mirrortouch | 01 | 🕐

[ 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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Of course he missed me. [ A beat. ] As you said. He wants to be friends.

[ He's silent for a while, teeth grit, fingers pressing up his glasses so he can rub at his eyes. Is that how thorough they are? He suddenly knows, down to a fact, what it is they know about him.

The sarcasm comes out unwittingly. ]

Oh, what's to be done? [ He pauses again, something different in his voice. Even he can't identify how to sound when it comes to Hannibal. ] He's entwined himself into me, he wants to know me down to a molecular level. He might even think he does.

The only question that remains there is which direction in which it heads. Upward and onward or to somewhere else, parts unknown, revelry in the primal. Is that what you're asking me?

What I'm asking you has nothing to do with directions, with objective good or objective evil. What I'm asking is whether your pride is going to get in the way of you being sensible. Whatever sensibility means to you - I can't begin to know that. All I know is the information I've been given, the information I've learned, and the information I've stolen.

You seem like a very clever man. But you don't seem like a sensible one, and that's where he gets you more than anything. I'd rather the two of you stayed away from each other entirely. Hannibal's curiosity won't allow it from his end. Will your pride allow it from yours?

[ Sensibility and cleverness certainly don't have everything to do with it and he knows it as sure as she's telling it to him. What it really boils down to - and maybe it's his pride, maybe it is vendetta - but still the same, his voice comes out a bit tight and wavering when he speaks through his teeth.

Only after a pause, and only carefully - it's hard to hear him at all when he says it, actually. ]

I'm not done with him yet.

[She sighs, long-suffering.]

That's more or less what I expected.

[ It's not the answer she was looking for. He knows. But there's a satisfaction in admitting it aloud to her - of all people here, Mal perhaps has one of the most rights to know. ]

I know I've given you a volatile mix within your hands. [ He will admit. ] I don't envy you.

Mm. Well.

[There's the sense of a secret being shared here, even if it isn't in any way a secret. Not from Will, not from anyone.]

I like a good challenge, if you want the truth.

I'd hate to bore you.

[ He really would, actually. ]

But then, I expect your inmate keeps you adequately challenged as is, never mind with me in the mix.

01 | 🕐 | audio

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