LITTLE can surprise a man such as him; LITTLE rises to so high a triumph. LITTLE and NOTHING; perhaps he can attribute it to WEAKNESS and injury, recovery and dark silence. The discomfort of staying in so CLINICAL a place in a state of debilitation. Still, it rises higher for everyone EXCEPT Hannibal Lecter.
He can deny surprise until the sun burns its core away, but a truth remains: it is STRANGE to find yourself privy to the sight of a stranger shedding his clothing in the room you’re provided for HEALING.
Hannibal remains silent throughout the DISPLAY, not quite rising and yet PROPPED UP by the hospital pillows, silent, silent, even as the intruder SPIES him. He is happy to remain a PARTIAL judge to the enlightenment before him, CURIOUS and quite indignant.
“Allow me to reciprocate the opinion.”
Reciprocated or not, Adam regards the comment as IRRELEVANT; his sole purpose in having ducked into a patient room -- one suspected empty -- to wait out the sun in relative leisure. The universe, it seems, remains ever hellbent on proving him wrong. Yet again, he is supplied with another hurdle to jump, and already he carries a load beyond capacity.
Perhaps were this man’s display indicative of a threat, retaliation -- EVEN WORDS -- might be called for, however he purses his lips, posture relaxed, quietly sliding back to the floor.
In and out, he had assured himself; no witnesses, no trouble, no danger. Wrong, wrong, and WRONG AGAIN.
A drawn-out sigh passes tongue and teeth. This feels very much like a prison.
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