She's known for a long time now that Hannibal knows all kinds of things. She has managed, at a younger age than most, to get over the idea that adults know everything, but Triss hasn't aged into the certainty that they don't know anything, yet. It seems totally reasonable that he should be able to answer any questions she might have about whatever's in these books, because surely he's read them all. Forty something is so many years, he's probably read everything he owns at last twice.
Triss takes the book back every bit as carefully as she picked it up the first time. This office is for working, not for sitting and reading in - there aren't any comfy chairs or blankets or anything. Actually there aren't many places in the house that encourage sprawling or napping; that, too, is similar to her old life, but at least back then she'd had a native's disregard and permission to crawl under the furniture so long as nobody important was looking. She could take it back up to her room, but...
It still smells funny up there. Like beached fish and bad water and the sick taste of a near-miss. No. Weighed against that, the upright armchairs in the den will do just fine.
"I could do that," she says, just as wondering but a little more firmly, this time. It'd be neat, to sit in one of those chairs and look over the bookshelves and immediately know which ones she'd helped to find. What other sort of magic stuff could there be out there to bring back and set on a shelf? Storybooks are full of enchanted gems and jewelry and stuff, but just as many frogs. Triss has seen enough real magic now to know that dancing candlesticks and teapots are unlikely, but is it silly to think that people like her and Hannibal might have a reason to enchant a clock or a wardrobe?
She shifts in place, torn between retreating to read (ie: fall safely asleep over the book, the eventual outcome no matter what) or this unusual opportunity to talk to Hannibal about magic without wanting to frustration-cry. "What--what're you gonna do? Now, I mean, 'cuz you're not at work 'cuz'a what happened..." She does not say 'because of me', not because she's not thinking it but because she's learned better than to let on about those thoughts.
It's an odd question. Not because children are so self-centered that they never ask what adults are doing, but because Triss doesn't often interrogate Hannibal about anything personal. If she plans on going upstairs to read, whatever he's doing elsewhere in the house wouldn't bother her in the slightest, which must mean she has another reason for asking--
Which Hannibal thinks he discovers as she finishes that thought. 'Cause of what happened'' is hardly a stinging indictment, but there is the hint of 'cause of what I did' that can't help but slink along after the phrase, like a guilty dog hiding under a kitchen table. Hannibal has a few decades of experience in acting unaffected by events, a practice evident in how he smiles and leans a bit heavier against his own desk. Nonchalance is projected with a crisp elegance that nonchalance seldom has. "Aside from enjoying my sudden day off, you mean?" Is she old enough to have noticed the way adults jokingly always want to get out of work, the same way children try to get out of school? "It's very likely I'm going to read quite a bit, myself."
Silence barely has time to settle in after his words before Hannibal continues. "Would you want to read in the same room?" That freshly-ironed nonchalance envelops the last sentence as well, perhaps a bit more tightly than anything else so far.
"Yes!" Triss blurts. Therapy taught her how to wield silence, not how to convincingly mask her motivation. She's only as opaque as most eight year olds, which is to say: not very at all when she's angling for something. Playing it cool may never be a tactic that works for her, even with Hannibal's detached model to follow.
She's self aware enough to look a little embarrassed, at least, an unsure smile crimping her mouth at his joke. Do adults enjoy not working? Her list of Things Grown Ups Do When They're Not At Work' is pretty short, beginning with 'pay bills' and ending with 'argue with other grown ups on the phone'. The list splits into subsections for foster homes, where the adults are more likely to also cook and clean, and households, where they can pay other people to do that for them. Except for Hannibal who likes cooking and sort of saves that for himself. That's another sub-sub list that should probably have 'read about magic' on it somewhere.
Once she's run through those lists and decided he's not secretly joking or humoring her, she darts on ahead to the den. The chairs might be posture-conscious but there's a heavy throw over the back of the sofa, all drapey and warm and geometric shapes. Triss pulls it around herself and clambers into a wingback, the book clasped carefully under her arm. Once she's safely crosslegged, tented under the blanket, it unfolds over her knees. The pages are thick, crackly and dry, so she turns them carefully by the edges as she waits for Hannibal to find his own book and join her. It might take a while, he can be so picky.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2016-08-11 12:43 am (UTC)Triss takes the book back every bit as carefully as she picked it up the first time. This office is for working, not for sitting and reading in - there aren't any comfy chairs or blankets or anything. Actually there aren't many places in the house that encourage sprawling or napping; that, too, is similar to her old life, but at least back then she'd had a native's disregard and permission to crawl under the furniture so long as nobody important was looking. She could take it back up to her room, but...
It still smells funny up there. Like beached fish and bad water and the sick taste of a near-miss. No. Weighed against that, the upright armchairs in the den will do just fine.
"I could do that," she says, just as wondering but a little more firmly, this time. It'd be neat, to sit in one of those chairs and look over the bookshelves and immediately know which ones she'd helped to find. What other sort of magic stuff could there be out there to bring back and set on a shelf? Storybooks are full of enchanted gems and jewelry and stuff, but just as many frogs. Triss has seen enough real magic now to know that dancing candlesticks and teapots are unlikely, but is it silly to think that people like her and Hannibal might have a reason to enchant a clock or a wardrobe?
She shifts in place, torn between retreating to read (ie: fall safely asleep over the book, the eventual outcome no matter what) or this unusual opportunity to talk to Hannibal about magic without wanting to frustration-cry. "What--what're you gonna do? Now, I mean, 'cuz you're not at work 'cuz'a what happened..." She does not say 'because of me', not because she's not thinking it but because she's learned better than to let on about those thoughts.
no subject
Date: 2016-09-08 05:50 pm (UTC)Which Hannibal thinks he discovers as she finishes that thought. 'Cause of what happened'' is hardly a stinging indictment, but there is the hint of 'cause of what I did' that can't help but slink along after the phrase, like a guilty dog hiding under a kitchen table. Hannibal has a few decades of experience in acting unaffected by events, a practice evident in how he smiles and leans a bit heavier against his own desk. Nonchalance is projected with a crisp elegance that nonchalance seldom has. "Aside from enjoying my sudden day off, you mean?" Is she old enough to have noticed the way adults jokingly always want to get out of work, the same way children try to get out of school? "It's very likely I'm going to read quite a bit, myself."
Silence barely has time to settle in after his words before Hannibal continues. "Would you want to read in the same room?" That freshly-ironed nonchalance envelops the last sentence as well, perhaps a bit more tightly than anything else so far.
no subject
Date: 2016-09-19 12:41 am (UTC)She's self aware enough to look a little embarrassed, at least, an unsure smile crimping her mouth at his joke. Do adults enjoy not working? Her list of Things Grown Ups Do When They're Not At Work' is pretty short, beginning with 'pay bills' and ending with 'argue with other grown ups on the phone'. The list splits into subsections for foster homes, where the adults are more likely to also cook and clean, and households, where they can pay other people to do that for them. Except for Hannibal who likes cooking and sort of saves that for himself. That's another sub-sub list that should probably have 'read about magic' on it somewhere.
Once she's run through those lists and decided he's not secretly joking or humoring her, she darts on ahead to the den. The chairs might be posture-conscious but there's a heavy throw over the back of the sofa, all drapey and warm and geometric shapes. Triss pulls it around herself and clambers into a wingback, the book clasped carefully under her arm. Once she's safely crosslegged, tented under the blanket, it unfolds over her knees. The pages are thick, crackly and dry, so she turns them carefully by the edges as she waits for Hannibal to find his own book and join her. It might take a while, he can be so picky.