Their tandem speaking is almost endearing. Almost - Hannibal is generally playing the part of someone who has no idea about supernatural events. His political stance on the Mutant Registration Act, when asked about it at work, has always been gently brushed away with calm aphorisms about human freedom and safety and the delicate balancing act their poor legislatures and law enforcers have to deal with, with supernaturally-gifted people wandering around.
But in this conversation, he can flag himself as someone who does, in fact, know what he does. He's spent the better part of two decades getting his hands on every piece of ancient literature, media gossip, tabloid half-truths, and whispered fairy tales he could find. He knows a lot, and what isn't known tends to come with at least a general outline - shadowy secrets, skeletons of facts, the scattered bones of people and creatures hunted for millennia.
So being told things he knows, or could guess at, is at once thrilling and vexing. When was the last time he discussed magic in a place he lived in? Not since France, not since he was a teenager with a nose full of other people's emotions and the sensation that he was a living biological weapon, not since the one and only straight conversation he'd ever had with a family member about his powers.
(Only conversation - until Triss. She knows, and Hannibal had been very content that her fear of her own magic would see her take his secrets to her grave - at least until magic users had shown up at his door, with the possibility of normalizing all of this for her. Would a lack of fear make her less cautious, would it endanger both of them?)
He's getting ahead of himself. Hannibal stops to breathe, to remove the teapot from the stove.
Ruth asks him a question, and he looks straight at her. His eye contact is surprised but not alarmed; he's pleasantly taken off-guard that one of them thought to ask.
Hannibal makes eye contact with Patricia before answering, however. "I know how often you've had adults speak about you as though you're not in the room, Triss. I apologize." Since he is clearly about to do something tangentially related to that. When he starts answering Ruth, he still looks at Triss occasionally, and his words are chosen with the care of acknowledging that she's listening.
"I actually just gained custody of Patricia about six months ago. I'd known her for ten months prior to that, acting in the role of a professional therapist." He didn't usually see children. She had been a special exception to his normal clientele - a favor called in by an old colleague. Dr. Bloom had been shocked and initially skeptical at their development, five months down the line, when the idea had first been broached to foster her himself.
None of that is anything these three need to know. Hannibal measures out the tea leaves, places them in to steep. "Patricia has powers which have escaped my ability to pin down, but she is not a mutant, as the court involved with her case initially assumed. She's gifted with magic of some kind, and when I realized who her abductor this morning was, I assumed as much as you have." He looks fairly approving that they've all reached the same conclusion. By now, five identical teacups are laid out on the counter by his elbow. "Someone else thinks either that she is very dangerous, or very useful. Someone with better abilities of detection than myself."
He watches the other three with a small smile, eye contact sharp, tone pleasant. "Would you happen to fall into that latter category, as well? I confess, I was only so willing to let you in our home because I hoped you had something new to tell me."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2016-06-05 10:06 pm (UTC)But in this conversation, he can flag himself as someone who does, in fact, know what he does. He's spent the better part of two decades getting his hands on every piece of ancient literature, media gossip, tabloid half-truths, and whispered fairy tales he could find. He knows a lot, and what isn't known tends to come with at least a general outline - shadowy secrets, skeletons of facts, the scattered bones of people and creatures hunted for millennia.
So being told things he knows, or could guess at, is at once thrilling and vexing. When was the last time he discussed magic in a place he lived in? Not since France, not since he was a teenager with a nose full of other people's emotions and the sensation that he was a living biological weapon, not since the one and only straight conversation he'd ever had with a family member about his powers.
(Only conversation - until Triss. She knows, and Hannibal had been very content that her fear of her own magic would see her take his secrets to her grave - at least until magic users had shown up at his door, with the possibility of normalizing all of this for her. Would a lack of fear make her less cautious, would it endanger both of them?)
He's getting ahead of himself. Hannibal stops to breathe, to remove the teapot from the stove.
Ruth asks him a question, and he looks straight at her. His eye contact is surprised but not alarmed; he's pleasantly taken off-guard that one of them thought to ask.
Hannibal makes eye contact with Patricia before answering, however. "I know how often you've had adults speak about you as though you're not in the room, Triss. I apologize." Since he is clearly about to do something tangentially related to that. When he starts answering Ruth, he still looks at Triss occasionally, and his words are chosen with the care of acknowledging that she's listening.
"I actually just gained custody of Patricia about six months ago. I'd known her for ten months prior to that, acting in the role of a professional therapist." He didn't usually see children. She had been a special exception to his normal clientele - a favor called in by an old colleague. Dr. Bloom had been shocked and initially skeptical at their development, five months down the line, when the idea had first been broached to foster her himself.
None of that is anything these three need to know. Hannibal measures out the tea leaves, places them in to steep. "Patricia has powers which have escaped my ability to pin down, but she is not a mutant, as the court involved with her case initially assumed. She's gifted with magic of some kind, and when I realized who her abductor this morning was, I assumed as much as you have." He looks fairly approving that they've all reached the same conclusion. By now, five identical teacups are laid out on the counter by his elbow. "Someone else thinks either that she is very dangerous, or very useful. Someone with better abilities of detection than myself."
He watches the other three with a small smile, eye contact sharp, tone pleasant. "Would you happen to fall into that latter category, as well? I confess, I was only so willing to let you in our home because I hoped you had something new to tell me."