Something passes between her three rescuers when Hannibal suggests they all disarm (Triss doesn't know that word, but since Danae's accusing him of having a knife and he's not saying he doesn't, she can sorta guess what it means). Like, they all...settle, somehow. They seem very sure? Well, Ruth has this whole time, but Danae's fists relax and Argus nods. He seems really decisive about it, especially after Hannibal makes it sound like Triss is really, truly his kid.
They've been lying about that for a couple months now. She's not as natural about it as she wants to be, so mostly she lets him handle that line.
"I doubt any of us are armed in a way we can help," Argus says, like it's the punchline to a joke Triss hasn't heard yet. "Except maybe those knives." But that's part of the joke too, in a way that also doesn't make sense to her, not with Danae's teeth shining white against her dark lips. At least it sounds like she left her weapon back at Argus' house? Triss tries not to look like she's clinging to Hannibal's hand while totally, completely, one hundred percent doing so.
"It's nice to meet you, Doctor Lecter, and you too, Patricia" Ruth says as she clasp's his free hand and smiles a real, not-an-inside-joke smile at Triss, who is suddenly awash with embarrassment at her earlier lack of manners. She could've told them her name. "Or Triss? I'm Ruth Bar-On. This young man is Argus, and you've both met Danae already."
Triss can't help the way her face twists, all skeptical and unimpressed, startling a laugh out of Ruth (she can always tell when people laugh without meaning to. It's like a victory, every time). Hannibal pulls her away ever-so-carefully and she lets him tug her into a turn, guiding her back into the house.
She lets go so she can sit down on the bench just inside the door and peel off her soggy sneakers. Her knee doesn't appreciate the walking or the bending, now that she's been standing still for a while, leaving her hissing through her teeth. The shoes take longer than usual, with half her attention on the tangled laces and half on the 'guests' as they enter and look around the foyer. Triss approves of Hannibal waiting by the door, pleased to have someone at their backs, though it's obvious from the way Danae sidles in that she's not super comfortable with it. Good.
"Are those really your names?" she asks as she drops one scummy shoe to the floor. It kinda plops. "Those don't sound like real names."
"They're very real names," 'Argus' says with that same punchline smile. His head has gone sideways again. Listening, but not to her.
Unsure whether she likes any of that or not, Triss narrows her eyes at him and says, "Okay...but, not yours." After a year and a half with Hannibal for a therapist, she's getting better at noticing how people say the things they do, and the things they don't.
"I think I liked your silent treatment better," Danae mutters, but at least she's not talking over Triss this time. While that's an improvement, maybe, Triss scrunches up her nose, sticks out her tongue, and lobs her other shoe at the woman.
It doesn't just miss, it stops, hovering in midair before thumping to the floor.
"Danae," Ruth says in a tone Triss has heard hundreds of times from social workers. Danae reacts much like the bratty kids she's known: with a roll of her eyes and a flick of her fingers.
"Like we weren't going to get to that anyway," she shrugs.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2016-06-04 06:51 am (UTC)They've been lying about that for a couple months now. She's not as natural about it as she wants to be, so mostly she lets him handle that line.
"I doubt any of us are armed in a way we can help," Argus says, like it's the punchline to a joke Triss hasn't heard yet. "Except maybe those knives." But that's part of the joke too, in a way that also doesn't make sense to her, not with Danae's teeth shining white against her dark lips. At least it sounds like she left her weapon back at Argus' house? Triss tries not to look like she's clinging to Hannibal's hand while totally, completely, one hundred percent doing so.
"It's nice to meet you, Doctor Lecter, and you too, Patricia" Ruth says as she clasp's his free hand and smiles a real, not-an-inside-joke smile at Triss, who is suddenly awash with embarrassment at her earlier lack of manners. She could've told them her name. "Or Triss? I'm Ruth Bar-On. This young man is Argus, and you've both met Danae already."
Triss can't help the way her face twists, all skeptical and unimpressed, startling a laugh out of Ruth (she can always tell when people laugh without meaning to. It's like a victory, every time). Hannibal pulls her away ever-so-carefully and she lets him tug her into a turn, guiding her back into the house.
She lets go so she can sit down on the bench just inside the door and peel off her soggy sneakers. Her knee doesn't appreciate the walking or the bending, now that she's been standing still for a while, leaving her hissing through her teeth. The shoes take longer than usual, with half her attention on the tangled laces and half on the 'guests' as they enter and look around the foyer. Triss approves of Hannibal waiting by the door, pleased to have someone at their backs, though it's obvious from the way Danae sidles in that she's not super comfortable with it. Good.
"Are those really your names?" she asks as she drops one scummy shoe to the floor. It kinda plops. "Those don't sound like real names."
"They're very real names," 'Argus' says with that same punchline smile. His head has gone sideways again. Listening, but not to her.
Unsure whether she likes any of that or not, Triss narrows her eyes at him and says, "Okay...but, not yours." After a year and a half with Hannibal for a therapist, she's getting better at noticing how people say the things they do, and the things they don't.
"I think I liked your silent treatment better," Danae mutters, but at least she's not talking over Triss this time. While that's an improvement, maybe, Triss scrunches up her nose, sticks out her tongue, and lobs her other shoe at the woman.
It doesn't just miss, it stops, hovering in midair before thumping to the floor.
"Danae," Ruth says in a tone Triss has heard hundreds of times from social workers. Danae reacts much like the bratty kids she's known: with a roll of her eyes and a flick of her fingers.
"Like we weren't going to get to that anyway," she shrugs.