#bcnquet

John is a man of paramount stubbornness, a trait that is often helpful in his line of work, an advantage over a weaker man who bends too easily at ones will. The stubbornness however often gets the best of him when it needn’t be there, this was a situation as such, trying to pass off a fair wound as nothing more than a scratch when his blood stained uniform would in fact argue otherwise. His teeth grind together as he sets his jaw into a fine line, his gaze falling upon the doctor at his hint of humor given the circumstance they find themselves in. 

The comment elicits the slightest of smirks at the corner of John’s lips, subtle and yet amusing all together. “Different times, where they not? When such a …scratch could prove fatal, are we not above that all now? More ... civilized.” Even so he does as directed, he sits back and doesn’t yet move.

She’d been watching him scrawl in that little notebook of his for a good minute now, probably ready to pull a diagnosis out of thin air and give her a handy-dandy prescription that she’ll dump in the trash as soon as she got home. Her sister forced her to come here -- to talk to someone -- but the first second upon meeting this doctor, she already was glancing at the clock.

Here goes nothing. She couldn’t stand the silence. “Is your name actually Hannibal?”

❝You’re kind of a celebrity, y’know. A real go-getter.❞ It seems appropriate, lingering atop the mantle in the dark, legs crossed at the knee. He’s thoroughly enchanted by this man, the things he does, games he plays. A wild ride he never wants to end. Thus, the show must go on. ❝Not real keen on CANNIBALISM myself -- chewy, messy load of shit -- but it sure gets your news crews’ panties in a knot. Points for originality.❞

     “Or is that just Him playing too?”

      Mycroft receives a sidelong glance from his adopted son before Hannibal    turns away again, attentions directed back on the cucumber he had been sli-    cing against the kitchen countertop. They were on the afterimage of another    MISUNDERSTANDING, a similarity he shared with a newly-missing woman.    The authorities departed after some common question-slinging, and Hannibal    had returned to dinner preparation.

             “I believe no one.” Hannibal countered calmly. “You know me better than    that.”

“Well, I’d hope that you believe me from time to time.” Though, Mycroft did have to admit that it would likely be sensible for Hannibal to never trust him, just as he suspected it could be clever to never trust his son. The two of them were both impeccable liars, even to each other.