Homeless, looking around

[camebefore]

Elsewhere. That could cover quite a bit, but I hadn't considered a box or a city trapped in the 1920s. I had considered completing my residency at Johns Hopkins.

[Lecter-speak for 'no'?]

I didn't say that. Something less horror driven might be a better idea. In survival situations, there are assessments, a pooling of skill sets. People take a deeper look at who they are depending on to get through another day. I may not care to have this Will Graham person at either of those places concern themselves with me along with whatever other cohorts they have.

[Better than running into an older version of yourself.]

That too. Look around then, see what you like. Do remember, they may not recognize me and I may not have to tell the truth.

Comments

[fine_young]

And in survival situations, our little hobby is less likely to inspire angry mobs.

[camebefore]

Hobby?

[Blandly asked, a calm countenance.]

What do you mean?

[fine_young]

A certain specialized diet. It may be needed in the horror games, if things get very bad.

[camebefore]

You will have to define 'bad'. I see no reason to go anywhere other than where I am until then.

[fine_young]

Starvation, for one thing. After all, we've seen what can happen then. We survived it once before, did we not?

War, for another. I think we might be fairly good at it, especially guerrilla tactics.

If you could find a place where people are desperate, the things we have done in secret may be lauded. It would be a nice change.

[camebefore]

I believe you have mistaken me for someone else. Such things would be illegal at best. Horrifying at worst.

You are not me.

[fine_young]

No one is listening, Hannibal. We can let the monsters out.

Have you found them all, yet?

[camebefore]

Again, I believe you have mistaken me for someone else. I haven't believed in monsters since I was a small child.

[fine_young]

Except the human monsters. But I've killed all my personal demons. And if you were not me, I doubt you would understand me well enough to mock horror.

Shall we make a formal introduction? Hannibal Lecter at your service.

[relatable]

You know Will Graham?

[camebefore]

Only by a few whispers from others. An officer of some sort as I understand it. Nothing worrisome.

[relatable]

Not exactly. He works with the FBI, but he isn't an agent. He catches murderers. [She suddenly seems very interested in how he'll take this, cautiously raising a brow.]

[camebefore]

Ah, an American.

[The accent is a little thicker but the same, a casual dismissal with it that an older version may not exhibit.]

I do not see how that would affect me. I doubt he spends his time at Johns Hopkins Hospital. Or why he would take an interest in me.

[relatable]

[She studies him a moment. The accent, subtly different but still there. But his voice will always be an identifiable feature to Abigail.

"And you be the man on the phone."

But this is a strange concept. She's more curious with him, his mannerisms and his attitude.]

That depends on who you are.

[camebefore]

[He meets that stare without a twinge of guilt or recognition. There is no increase in respiration or a flush to his skin.]

My name is Hannibal Lecter.

[No reason to lie yet Hair slicked back, he wears the plain clothes of any resident, a white coat over it bearing the hospital's name along with his identification. Hannibal Lecter, MD - Resident is printed in plain black type.]

You are? [It's only polite after all.]

[relatable]

You can't be. [And yet, there's that voice that tells her it's him.]

I know you, but you're older. I-- [Trust you. But the words don't make it out of her mouth. She looks at him with wider eyes, less calm now.]

[camebefore]

I assure you that I am.

[Curiosity now. He holds his ground but those maroon eyes have sharpened out of their usual passing over of the world around as if it were nothing but there. Something has caught his attention.]

Older? I am eighteen despite what you may think. I doubt we have met. I would remember a lady such as yourself.

[An off-hand compliment not truly meant but said because of the reaction it tends to evoke.]

[relatable]

We have. Just not yet? For you.

[Flattery gets you no where, Hannibal.]

Abigail Hobbs. You saved my life when we met.

[camebefore]

I see.

[He doesn't, but he's more willing to explore the idea than attempt an instant denial. Her news of him saving her life doesn't bring surprise or pleasure, only more of that bland politeness that gives no clue what the mind beneath is thinking.]

Were you a patient then at the emergency room? [It's the only thing that makes sense to him for now.]

[relatable]

No. You were with Will Graham. [There's a smile she can't hide there. It's not often one knows more than Hannibal.]

[camebefore]

Will Graham. [He rolls the name off his tongue as if tasting it, the man is a mystery to Hannibal except for a few rumors.] Why is it that I was with someone from the FBI? You hardly look like the hardened criminal sort that would be hunted by law enforcement.

[But looks can be deceiving.]

[relatable]

You helped the FBI, too. [She doesn't comment on what sort of criminal she is. She's admitted to Hannibal once what she's done, and he already knew.]

[camebefore]

[That's not fully a surprise although he doesn't know what would lead him on that path. Her lack of answering his offhand comment isn't unnoticed but simply uncommented on.]

You said that I was 'older'. How old? If he saved your life, I take it you are friends or familiar?

[If she's giving out information, Hannibal isn't going to turn it down. He'll even give her one of his smiles most considering charming. A lovely girl, a useful girl. What he's listening for though are any hints of liking or affection for this 'older' Hannibal Lecter.]

[relatable]

I trusted him. [She's still wary though. Past tense. She isn't sure what to make of this Hannibal though. Is he the same? Is he still capable of the same things?

