mirrortouch | 01 | 🕐

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01 | 🕐 | audio

[ It's not something that really ever becomes routine, it doesn't matter how often he wakes up someplace strange and uncharted. The voice on the line sounds about as scattered as he feels. ]

My name is Will Graham, it's- [ He's pulling back his sleeve to look for a watch that's not there. ] I don't have the time. I don't- I don't have the time.

[ Hang on, don't get too lost. ]

It's not clear to me exactly where I am, but- [ a dry laugh ] you probably already knew that. This isn't even my phone. But you probably knew that too.

[ He's missing details. He's missing plenty. His voice trails off for a short while before he can get his bearings enough to speak again, and even then it's almost unconsciously. ] I don't know. I don't know.

[ It's as if the fact that he has no idea sparks him back into the present. His voice grows more composed, if somewhat cracked. ] So if you're hearing this, if anyone is hearing this - [ is anyone hearing this? ] - any singular indication will be key.

[ Another beat. ]

I feel as though I've strayed a long, long way from home.

[ The air goes dead, and then so does the line. ]

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I thought that much was obvious. He can afford to be, can't he? Stately, without delving into the meretricious.

[ Will lets his plate set on his knee, reaching down to paw at Digby a bit again - he holds out a hand to let sniff, lick, whichever, and smooths his hand over the dog's head. It's a comfort, but moreover he really does remind him of Winston. ]

The, ah - The intimacy with which I know Doctor Lecter is probably bar none on this ship more prevalent, available, save for maybe his warden.

[ He's not sure how well Mal knows him. But he's fairly certain she's smart enough to have wrapped her mind around Hannibal's own. ]

It means you don't just have to ask me about suits, Ned, not if you want.

[Digby, in turn, sits very calmly beside Will. He's god the old-dog gaze but none of the physical traits, as healthy as the day he died. At Will's invitation, he sets his head on Will's thigh so as to be close to the pie plate, and uses his long tongue to lick up crumbs.]

[The Piemaker frowns at the question, at a sort of crossroads. Does he really want to have more access into Hannibal's mind? He's not his warden. He barely gets along with Mal, not since Dean left and came back. Hannibal himself certainly wouldn't care much one way or the other, right?]

I don't know how helpful that would be.

To you, I mean. Not to me.

What if asking about him sets back your own graduation?

[ He needs to stop doing that thing, where he gets the urge to laugh at everything ironic - people here just don't know any better. He's not the guy who didn't kill all those people here, he's just an enigma all over again. Why he's an inmate, no one knows. How he died, no one knows. They know there's something off about him, certainly, but there's always been something off about him and it's nearly back to the old days.

Though he does have the advantage now. Hannibal. He knows better for himself. Hannibal. He's more prepared for what it is that he can have slewed in his own direction.

That doesn't mean it's any less of a fencing match, some kind of fight to the end. Perhaps. Maybe it's just a stalemate, here. ]

Ned, to be brutally - incredibly honest - [ which he's not often ] I'm not sure my graduation could exist if I weren't allowed to discuss Hannibal Lecter.

He and I are - so deeply entrenched, twisted. He's the bear trap beneath the leaves. I stepped into it.

[The concept Will describes isn't lost on the Piemaker. He can sense that webbing without even being fully ensnared in it. He's never met a person like Hannibal, who can take someone's experiences and twist them into his own purposes so easily.

Maybe it will be cathartic for Will to be allowed to talk about it. He has no idea, and no file to go off of. Only instinct]

Do you want to discuss him?

It doesn't have to be now. This is just your first day and first days on the Barge are always rough enough without making them worse.

[ Cathartic, certainly, in a way. It's a lot easier to discuss Hannibal, as though at long length instead of at arm's. (Rather than being in his proximity, with his hands tightly around the man's throat - give to me what you took from me.)

Will rubs a thumb lightly at his bottom lip, along the line of it. He doesn't answer at first. ]

Honestly, Ned - There's already not a day in my recent life that has gone by where he hasn't at least been a passing thought. We're - [ Oh, he doesn't know anymore, and his tone is perfectly acidic: ] close.

I'm already in space. How much stranger can my day get?

[The Piemaker gives a rough, uneasy smile at 'close'. Close can mean a lot of different, equally terrible things. He's not sure about his place in all this, and whether he even has a right to interfere in the relationships Hannibal cultivates. Something to ask his warden, he supposes]

Assuming we're due for a flood...very, very strange.

I'm not a therapist or ever actually...been to therapy. No, sorry. I did go once. To someone who specializes in dogs.

But I'm a good listener.

The last thing I need is another therapist, Ned.

[ He rubs a hand at his forehead, parting it out to the side as he explains, in vague terms: ]

Hannibal was my therapist. [ Imagine that, now. Having Hannibal Lecter as your therapist. ] He was my friend, until I knew better. Should have known better.

[The look of dawning horror on the Piemaker's face gives a genuine picture of how he imagines that affair going down. Hannibal is bad enough as a Barge passenger: the idea of him sticking around inside one's head is terrifying]

You shouldn't.

Shouldn't have known better.

It's very...difficult to know something he doesn't want you to know.

We were friends, too.

I could see the signs with such a - a warped clarity, I had the details.

