[He sees her first in the mess hall, a new - ? - face in familiar decor. It gives him pause, and he doesn't follow her in any conventional sense of the act. He follows her eventuality, follows her pattern. Follows so long as she is who he believes she is.
Hannibal doesn't carry in his own cup of coffee - he happens to like that particular set of rules. He comes empty handed, wandering with purpose until he finds the occupied aisle.
At first, he doesn't intrude, watching only froom the corner of his eye. But there is honesty and openness to consider, so he steps away from the books he wasn't really examining, out into the center between the bookends. His hands are clasped in front of him, fingers laced, and he cocks his head as he studies her, curiosity lanced in every inch of his gaze.]
no subject
Hannibal doesn't carry in his own cup of coffee - he happens to like that particular set of rules. He comes empty handed, wandering with purpose until he finds the occupied aisle.
At first, he doesn't intrude, watching only froom the corner of his eye. But there is honesty and openness to consider, so he steps away from the books he wasn't really examining, out into the center between the bookends. His hands are clasped in front of him, fingers laced, and he cocks his head as he studies her, curiosity lanced in every inch of his gaze.]
Good morning.