wes janson - star wars - bar.
Wes is pretty startled when he walks through the door and gets a magic bar instead of his bedroom. It's been a while, for him.
Not a long while, though -- his hair's a little shorter, a little neater, but it's the only difference -- and he smiles brightly after a few seconds and heads towards the Bar.
A smoothie and some cookies. That's what he
Not a long while, though -- his hair's a little shorter, a little neater, but it's the only difference -- and he smiles brightly after a few seconds and heads towards the Bar.
A smoothie and some cookies. That's what he
Because...
Well.
Hannibal doesn't have a head in a bag. He has a pen, a sketchpad, a seat by the fire, and a friendly smile.
His double has a head in a bag, however, and she'll be along in a moment.
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Female (although it takes a second to notice when you look at her, especially if you know her in her other shape; the two are close to identical).
Carrying, well, a bag.
It does not look like it has a head in it, unless you happen to be very experienced in the matter of heads being in bags, in which case what the hell is wrong with you?
But.
She just came in the door, located her double and Wes, and headed for the latter after a momentary glance to the former.
(Forgive her. She honestly doesn't remember she's a girl at the moment. Blame any resulting confusion on the management.)
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He starts to grin when he notices the Hannibal heading for him ... and then this turns into bewilderment. Wait, what?
"...you," he says with a confused frown, "have changed. I'm not that unobservant."
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"I do that sometimes," she deadpans. "Have you seen Inyri?"
Very direct and to the point, is this girl.
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It is possible there is some irony in his tone.
But he smiles again, just a little, and nods. "Earlier. She said--" Well. "...that she'd met you."
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Holding out the sack: "Please give her this."
Delicate pause.
"You may not want to look inside."
Consideringly: "And I'd not suggest opening it in the middle of the bar, either."
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The warnings dissuade him from moving it any closer to himself, though.
"Um. If I don't want to look inside, why would she?"
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It makes sense! If you are Hannibal.
She hands it over and, duty discharged, slides onto a barstool with easy, precise grace.
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Wes holds up the bag a little to peer at it, then looks back at Hannibal.
"Proof of what?"
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Smirk.
"You'll have to ask her."
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It's a mix of wryness and exasperation.
"This is all creepy and mysterious. Did I miss this place turning into a holofilm while I was gone?"
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Sorry, Wes: you get ignored for about thirty seconds in favour of carefully lifting the glass of wine (a particularly exquisite Sauternes), inhaling, and taking the first sip.
Right. Smiling much more animatedly, though still with that creepy and inhuman edge, Hannibal returns her attention to the conversation.
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It's such an awkward weight in his hand.
"I think I owe you thanks, though," he says slowly, and glances around until he spots the other one. "Both of you. For, um, lookin' out for her when I wasn't here."
For getting rid of him.
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"You're welcome," she says simply.
"We knew you'd have been upset, if harm had come to her."
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Wes would've been upset.
(The other Hannibal is much closer now, having moved in silently while Wes and his double were talking.)
He lets his hand settle on her shoulder as he gently liberates her wineglass, taking a breath (Chateau d'Yquem) and a sip (1973).
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"Just a bit."
He looks between the two of them thoughtfully, then away at the stairs, grip tightening on the bag. His curiosity is starting to get the better of him. He's not sure this is wise of it.
"I'll ... go find her." After I check this myself, he doesn't add. "You'll be around, right?"
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