Just in case, she keeps the distance between them.]

I don't know how old he is. 40? 45?

[camebefore]

Trusted?

[A polite question, little more. Pushing will gain him nothing.]

If these are questions you'd rather not answer, do tell me, Miss Hobbs. Curiosity is a downfall of mine.

[A small self-depreciating smile that isn't real follows, his head tilting down in apology.] It is 'miss', isn't it? I've only been in America a short time. I am still learning some of the terms. [He knew but had found people liked to believe the clueless foreigner act. Especially pretty young women in Baltimore.]

[relatable]

[Her hands cross, holding her elbows. She's minutely closed off. This game isn't as fun as she thought it may be. Talking to any Hannibal stirs up things she would rather keep down.]

He was helping me with nightmares. [The short of it. Her smiles tenses.]

Abigail is fine enough. I'm eighteen, too. [Which is strange. Hannibal at her age. It's just not what she would have thought. Abigail just pictured him always in his suits, the older version she knows.]

[camebefore]

Nightmares.

[His own ended a time back, everything laid to rest. The signs she's given does tell him to let the matter go, but he's puzzled now.]

Abigail then. [Like Graham's name before, his accent lengthens the syllables, twisting it just so.] I must confess to being a little confused. I do not see how a surgeon could help you with nightmares. Could you have me confused with a different Hannibal Lecter?

[relatable]

[That only makes her grin a little.]

How many Hannibal Lecter's could there be? [She smirks and looks down.]

No, you're him. He isn't a surgeon, but it wouldn't surprise me that he once was, seeing him cook.

He's a psychiatrist. That's what he does with the FBI. With Will and I.

[camebefore]

I am the eighth one. Once upon a time, there were quite a few Lecters. Having an off-shoot that went to America or elsewhere wouldn't be unheard of.

[Even as he says it, he doubts it but doesn't let that enter his tone. He's the last of his line.]

It sounds like quite the life you all lead, Abigail. Makes my own seem dull in comparison. [A tease, but not a cruel one, designed to try and put her more at ease.]

[relatable]

Except you're too much like him. [The same range of emotions, the same spark of curiosity in his eyes. He may be able to keep it down. Other may not take note of it, but she sees it.

There was a soft smile at his words.]

I doubt that very much, Hannibal. I couldn't imagine anything you do as dull. [Which is mostly terrifying, but she still is smiling, lips pressed together in a sort of knowing way.

It's familiar which puts her at ease, even if she still stands with the distance between them and tense, hunched shoulders. Her face is somewhat relaxed. The bundle of nerves is never entirely put away, but that is not necessarily because of him. It speaks of her own psyche and what she's lived through.]

[camebefore]

Am I?

[He isn't sure if he comforted or put on guard by that statement. The idea of another version of him traipsing about isn't particularly comforting. Another who knew his secrets. Another who's secrets he might know. The best he can hope is that this other older Hannibal Lecter knows the same.]

I am a resident at Johns Hopkins. Tonight I was supposed to be in the emergency room. It isn't going about with the FBI and whatever else it is you all do.

[A depreciating smile and he tilts his head thoughtfully.]

You still suffer from these nightmares then? You are tensed.

[relatable]

You have the same calmness, the same look in your eyes.

[She gives a small smile, like she still knows more about this than he does.]

I don't go on about the FBI. I thought about joining them. Hannibal encouraged me. Said it would help protect him. [Her eyes hold contact with his. There are secrets there. Maybe she shouldn't have gotten so close to him. There was no one else seemingly on her side-- not if Will would react that way to her anyway.]

Yeah. [A hand slides down her arms.] I don't know if they'll ever go away now.

--Especially at the place I'm at.

[camebefore]

Protect him.

[It's a question without his voice rising to show such. That smile grates momentarily, but it's a short pain and one easily ignored. For now. He prefers to be the most informed person in the room. But she is useful still so he keeps his smile, his outward projection of civil calmness.]

Nightmares are often like that, creeping in when least expected. A scent, a look. [Now there's a curious bit, a curiosity coming to his aristocratic face.]

The place you are at? What do you mean?

[relatable]

Secrets, Hannibal. I'm sure you have them, too. [She may not know what they are, not knowing enough about Hannibal. But she knows enough now.]

Things don't remind of the nightmares. The nightmares remind me of the truth. [Her lip is curled, looking like she's mostly hold something back. Like she always looks.]

The game I'm at, the things I know.

[camebefore]

[A thin lipped smile answers that as if he sees that lack of knowledge or is used to projecting that he does. 'Trust in me' as the cobra tells the little bird it slithers up on.]

Many philosophers believe that 'truth' is a subjective term, changed with circumstance and viewpoint.

Circumstance, such as where you are, only affects you as much as you allow it. As much as your friends allow it to. They are not there with you?

[relatable]

Hannibal and Will are there. [But Will has this habit of not being able to keep his mouth closed ever. And Hannibal is probably getting real sick of it.]

I'm dead as it turns out. [Somehow said much more calmly than she feels, though the tight jaw and the way she crosses her arms speak more to how she truly feels.]