deshabille | thirteen ☼ spam & voice

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thirteen ☼ spam & voice

spam } hannibal, backdated

[She does not sit by his bed until he wakes up. Instead, she watches him until she hears his breathing begin again and then leaves the infirmary. She knows he won't stay for long.]

[It's only later that she goes to find him in his room. This time, she knocks. Of course, if he doesn't respond, she'll just go in. But she can pretend at respect for bare moments.]

[It's the little things.]

private } dean, polly, arya, shortly after the above

I need to start it now. Right now.

[Theoretically this is all very dramatic but she's mostly anticipating a lot of boredom, which shows in her voice. Snore. This again.]

[She's fine it's fine.]

private } aeryn

Timetable has obviously been pushed back, but you should know I'll be out of commission for, mm. A while.

private } spock

Something you might be interested in.

private } ben

I have information of relevance to your inmate, and you by extension. No detail, but you should know anyway.

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[He managed to reach his room, his bed, with a rather serious limp. He favors his left knee badly - it still aches from the break Slevin gave it - but in another day or two, he'll learn to mask the pain. Tuck it away as if it never was. Now, he is psychically exhausted and mentally dissatisfied.

With everything.

He's sitting on his bed when the knock comes, in clean clothes and a bathrobe settled on his shoulders. He knows who it is without a second thought: though it would be nice for Abigail and Alana to come check on him, see to his health, he knows the only one who would come is his warden.

Forcing his spine to straighten, he settles his hand on his left knee, fingers digging briefly into the meat and cartilage. Undamaged but painful meat and cartilage. He is undamaged, and his body would do damn well to remember that.

He exhales slowly, hides it away - but he is still pale, drawn, though his best efforts leave him looking better than most would.]

Come in.

I thought you were changing your mind. [Not that Arya's been waiting for the maybe opportunity to stab someone or anything.]

[Polly takes the dramatics in stride as always. Most everything is a Big Deal once Mal fixates on something. The upside, of course, she remains quite tenacious which given what she's set her mind on, this is favorable.]

I'm ready so long as you are.

[She's been ready for a while actually.]

Then I am interested.

What might it be?

Am I to be avoiding you or merely using extreme caution?

[ Three guesses as to which she'd prefer. ]

Uh huh.

[He figured as much.]

You okay?

Sir?

Hannibal is getting angry. Very angry. Something is going to happen soon. I'm doing my best to anticipate it, but you ought to be aware.

No.

[There are a lot of better answers to this, but this is the one she's giving.]

If you use extreme caution, are you willing to kill me if necessary?

I'm going to be going through some extreme physiological changes soon. I realize you don't know anyone but me who's like me, and I thought that you might like to monitor them.

I would.

[Not for science, even. She's his friend. He doesn't want anything bad to happen to her if he can help it.]

What is the expected duration?

Talk.

[He should probably phrase it more nicely; but neither of them, when it comes right down to it, are nice people.]

And deprive you of the opportunity to beat me up?

[Child, please.]

I know you are. That's why I wasn't asking.

Say, two hours?

There's nothing to talk about. I'm already dealing with it.

[There's plenty to talk about, and no good way of dealing with it.]

Unsure. It was something like two months last time, but I didn't have any . . . external support. I anticipate less time. Three to four weeks.

[External support shouldn't warm him but it does. His first thought is of course, she has Polly, but she wouldn't be asking him if she didn't trust him, and he misses Kirk, too.]

What should I be prepared for?

[She pushes the door open, and it slides out of the way, shushing against the carpet on which she knows he's walked in socked feet to hurt, to kill. This floor that he knows so well.]

[She looks at him impassively, the way he's tucking his pain away as if it means nothing to him. Knows that it should mean nothing to him; knows that it means something, nevertheless.]

[It's unfortunate, she thinks, that she feels something other than sharp curiosity for this man. At least it's mostly just that, thus far.]

[She doesn't say a word. Just closes the door behind her and walks in, to lean on the edge of his desk.]

Mal.

Dean.

Mal.

Psychologically - aggression, bloodlust, hallucinations. Physically, contagious hallucinations, shaking, nausea. Those are the big ones.

Gods, what?

How are the hallucinations spread? Will coffee assist you in mitigating the symptoms?

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thirteen ☼ spam & voice

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