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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.
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.
no subject
It's impossible for her not to contrast her surroundings here with both her parents' home and the cabin - rustic and simple and seemingly very ordinary, right up until the moment she'd put the pieces together and realised it was anything but. Hannibal's home feels like a palace in comparison, grand and cold, but his presence makes it feel safe somehow, especially when Abigail thinks of the place he's having to take her back to.
She looks down at her hands, nodding a little reluctantly. The more time that passed at Port Haven, the more she convinced herself that she really was crazy, and the more time she had to ruminate over the things her father had done, what she'd been a victim of and an accomplice to. She could never move forward with her life as long as she remained there.
"How long do I have to stay there? They skirt around the subject every time I try to ask."
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"I'm afraid giving you any kind of deadline would be a lie told to comfort you," there is a tinge of sympathy to his voice, very latent, past the calm rhythm of his tone that has delivered good news, bad news and everything between. Occasionally, those satellite phrases leave even him with something to think on.
"They still need more observation before they consider you ready to face the challenges that lie outside of those walls."
Patronizing? Perhaps. Removing her coat from the coat rack, Hannibal extends that garment towards her with a watchful eye, looking for any thoughts or subtleties that may pass over Abigail's face.
no subject
"If you and Alanna said something to them..." she begins, knowing they could have her removed from the facility but also knowing even as she suggests it that they would certainly not do so.