(no subject)
It's morning.
Specifically, it's yesterday morning.
The first thing Hannibal notices when she wakes up is that she is no longer dead.
This is peculiar enough to keep her occupied for some time, speaking with herself in abortive gestures and short, silent movements.
The second thing she notices is the wineglass on the bedside table, which she thought she'd-- no, she did clear away.
Confusion. Nervousness.
Fear.
Puzzlement.
Anger, quickly suppressed.
When they dress themselves (not in the same clothes as yesterday) and head down to the bar to obtain breakfast (not the same food as yesterday), their progress is arrested by the sight of that corner booth.
No blood. No bodies (though did they expect to see themselves dead on the floor?). No sign of any altercation whatsoever.
Exchanging worried glances, they finish their meal quickly and exit the bar.
To do what? Hide the body from him? How can they be certain he found it today? Better not to take the chance.
They are aware of an uncomfortable limbo. Those things he said-- but has he said them?
Wait. Simple enough to check the date. From hovering awkwardly along the path they retreat back inside to make a polite request of Bar.
It is, indeed, yesterday.
All right. If some bizarre mechanism has lent them a second chance at that confrontation, they're not going to (didn't do anything wrong) fuck it up this time.
Fact: Will believed he was in the right, to bring up Mischa. (They disagree. Violently. But then, he disagrees with their thoughts on murder. Does it even out, in the end? Can they know?)
Fact: He did it to provoke them. Through what imbecilic suicidal impulse, they aren't sure, but in retrospect it's as clear as the first point. If they'd been paying attention at the time-- no. Focus. They have to remain calm, this time. Have to read him better. Because:
Conclusion: if they endure his verbal abuses without snapping and going for his throat, it's possible everyone can get out of this alive. (If they can be faster on the draw, they-- no. As of this moment Will is their friend, and they will act to preserve his life as well as their own.)
Agreed, then. They will remain nonviolent in the face of whatever he throws at them. Try rational discourse instead, for once. Who knows; maybe it'll do them some good.
(The realization that killing Will gave them none of the usual pleasure is startling, but oddly fitting somehow. They file it away for future reference.)
Thus decided, they break from where they stand motionless by the back door and retire by mutual agreement to their room.
About fifteen minutes before their best estimate as to the correct time, Hannibal and Hannibal return downstairs to wait by the fire for Will.
If they look a little nervous, it's because they are.
Nothing shatters casual arrogance quite like the vivid memory of your own doubled death.
(Unconsciously, they've switched places, right to left and left to right. It doesn't matter. Shouldn't matter. But there you have it. Call it superstition, if you like.)
Specifically, it's yesterday morning.
The first thing Hannibal notices when she wakes up is that she is no longer dead.
This is peculiar enough to keep her occupied for some time, speaking with herself in abortive gestures and short, silent movements.
The second thing she notices is the wineglass on the bedside table, which she thought she'd-- no, she did clear away.
Confusion. Nervousness.
Fear.
Puzzlement.
Anger, quickly suppressed.
When they dress themselves (not in the same clothes as yesterday) and head down to the bar to obtain breakfast (not the same food as yesterday), their progress is arrested by the sight of that corner booth.
No blood. No bodies (though did they expect to see themselves dead on the floor?). No sign of any altercation whatsoever.
Exchanging worried glances, they finish their meal quickly and exit the bar.
To do what? Hide the body from him? How can they be certain he found it today? Better not to take the chance.
They are aware of an uncomfortable limbo. Those things he said-- but has he said them?
Wait. Simple enough to check the date. From hovering awkwardly along the path they retreat back inside to make a polite request of Bar.
It is, indeed, yesterday.
All right. If some bizarre mechanism has lent them a second chance at that confrontation, they're not going to (didn't do anything wrong) fuck it up this time.
Fact: Will believed he was in the right, to bring up Mischa. (They disagree. Violently. But then, he disagrees with their thoughts on murder. Does it even out, in the end? Can they know?)
Fact: He did it to provoke them. Through what imbecilic suicidal impulse, they aren't sure, but in retrospect it's as clear as the first point. If they'd been paying attention at the time-- no. Focus. They have to remain calm, this time. Have to read him better. Because:
Conclusion: if they endure his verbal abuses without snapping and going for his throat, it's possible everyone can get out of this alive. (If they can be faster on the draw, they-- no. As of this moment Will is their friend, and they will act to preserve his life as well as their own.)
Agreed, then. They will remain nonviolent in the face of whatever he throws at them. Try rational discourse instead, for once. Who knows; maybe it'll do them some good.
(The realization that killing Will gave them none of the usual pleasure is startling, but oddly fitting somehow. They file it away for future reference.)
Thus decided, they break from where they stand motionless by the back door and retire by mutual agreement to their room.
About fifteen minutes before their best estimate as to the correct time, Hannibal and Hannibal return downstairs to wait by the fire for Will.
If they look a little nervous, it's because they are.
Nothing shatters casual arrogance quite like the vivid memory of your own doubled death.
(Unconsciously, they've switched places, right to left and left to right. It doesn't matter. Shouldn't matter. But there you have it. Call it superstition, if you like.)