for souille

With the final glasses polished and put away from the evening, the ritual of meal is complete. The cabinet doors close with the same ceremony of a good host releasing their guests back into the world, only after arming them with stories and full stomachs to get them through another evening. It's a farewell, but something far from permanent-- everyone, after all, must eat.

He's declined help this evening from Abigail in cleaning up, insisting that she make herself comfortable elsewhere in the house. While the tediousness of the chore can usually help cleanse and settle a mind, Hannibal claims the kitchen space for himself in order to see how Abigail keeps herself entertained. Her choices and actions will be telling, and he believes her to be fully aware of his watch.

It's his nose that finally leads him to her-- a now familiar trail of a scent that stands out from the rest of the house like a nonnative bird fluctuating from a settled hop to quick bursts of flight.

"I do believe it's time to get you back," he suggests as careful, incrementally, as the care given to rolling down his sleeves and buttoning them back into place. It's never a welcome conversation, but it is one that must be had.