2007-10-11: Really


Mariska_icon.gif William_icon.gif

Summary: Mariska goes to see Will. They almost manage to have a conversation that doesn't revolve around Felix.

Date It Happened: October 11th, 2007


Brooklyn, NYC - William's Apartment

While the hour of the evening is creeping toward ten, it's hardly edged into obscene or ungodly. So, when there's a knock at Will's door, it might seem unusual, but certainly not cause for alarm, right? Maybe it's just a neighbor in search of a cup of sugar… or flour… or some advice about women… or whatever ludicrous excuse people come up with to call on each other at night just for the sake of seeing someone else's face. What. Will's cute. It could happen.

Will was chilling out on the couch in pajamas, his laptop on his lap. It's Sunday night, last night of freedom before it's back to the grind. He starts at the knock, and sets the computer aside to stand and move towards the door. He obviously looked through the peephole because he blinks. "Mariska?"

The woman across the threshold looks grim, expression serious and stony, pale eyes fixed sharply on the man who answers the door. «You and I need to talk,» she says in her native tongue. Gee. Wonder what this could be about…

William doesn't look frightened, but he does gesture for her to come in. «About what?» He asks, switching to Russian as she does so. His tone is rather serious, but the gaze turned on Mariska is curious in nature.

Mariska steps inside once she's invited but only dares go so far as a few steps before turning to once again gaze upon her host. It's a very quiet and cautious look, one Will's probably seen before on other folks; it's as if she's trying to deconstruct him from his component parts - svelte arms, sturdy legs, wide shoulders, strong chest. It's an eagle eye search for weakness before she delivers the unexpected, «I need your help.»

William blinks over to Mariska. That totally wasn't what he was expecting. At all. «You mean this isn't about getting drunk with Felix?» And then sleeping, literally, with him? Wow. «What do you need?»

The Russian woman's expression goes a bit wan and she tilts her chin downward somewhat but she miraculously manages to keep herself from saying something she might regret later. «I have something I want you to take a listen to,» she says, retrieving an iPod from her coat pocket. «But, if you'd rather talk about that… we can.» Her tone suggests she's perfectly capable of putting on a cool civility if he opts for what's behind door number two.

William shakes his head. «Uh, no. That's okay. We really don't need to talk about it.» Yeah, that'll make Mariska feel better. «You need me to listen to something? Sure. That's easy enough.»

Mariska offers the mp3 player to Will but before her fingers unclench and relinquish their grip she warns, «You cannot speak to anyone about what you're about to hear. The man in these recordings… I need to know what he's saying.» There's that hard look again. And then she tacks on a pinching sort of punctuation with: «Felix told me I could trust you.» She leaves out the whole 'maybe' bit.

William takes the iPod with a nod. «This would not be the first piece of classified information I've heard.» He points out before he puts the buds in his ears and hits play.

The noise that greets the polyglot's ears can hardly be described rightly described as speech so much as frantic bellowing sprinkled with indecipherable babbling. It's mostly in Russian and a few words stand out immediately: plaguechildrensnow. It's not exactly the dulcet tones of Edith Piaf by any stretch of the imagination.

Meanwhile, Mariska merely stands by and looks expectantly at the man as if waiting to watch him vanish into thin air or perform some other sort of impressive trick.

And then… out of nowhere, Mariska asks: «So. What was it, exactly, that you and my husband did which kept him from coming home until dawn?» She couldn't hold back any longer. Five lives left, kitten.

William takes the earbuds out and blinks over to Mariska. That's probably the one question that could distract him from the recording. And make him blush at the same time. «Nothing. Well, he brought vodka. So we got drunk. And talked.» And there's no mention of cuddling in the bed. None.

Mariska's pale eyes narrow by skeptical degree. There's just something about the word 'nothing' when it gets tossed out with a blush that doesn't quite jive. And Felix pulled the same routine. Though she's not a complete moron, she may just be a masochist. «Really,» she says. Statement not inquiry. She's not buying it.

William looks over to Mariska. «Really. It's not like we had any hot sex.» And that is actually an honest statement. «We just babbled drunkenly about things.»

What's she missing here? What's not being said? «What kinds of things?» All kinds of things, right, Jean Grey? Mariska's crossed her arms over her chest, not so much in a defensive pose, but rather in a hugging herself sort of way.

William looks over to Mariska for a moment before he says. «My lack of an awesome dating life.» The tone is a bit cold on that, but hey, it's not like he blames her for marrying a guy he lust over. Oh no.

Alright, no. She's not as much of a masochist as she thought. That's enough for now. Turning for the door, Mariska makes a vague gesture back at the man as she says, «Let me know what you find.» Presumably in reference to the screaming prophet and not so much his dating situation. She doesn't need to be shown out. Her ringed right hand finds the doorknob just fine without escort.

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