, ones that weren't popular at all, and those were the ones Will generally stopped by if he ever really, truly craved it. He might mumble something about how he was helping an owner out by actually paying for something, but it wasn't difficult to tell he had got one goal in mind: get away from the crowd. He could blend in easily enough if he had to, but he didn't want to. Generally speaking, the more popular malt shop around town was a dull blip on his radar (the blip being red, because Freddie Lounds seemed to favor it).

Generally speaking, the popular malt shop around town did not have Abigail Hobbs sitting in it. Her build, her hair, nothing extremely remarkable. There were plenty of girls that looked like her, less of them in Minnesota thanks to her father. It wasn't that that had him stopping and staring.

It was the scarf.

A scarf in the summer months in Florida was an odd thing. Fashion wasn't his forte by any stretch of the imagination, but he could not just ignore a scarf in this weather, especially not one on someone who fit the profile.

He didn't move until she turned her head just enough that he knew without a shadow of a doubt who it was, and then he was opening the door, unaware of it until cool air blasted him in the (unshaven) face.

The lure.

An amazing choice for one.

While he had enough wits about him to wait for her to look the opposite way before entering, he hadn't retained enough to remember what he was wearing. The plaid shirt and jeans, not anything too unusual. The name tag clipped to his pocket? Different. The hat on his head with a hook tucked into the bill that declared him the WORLD'S OKAYEST FISHERMAN? Product, one he sold in his shop and just hadn't taken off. Etiquette might dictate he take it off as soon as he walked in, might insist that if he not, he certainly needed to take it off when he sat down.

He didn't.

Couldn't.

It was difficult to do anything other than try for the least strained, pitiful excuse for a smile he could muster as he sat across from her with no warning. Dragged the chair out a few inches, lowered himself into it like it had been waiting for him, not like he ran the risk of falling on his ass if he didn't sit soon.]

Hi.

[Weak, so weak, light beer that was poured in a cup with too much ice while still hot. This Will Graham had no idea about a certain betrayal. He had no idea about a gutting. In fact, he had very few ideas at all.

Go to Minnesota, he said. Sure, Hannibal agreed. Fell asleep in the car, woke up in this superpowered mess of a world. Find himself with Chilton and Gideon, then Freddie, then a young Hannibal, then the older one. The one he knew.

The one he trusted.

He had some scales in place regarding certain people (for good, for bad), but there was nothing stopping him from looking at the real Abigail like he hadn't seen her in a long time and thought he never would again.

Raw. Honest. Blind.

And so conflicted about how to show he'd missed her, like an ugly mutt that felt it got pity pets, that showing up with the cute ones made it look like sadder excuse of a dog. He didn't need a pet. Pinch might do better. Being told staring was rude.

Hearing her voice, no matter what she said, that would be a gift, one he'd never toss back.]

you monster

[lurings]

[ finally when abigail looks up (ostensibly to tell whomever it is to gtfo because this seat is saved for abigail's guilt or.., jesus) it's not some vague stranger or well-meaning native, it's just... will. like her desperate desire to apologize over and over again willed him into existence right in front of her. in a grammatically incorrect fishing hat. and a name tag, as if she could have forgotten him.

startled to the point of speechlessness, she unabashedly stares. he looks exactly the same. scruffy beard (does he even know what a razor is?), messy hair that probably needed to be cut under that hat, plaid. he loved plaid, didn't he?

even in florida.

it takes her a while to tell her brain to start working and to smother down the urge to apologize again. first things first. neither of them are covered in blood -- she quickly, reflexively, smooths down her hair over her ear -- so they have the luxury of small talk for once. ]

Hi.

[ it's shaky, nervous, and not what she wants to say at all. but it's all she can manage, tongue darting out to lick her lips. ]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z06LXZQwkrc

[infomodder]

[Will might as well have been guilt personified and Jesus (Murder Messiah!) in one go, with his unique set of skills that would fill up a good chunk of bible verses and his qualities as a fisherman. A two for one, as per usual.

Thank some higher power that he wasn't wearing one of his suggestive, extremely tacky fishing hats. (How would Abigail like to look up and see a fish next to SIZE MATTERS or I'D RATHER BE F____ING with a tiny i-s-h that had to be squinted at to make out?) Even if it sat on his head, it was the last thing on his mind. The looks had been worse not too long ago. One might have argued he looked more animal than man, hair almost long enough to pull back. Hannibal arrived, Will cleaned up. Good influence, Hannibal Lecter.

What he didn't know.

He follows the way she toys with her hair, realizes it must be over that ear, and drops his eyes to the next thing—water. Water in a malt shop. Streams, waves, tides, antlers, Abigail in the midst of them, sometimes at his mercy and sometimes smiling, keeping up, letting him teach while providing far more interesting conversation than he'd let anyone in his class ever try for.

Teaching him in return.

It makes that smile less strained, almost genuine. Difficult to smile in the company he's in right now, but that's not her fault. Whoever killed her, that blame rests with them. But that wouldn't have happened if they weren't angling to set him up for whatever sick reasons, and as such:

most of that of awkwardness and trepidation? His bad. He could argue all of it was on him, since he was the adult. He'd rather not argue, but he's not the only one with a final say in whatever happens between them. He's not Dad.]

Water. [The way it comes out, pushed through a throat made of cotton, it might sound like a request. It's not.] Possibly the best choice. Malts here are the opposite of super.

[They are not, however, people.]

Convinced they're imported, too.

[There's no design for "talking to Abigail Hobbs" and the more he struggles to come up with one, the more it becomes apparent he hasn't a damn clue what he's "supposed" to do.

Not exactly a common scenario, is it?]

[lurings]

I'm not very thirsty. Or hungry. [ maybe it's a side effect of probably, most likely, being dead. or that the only food she trusts not to be people is bagels and there are no bagels here. basically water is all she can handle right now.

she swallows, before her lips lift into the tiniest of smiles. ] You look different. [ she's smiling because different = not dead or dying on the floor next to her. ]