[ He's frustrated with himself, certainly, more often than not, but he sounds unapologetic for himself. ]

Hannibal Lecter certainly - sets the top spinning [ a metaphor he'd made for himself not long ago, wind him up and watch him go.

He gives a minute shake of his head, peering over towards the vicinity of Ned's hands rather than his actual eyes. ]

It always starts out as a - friendship. At first, if you're one of the lucky ones.

[The Piemaker's hands turn over each other in a motion one might use to roll dough: it's what he does, sometimes, to calm himself]

He's probably been doing his thing a lot longer than you or I do our thing.

Whatever our thing happens to be.

But he can't do it now. Not here.

No -

No, he's different. [ He admits that much, in blinding colors, he has changed. ] He was unprepared, but "vulnerable" was certainly never a word to suit him. He's adapted. Evolved. Just because he can't do the same old hat here -

[ Actually, it makes him more unpredictable. More powerless, maybe. But with more gravitas. More danger. ]

I'm not new to field work. I'm certainly not new to profiling. Maybe he has been - doing his thing longer, but it's still always nagged, just that particular bit.

Then you're a lot more aware than me. I never saw it coming.

[The Piemaker rubs his forehead at the admission, embarrassed at himself. He, too, should have known, even when he's telling Will the opposite]

Even Digby likes him. And Digby's usually a better judge of character.

I don't know how he'll react now that you're here.

Seeing as how long he's been here?

[ Ages, somehow, in a time skip that Will can understand on a surface level but quite frankly would rather he didn't have to deal with in whatever capacity.

He parses his words again, lips going tight before he speaks up lightly, almost flippantly: ]

I expect the answer is closer to 'joyously' than you might suspect it to be.

[Will's answer horrifies him, for Will's own sake. The Piemaker can't be sure what crime it was that delivered Will to the Barge, but absolutely no one deserved Hannibal's attentions like that. He gives a hollow nod]

I was afraid of that.

We can take steps. To keep you two apart.

We can?

[ That's almost humorous to him. Like separating the needle from the haystack. (As if he could, as if he'd want to.) ]

How does one expect to keep Hannibal Lecter from something that he wants? Just how easy is that?

[The question was a fair and difficult one. The Piemaker would have to think about it, talk it over with other wardens, maybe get the Admiral involved.

For now, he gave a helpless sort of shrug]

Put a bell around his neck so that you can hear him coming?

[ 'You don't,' is Will's catty response to his own question up and until Ned comes up with that particular answer. Will actually smiles and then chuckles, rubbing fingers up against his forehead a bit tiredly. ]

It's not a bad idea.

[ And he seems to be out of the particularly good ones, so honestly, it's the best suggestion he's heard yet. ]

[He gives a sad sort of smile back. What else can they do? He knows as well as anyone that if Hannibal really, truly wanted to do something, he'd find a way]

I'll pass it up to Mal for consideration.

Avoiding Hannibal isn't the thing that's going to get me graduated, Ned.

[ He probably needs to want less first, certain - aspects, certain draws. Perish the thought of turning back now. ]

Mal's been made aware. I suppose it's not a problem until it's a problem.

[ He fails to mention just where his definition of 'problem' is these days, because it's certainly extended itself. ]

If it's a problem - continues to be a problem - you can come to my room. If you need something. Anything.

[He's not usually this much of a people person. But there's an instinct to protect anyone who catches the eye of the one man who terrifies him]

Kind of you to offer.

[ In that same sort of tone that says he doesn't expect to take him up on it. But it's the thought that counts. Honestly does; he has a hard time expecting people to be in his corner where Hannibal's concerned. Here, well. Things have changed. ]

In the end - while it may seem big at first glance - [ Avoiding Hannibal? ] It's really not that big of a barge.

Will. Honestly. It's not kindness, it's..survival in numbers. It's like living on the Serengeti. The lion prowls after the stragglers in the herd who are by themselves or fall behind. People who are by themselves are vulnerable.

...I was going somewhere with this. Something about collective trampling.

And yet a fox can slaughter an entire hen house if it finds its way inside.

[ Strength in numbers, survival in numbers, he's familiar with the concept if not the execution of it. Even as Ned tells him he's vulnerable as is he can feel himself growing more resolute, stubborn on the matter. ]

I've already played the 'prey' role. [ The look he shoots Ned is a bit sharper, careful in what he says. ] He has scarred a proverbial flank, which means I can't [ won't? ] make a repeat performance so easily.

We need to decide on better animal metaphors.

[Digby looks up at that from his position where he's practically crawled into Will's lap. Y'all can be dogs. Dogs are cool with him]

That's understandable.

I guess we just. Need to be people for now.

He referred to me as a mongoose once. [ Which sounds silly out of context now, he realizes, but at the time - ] They're not bad metaphors, [ Ned's included, he knows consciously, ] it just all depends on the type of animal he finds himself at the time.

[ People. Will doesn't respond to that right away, busying himself with petting Digby, scrubbing his fingers behind the dog's ears with practiced ease. Digby's not his dog, but it doesn't make him any less of a comfort. ]

Is it strange I'm not sure what that qualifies as anymore?

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deadly_ned - 2014-07-24 11:41 (UTC) - Expand

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