If Tin worked more like Hannibal's mutation, she'd probably use it more. Imagine being able to literally sniff out somebody's feelings - and, by extension, their thoughts? - instead of just getting overpowered by coffee and shampoo? That'd be super helpful right now, with Hannibal doing his best unblinking mannequin impression at her temple. Neph turns her head to meet that stare while Will discards his napkin and looks around for a patch of counter realestate.
They can't actually communicate via telepathy, no matter what Will mutters now and then. They've known each other a little less than a year, not quite long enough to develop an entire silent language of eyebrows, squints and pursed lips. That's coming along, particularly Neph's ability to read shades of true-annoyance and faking-for-effect and hiding-something-worse in Hannibal's irritated posturing, but growing to understand a whole person takes time. Time, and...maybe a willingness to talk about things they haven't, yet. Their mutually searching stares end up canceling each other out as a result.
Tabled for later, Neph thinks, not for the first time. When she pauses to think about all the things stacked up on that metaphorical table, she's a little surprised its legs haven't given out. Who, exactly, is 'later' waiting on anyway?
Will picks out a spot on the shorter side of the L-shaped counter top, between the sink and the dishwasher. Is it just easier to face them both from there, or is he feeling a little awkward in a space that isn't his? Neph's not sure she's ever seen Will completely at ease anywhere, not even his own house (but then she happens to know he's got a sheet for a bedroom door and a dad with shitty taste in friends, so she can't blame him there). What would a comfortable, unguarded Will even look like?
Today is not the day she finds out. Today he's staring at her in something too sharp-edged to be dismay. She tilts her chin over her mug, not quite making the leap from yeah I got that asshole fired on accident whoopsifuckingdo to this white knuckled gaping look. It's not until he not only refuses to meet her eyes, but actively looks away that realizes how loudly she must've been thinking. Feeling. Whatever. Either way she sucks in a sharp breath, presses her lips so hard against the mug they may puff up later, and thinks reining-in-thoughts. Staticky thoughts. Single snowflake in a blizzard thoughts.
With everything that's gone on today, she hasn't given much thought to what she might've been shoving into Will's head. Was his sympathy for real, or just a mirror turned to face her? She'd held onto his hand and he hadn't let go, but how much of that was a choice?
Any other day, thoughts like that would trigger another run, a more punishing one. But today, just an hour ago, she discovered that two people outside of this room stood up for her when they heard about the Samson thing. One of them even got punchy. The novelty leaves Neph a little more inclined to believe that people might see something wrong with what happened and get angry on her behalf than she normally would. She might let herself believe that Will means it.
(Should she apologize for the handholding? She should, shouldn't she? It's one thing to spray feelings everywhere like an out of control sprinkler system, but if she accidentally pushed him into letting her touch him, she'd have to commit ritual suicide or something.)
((Then again, how much of anything she did or didn't do even registered? Hannibal must've been blaring Emotions like a foghorn if he spilled his name.))
(((This is all a lot. It's clearly time for a change of topic, before things get unrecoverably weird. Because, somehow, they haven't yet.)))
"So the museum was a bust, which, my bad," Neph sighs, both hands once again wrapped around her empty mug, fingertips drumming on the ceramic. "And Will's not wearing any shoes and I'm not putting real pants back on, so does Netflix sound good? I bet we could find some art-based documentary thing, or a heist movie..." Paradoxically, she kinda hates heist movies. It's impossible not to pick them apart. "Or, oh!! I think they put up all the Bob Ross ever a while ago."
Will might not be looking at her, but Neph doesn't bother to conceal the note of glee in her voice. Is it her imagination, or does Hannibal shudder slightly at her side?
no subject
They can't actually communicate via telepathy, no matter what Will mutters now and then. They've known each other a little less than a year, not quite long enough to develop an entire silent language of eyebrows, squints and pursed lips. That's coming along, particularly Neph's ability to read shades of true-annoyance and faking-for-effect and hiding-something-worse in Hannibal's irritated posturing, but growing to understand a whole person takes time. Time, and...maybe a willingness to talk about things they haven't, yet. Their mutually searching stares end up canceling each other out as a result.
Tabled for later, Neph thinks, not for the first time. When she pauses to think about all the things stacked up on that metaphorical table, she's a little surprised its legs haven't given out. Who, exactly, is 'later' waiting on anyway?
Will picks out a spot on the shorter side of the L-shaped counter top, between the sink and the dishwasher. Is it just easier to face them both from there, or is he feeling a little awkward in a space that isn't his? Neph's not sure she's ever seen Will completely at ease anywhere, not even his own house (but then she happens to know he's got a sheet for a bedroom door and a dad with shitty taste in friends, so she can't blame him there). What would a comfortable, unguarded Will even look like?
Today is not the day she finds out. Today he's staring at her in something too sharp-edged to be dismay. She tilts her chin over her mug, not quite making the leap from yeah I got that asshole fired on accident whoopsifuckingdo to this white knuckled gaping look. It's not until he not only refuses to meet her eyes, but actively looks away that realizes how loudly she must've been thinking. Feeling. Whatever. Either way she sucks in a sharp breath, presses her lips so hard against the mug they may puff up later, and thinks reining-in-thoughts. Staticky thoughts. Single snowflake in a blizzard thoughts.
With everything that's gone on today, she hasn't given much thought to what she might've been shoving into Will's head. Was his sympathy for real, or just a mirror turned to face her? She'd held onto his hand and he hadn't let go, but how much of that was a choice?
Any other day, thoughts like that would trigger another run, a more punishing one. But today, just an hour ago, she discovered that two people outside of this room stood up for her when they heard about the Samson thing. One of them even got punchy. The novelty leaves Neph a little more inclined to believe that people might see something wrong with what happened and get angry on her behalf than she normally would. She might let herself believe that Will means it.
(Should she apologize for the handholding? She should, shouldn't she? It's one thing to spray feelings everywhere like an out of control sprinkler system, but if she accidentally pushed him into letting her touch him, she'd have to commit ritual suicide or something.)
((Then again, how much of anything she did or didn't do even registered? Hannibal must've been blaring Emotions like a foghorn if he spilled his name.))
(((This is all a lot. It's clearly time for a change of topic, before things get unrecoverably weird. Because, somehow, they haven't yet.)))
"So the museum was a bust, which, my bad," Neph sighs, both hands once again wrapped around her empty mug, fingertips drumming on the ceramic. "And Will's not wearing any shoes and I'm not putting real pants back on, so does Netflix sound good? I bet we could find some art-based documentary thing, or a heist movie..." Paradoxically, she kinda hates heist movies. It's impossible not to pick them apart. "Or, oh!! I think they put up all the Bob Ross ever a while ago."
Will might not be looking at her, but Neph doesn't bother to conceal the note of glee in her voice. Is it her imagination, or does Hannibal shudder slightly at her side?