#chilton.

HIIIIHELLOHIIII i realised i havent sent an ask in a while HIIIII

HIIIII WILL HELLOOO!!!!!!☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

    𝙸𝚁𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚂 𝙰𝙲𝚁𝙾𝚂𝚂 𝙵𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙺’𝚂 𝚅𝙸𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙴, and he is slow to chase it away.  hints of it linger still in the stiffness of his posture and the tension around his mouth, even once he has smoothed the majority of his expression into a taut kind of placidity—one that is quite obviously false.  he thinks of his book, still in its incipient phase, no more now than a folder of notes and a few hasty scribbles.  and yet in those scribbles lies the key to renown.  the polishing of a tarnished name; he will be remembered for this, not for whatever scandal had latched itself like a parasite onto his throat.  he’s certain of it.

    the look he levels upon nox is one of casual disdain, cast over toward them as he straightens his coat and buttons it brusquely, smoothing his hand over the already-tidied material.

    “perhaps because it is,”    frederick drawls, looking down as he reaches into his pocket and withdraws his keys.  their heft is nearly negligible in his palm—a sore reminder of his reduced station.  he wraps his fingers around their meager splay, pulling his automobile key to lie apart from the others and rubbing his thumb over its black plastic base.    “had you considered that?”

    𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙱𝙰𝙻𝙰𝚂 𝙲𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙳.  beaten.  removed from his operas and his parties and his practice—humbled, as it were.  brought low and forced to coexist with the rest of humanity, to live below them, even.  the picture ignites some thread of cruelty inside him, and fans the flames of his pride.  he’s always liked the power his role afforded him, and to have the famed hanibalas lekteris under his care—his roof.  well, it’s almost too good to be true.

    it’d be better, frederick thinks as he surveys hanibalas with a veneer of haughtiness, if hanibalas would bow under the weight of incarceration.  he wants to see the man humiliated, suffering, balking at the indignity afforded to him by his current status.  but he is as composed as ever, infuriatingly placid and untroubled, even in his issued jumpsuit and canvas loafers.  if there has been any change in him since his imprisonment, it is that captivity has made him rude; the only weapons left to hanibalas lekteris are his words, which he wields like a whip at every opportunity.  frederick tries not to let it bother him, but hanibalas seems to know just where his flesh is the most tender.

    his lips twitch up, but he can’t suppress the way his fist clenches tighter around his cane.  a small fissure of fear opens inside him, no more than a hairline fracture, but it’s enough to give him a chill.  to provoke his anger, though he masks both well.  hanibalas cannot harm him here, he knows, but there is something sinister crawling under the man’s skin all the same.

    “oh, don’t worry, dr. lekteris,”    he drawls, forcing the fingers wrapped around the cane to open.  he flexes them, and resets his grip.    “we have you under twenty-four-hour surveillance, just like every other prisoner housed within these walls.”

    his mouth curls into a smirk, tugging up to one side, but there is a coolness in his gaze.  it gathers around his eyes and sets them firm.  challenging.