the scorpion and the frog

KARL URBAN as WILLIAM “BILLY” BUTCHER

dialogue prompts from season one of nbc's hannibal.

fear is the price of imagination.

my thoughts are often not tasty.

not fond of eye contact, are you?

perception's a tool that's pointed on both ends.

i don't find you that interesting.

you and i are just alike.

how do you see me?

therapy doesn't work on me. i know all the tricks.

therapy is an acquired taste which i have yet to acquire.

i don't think we've ever been alone in a room together.

killing must feel good to god. he does it all the time.

last time i went to a dark place, i brought something back.

dogs keep a promise a person can't.

i remember. i just didn't want to talk about it.

i want the truth. which sometimes requires a little deception.

sounds like something a liar would say.

perception is the most important thing in your life right now.

i don't care what anyone thinks.

i'm gonna be messed up, aren't i?

there's no such thing as 'getting used to' what you experienced.

you do this a lot?

no wonder you have nightmares.

can you catch somebody's crazy?

everybody thinks you did it, you know.

why did you come back here?

i can help you, if you ask me to.

how did you know it was me?

i don't want to go to sleep.

i'll keep your secret.

whose family values?

when misery rains, it pours.

i'm not normal. not anymore.

what was done to you wasn't normal.

support groups are sucking the life out of me.

the family you're born with isn't really family.

tell me about your bad dreams.

i'll just have to get used to lying.

it's important to know when to turn the page.

you want me to do drugs?

more secrets for us.

it's okay. you're home now.

i'm a little taken aback, slash a lot taken aback.

i'm not even sure if i'm awake now.

i've got just the thing to wake you up.

this is not who you are.

who prays over us when we sleep?

do you wait until you think i'm asleep to come to bed?

can we have a conversation, or do you want to pretend everything's alright?

is there anything i can offer you romantically or spiritually or physically to help you out?

you can ask me anything you want.

why don't you come up with your own answers, if you don't like mine?

it's really a very dull story, though, isn't it?

do you want to be alone? don't answer that. just think about your answer.

i don't want you to be alone, not now and not ever.

it's your fight. but i'm in your corner.

i can't give you what you need.

i thought if i kept it to myself, our lives wouldn't change.

i didn't count on changing as much as i did.

i'm gonna sit here until you're ready to talk. you don't have to say a word until you're ready, but i'm not going anywhere until you do.

you looked like you were dreaming.

you're wearing a very well-tailored person suit.

i see enough of you to see the truth of you.

words are living things. they have personality, point of view, agenda.

did you think it was a date?

i googled 'psychopath'. went down the checklist.

i wouldn't be good for you.

it's nice when someone sees us, or has the ability to see us. it requires trust.

i was worried you were dead.

i feel like i've dragged you into my world.

not feeling like yourself is kind of what you do, isn't it?

clearly there's something you don't want to tell me.

i think you need to tell your own story.

no one knows more about ___ than i do.

i won't lie if you don't.

whatever you're feeling now, it won't last.

if you open this door, you won't control what comes through. are you ready for that?

where do you go when you sneak out?

everyone decides their own version of the truth.

i won't tell anything you don't want me to.

i wondered when you would tell me.

you're grieving for the life that was taken from you.

i am officially concerned about you.

i'm not entirely sure what i saw was real.

you're not alone. we are here together.

you made me think i was somebody else.

it's hard to shake off something that's already under your skin.

it's a terrible thing to have your identity taken from you.

it's hard to be with another person when you can't get out of your own head.

we all want things we can't have.

sometimes all we can do is watch.

do i look alive?

i hope you have good insurance.

i know what i did, but i don't remember it.

you made me chicken soup?

this wasn't supposed to be my life.

some places are stained now. some people, too.

i didn't feel safe. so i left.

if i run, they'll catch me, won't they?

you can't protect me anymore.

why did you really call?

i'm sorry i couldn't protect you in this life.

i can't do the silent treatment.

i thought i would get better.

i don't feel like i dodged a bullet.

are you confused about who i am?

i am who i've always been.

the scales have just fallen from my eyes. i can see you now.

What does he know about pickles? What does anybody? It's a nothing subject of conversation. He feels increasingly irate—especially when he looks up and feels like they're about to laugh at him. What's so fuckin' funny, huh?

He has a few more minutes before his boss starts yelling. He's stuck between two hells: prep work for the next shift or this.

"I don't know," he sighs, "Who else you could have been talking to. Are you on the phone? By all fuckin' means, don't let me interrupt you."

it is in their nature to annoy, to pester, to find the soft spots and dig in in every possible way. bad from birth, or something like that. whatever it is, it's fun, and they don't question it more than that.

She wasn’t some hapless woman who had stumbled into chaos by accident. Stupid decisions? Sure, she’d made those. Plenty of them. But every move, every choice—she’d spearheaded them all. It would be easy, almost comforting, to pin the blame on Villanelle, on Carolyn, or even on the dull, predictable life she’d left behind. But none of that would be true. This was her doing, her unraveling.

Now, crammed in a room that felt far smaller than it had a moment ago, Eve could no longer avoid the reality pressing in on her. She couldn’t escape herself—or Villanelle, who, infuriatingly, had become an extension of her. A reflection of what she truly wanted, of desires she couldn’t name without choking on them.

“You know I…” The words stuck, half-formed, tangled with regret and something sharper, something raw. Did it matter? Did anything she said matter? Would it grant her forgiveness? And did she even care if it did?

Yes.

“So, what now?” Her voice steadied, bolder than she felt. “Where do we go from here, you and me?”

She straightened her shoulders, partly to stretch out of the cramped position, partly because she was done shrinking away. She needed to face this—face them—head-on. There was no running now. Maybe there never had been. Maybe she’d known all along, but it had taken her this long to be brave enough to admit it.

There was nothing left to run to. No one she wanted to run toward. Well, no one except the person standing in front of her.

There was no going back.

villanelle thinks eve is taller, maybe literally, than ever before. and glorious, really. more so than she ever could be if she were just another body in their bed or another plaything. so unlike anna, who they'd tried so desperately to make their own without knowing that it was the opposite.

they shoot eve an earnest smile, and feel sheepish for the sincerity of it. it makes them want to back further into the counter, to put distance between the two of them, but they don't, because they don't want to, and they're done with self-sabotage, right?

particularly when it ends in attempted murder.

"that depends," villanelle says, feeling themself relax as both palms grip onto the cheap edges of the counter, leaning back into it with a casual slouch. "they wouldn't take me back even if i wanted to. which i don't," warmly, they add, "because you ruined everything."

their head cocks, canine-like, with a glint of curiosity in their eyes.