Yes, Hannibal is very quick and eager to answer Adam's question, leaving Ichabod with his mouth agape and prepared sentences dead on his silent lips. Dead in shock, precisely, when Hannibal effortlessly weaves a tale of their supposed legal kinship. As they continue their trek, Ichabod finds himself helplessly floundering when the focus of the conversation shifts directly onto him. His eyes flutter wide, lips straining together to refuse a frown. What is Hannibal trying to do?
"Wah-- I, I..." Ichabod stammers, ears burning so brightly in the growing dark, they almost become their own source of light to travel by. He isn't sure if he is more unbalanced by being tossed the ball in this game of deception quicker than he can think, or by the unveiled sexual undertones Adam presents.
And Hannibal adopts.
Judging by the sudden deadened glare on Ichabod's face, he looks to be about five thousand percent done with the exchanges being flung to and fro before him. His temper sparks instantly, with Hannibal's friction between subjects delicate as dry wood.
"I do what I must to make my lady happy; I wouldn't want her to become the second divorcée of the family." Ichabod stares a firm set of holes into the back of Hannibal's head, before his gaze meets Adam's with only somewhat less intensity. Their guide in question gives doctor Lecter a quick, wary side-eye. He thinks he gets the idea.
"Ahh, well. So you...say you cook, mister Lecter?"
It feels like a cool breeze that sweeps over Ichabod, though far more soothing than threatening; it's the secure shade that falls when the spotlight is dragged away from his presence, a sensation he finds deep solace in. He tunes out the rest of their conversation, keeping a sweeping gaze over the forest around them.
no subject
"Wah-- I, I..." Ichabod stammers, ears burning so brightly in the growing dark, they almost become their own source of light to travel by. He isn't sure if he is more unbalanced by being tossed the ball in this game of deception quicker than he can think, or by the unveiled sexual undertones Adam presents.
And Hannibal adopts.
Judging by the sudden deadened glare on Ichabod's face, he looks to be about five thousand percent done with the exchanges being flung to and fro before him. His temper sparks instantly, with Hannibal's friction between subjects delicate as dry wood.
"I do what I must to make my lady happy; I wouldn't want her to become the second divorcée of the family." Ichabod stares a firm set of holes into the back of Hannibal's head, before his gaze meets Adam's with only somewhat less intensity. Their guide in question gives doctor Lecter a quick, wary side-eye. He thinks he gets the idea.
"Ahh, well. So you...say you cook, mister Lecter?"
It feels like a cool breeze that sweeps over Ichabod, though far more soothing than threatening; it's the secure shade that falls when the spotlight is dragged away from his presence, a sensation he finds deep solace in. He tunes out the rest of their conversation, keeping a sweeping gaze over the forest around them.