There's one of the points they're always going to fall out of sync for. Hannibal just isn't his older self, and with the twists unraveling before him in this new timeline, it's possible - likely - that he never will be. Hannibal Lecter, M.D., licensed psychiatrist and psychotherapist, is spiritually deceased - that funeral was maybe more than just smoke and mirrors to appease the legal issue of reclaiming or dumping all his stuff.
But it also seems to be working out for the better, Neph's irony-induced aneurysms aside. (And Hannibal's own nasty surprises of realizing that secrets had been shared that he'll never remember handing over.) Hannibal twice saw firsthand the tall, oppressive house he lived in as an adult. He'd felt the empty echo that had been muffled by rich fabrics and statues and paintings, and he hadn't been fooled.
He thinks his older self had been fooled, most of the time. That he'd bought his own lie, somewhere along the line between seventeen and forty-two.
If Hannibal is already on track to avoid some of his older self's mistakes, he won't mourn it a bit.
He will, however, read over Neph's shoulder to see something about being sure about Baltimore. Sure about what about Baltimore? Is that about the primitive territory-staking that Allomancers have?
He can't ask in front of Will, so he doesn't, but Hannibal's forgetting to pretend to sip at his coffee in his haste to try to bore the answer out of Neph's head just by staring hard enough.
'For me to say I'd made it up, I guess.' These are the sorts of headgames that Hannibal would endorse in just about any other scenario, involving anyone not-Neph, but the calculated manipulation from this boy just sends all sorts of alarms ringing in Hannibal's head. He's never been less pleased to find out about the existence of another meta.
Will has come back to lean against the counter perpendicular to theirs, shoulders hunched and knuckles going pale against his mug's handle. He stares at Neph with a slack jaw until he shakes himself visibly out of it, gaze stuttering back across the room and settling on a vase that very possibly cost more than his phone. "Yeah. Fuck that guy." Is said with an exhausted conviction, like Will can't believe the hole that's been burned in him about this today. He looks...well. He looks nearly as tiredly petty as Neph does, honestly, which gets separated gears in Hannibal's mind churning about how Will's abilities actually work and what he might've gotten doused in as a result.
Is Neph worried about that, too? Was she perhaps hoping Hannibal would have dropped Will off somewhere else, so he couldn't accidentally spy? Hannibal glances across at Neph, trying to gauge what she thinks of this. But again - he can't just outright ask, not with Will there.
All of these secrets aren't as carelessly easy fun to untangle when Hannibal cares about the puzzle pieces involved. He feels unfairly vexed about that realization.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2017-02-24 03:12 am (UTC)But it also seems to be working out for the better, Neph's irony-induced aneurysms aside. (And Hannibal's own nasty surprises of realizing that secrets had been shared that he'll never remember handing over.) Hannibal twice saw firsthand the tall, oppressive house he lived in as an adult. He'd felt the empty echo that had been muffled by rich fabrics and statues and paintings, and he hadn't been fooled.
He thinks his older self had been fooled, most of the time. That he'd bought his own lie, somewhere along the line between seventeen and forty-two.
If Hannibal is already on track to avoid some of his older self's mistakes, he won't mourn it a bit.
He will, however, read over Neph's shoulder to see something about being sure about Baltimore. Sure about what about Baltimore? Is that about the primitive territory-staking that Allomancers have?
He can't ask in front of Will, so he doesn't, but Hannibal's forgetting to pretend to sip at his coffee in his haste to try to bore the answer out of Neph's head just by staring hard enough.
'For me to say I'd made it up, I guess.' These are the sorts of headgames that Hannibal would endorse in just about any other scenario, involving anyone not-Neph, but the calculated manipulation from this boy just sends all sorts of alarms ringing in Hannibal's head. He's never been less pleased to find out about the existence of another meta.
Will has come back to lean against the counter perpendicular to theirs, shoulders hunched and knuckles going pale against his mug's handle. He stares at Neph with a slack jaw until he shakes himself visibly out of it, gaze stuttering back across the room and settling on a vase that very possibly cost more than his phone. "Yeah. Fuck that guy." Is said with an exhausted conviction, like Will can't believe the hole that's been burned in him about this today. He looks...well. He looks nearly as tiredly petty as Neph does, honestly, which gets separated gears in Hannibal's mind churning about how Will's abilities actually work and what he might've gotten doused in as a result.
Is Neph worried about that, too? Was she perhaps hoping Hannibal would have dropped Will off somewhere else, so he couldn't accidentally spy? Hannibal glances across at Neph, trying to gauge what she thinks of this. But again - he can't just outright ask, not with Will there.
All of these secrets aren't as carelessly easy fun to untangle when Hannibal cares about the puzzle pieces involved. He feels unfairly vexed about that realization.