Mischa Lecter, Hannibal Rising (gone VERY AU), Somebarshapedplace

[mmsaki]

There is a bar-shaped-place at the end of the universe. It is magical, illogical, defies description and begs for wonder and awe and questions.

The seventeen-year-old girl seat at the table is here for the second time. She is also doing what appears to be her homework.

It isn't.

She just likes trigonometry.

Comments

[mm_pyth]

"Mathematics again, Mischa?"

Hannibal grins fondly, sliding into the seat opposite.

Like he's one to talk-- the book in his hand is an anatomy textbook, a few years old and well-worn but cared for.

[mmsaki]

"You," she informs him with great dignity, "have only yourself to blame for any mathematical-induced jealousy."

There is a hint of a teasing smile about her mouth, but only a hint.

[mm_pyth]

"I admit my guilt and beg for the mercy of the court," he says with a quirk of a smile. "Will my sister the arbiter of justice graciously allow me to order her some hot chocolate?"

[mmsaki]

"Her honour would indeed."

[dear_clarice]

For him, she never lived to be seventeen.

He always fancied she would be just as beautiful as she was when she was very young.

Just like that.

Her scent's changed, but it's still intrinsically her. Aspects of her face are still familiar to him, after all these years.

(He can see her in his mind's eye.)

But it makes no sense; it's --

Infinitely improbable.

[mmsaki]

Mischa has a ruler in hand, absently taping her neck with it as she studies the page in front of her. Biting her bottom lip, blue eyes slightly narrowed -

But she looks up and those blue eyes widen to take in a face some distance away instead of lines on a page.

[dear_clarice]

And blue eyes meet maroon ones.

Were he standing, the doctor might have dropped the book in his hands (Cervantes), but he's seated.

It isn't a question anymore.

(He's heard the dead come here. That is always a possibility, although it brings up the question of the dead aging.)

[mmsaki]

She knows him.

But she doesn't.

Not. Not quite and her lips part with an unspoken question.

"May I help you, monsieur?" She asks, accent French over Russian over Lithuanian and that wasn't her question.

[mrmoneypenny]

Huh.

Someone...strangely familiar, almost. But not.

Villiers approaches. Carefully.

"Working on homework?"

Maybe he could help. After all, Villiers is a helpful person, and-

...

Oh.

Maths.

...

Ewwww...

[his_usurper]

She is small and plump and blonde, pretty as a summer's day. But a summer's day somewhere cool, as her gaze is nothing more than perfectly polite.

"Oh, no. This is...I finished my homework."

[mrmoneypenny]

Villiers smiles.

"So many bright young students these days," he says pleasantly.

He can be polite too. See? But also friendly.

It's a necessary job skill.

[his_usurper]

"It is," she informs him gravely, "my brother's fault."

Her accent is outwardly French, yes, but underneath it is Russian. Underneath that is Lithuaian.

It is a highly unusual accent.

[mm_adiva]

Graham isn't watching closely as he walks away from Dr. Lecter, too unnerved by turning his back on the man, too scared, too angry. His chest aches; the old scar feels raised and rough against his T-shirt.

His passage riffles Mischa's papers, and anything loose might well go fluttering to the floor in his wake.

[suspects_ravens]

*cough* Hi! Can I solicit you for some crack?

Yes, I have this post on tracking. You would too.

[mm_adiva]

Me, I'm just refreshing obsessively. >.>

You can! *cheerful* I have no idea how it'll pan out, but you can!

[ofsmokeandblood]

Awesome! *CREEPY HANNIBAL GLEE*