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🍴 ( 011 ) Spam
[Spam for Bruce]
[Hannibal has kept his nose clean. He's pushed, here and there, but ultimately he's avoided confrontation, even in the event of his own deaths. He has been, all things considered, very well behaved. But there is a certain boredom to the rote, to living amongst those he does not care for and cannot use. The Barge has become a dull place to him, in some ways, and that is unacceptable.
It's clear enough that things are about to become interesting again, but reprising his role as the inmate on the other Barge is not useful to him. The most recently past flood, however, was: he's been waiting for the right moment, and he's found it.
Taking plate and cutlery from his own room, Hannibal piles the former high with a neat meal from the dining hall, and descends one level to the infirmary. He's stayed out of here almost entirely, except for brief instances of his death toll: even then, he's retreated before he strictly should have, knowing Dr. Banner's opinion of him. It's only polite, not to stay where you are not wanted.
He isn't driven by politesse this time, though his mien remains so. Unerringly, he seeks Bruce out.]
Doctor Banner.
[The meal is carefully covered with a clean cloth, to help keep it warm in lieu of an actual covering. He holds it carefully in front of him, not proffering it just yet.] I hope you have a moment to spare.
[Spam for Mal]
[Later, much later, after life has seeped back into his body, Hannibal lays in his room, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the tell tale sound of Mal entering his cabin. She will have to walk through the office first, but despite the pounding in his temples, he expects to hear it. He lies half curled on his side, staring at the open entrance to his bedroom where a set of armor is supposed to rest. His mind paints it in when he closes his eyes, and he waits, focusing on his breathing rather than the pain that breathing causes.]
[Hannibal has kept his nose clean. He's pushed, here and there, but ultimately he's avoided confrontation, even in the event of his own deaths. He has been, all things considered, very well behaved. But there is a certain boredom to the rote, to living amongst those he does not care for and cannot use. The Barge has become a dull place to him, in some ways, and that is unacceptable.
It's clear enough that things are about to become interesting again, but reprising his role as the inmate on the other Barge is not useful to him. The most recently past flood, however, was: he's been waiting for the right moment, and he's found it.
Taking plate and cutlery from his own room, Hannibal piles the former high with a neat meal from the dining hall, and descends one level to the infirmary. He's stayed out of here almost entirely, except for brief instances of his death toll: even then, he's retreated before he strictly should have, knowing Dr. Banner's opinion of him. It's only polite, not to stay where you are not wanted.
He isn't driven by politesse this time, though his mien remains so. Unerringly, he seeks Bruce out.]
Doctor Banner.
[The meal is carefully covered with a clean cloth, to help keep it warm in lieu of an actual covering. He holds it carefully in front of him, not proffering it just yet.] I hope you have a moment to spare.
[Spam for Mal]
[Later, much later, after life has seeped back into his body, Hannibal lays in his room, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the tell tale sound of Mal entering his cabin. She will have to walk through the office first, but despite the pounding in his temples, he expects to hear it. He lies half curled on his side, staring at the open entrance to his bedroom where a set of armor is supposed to rest. His mind paints it in when he closes his eyes, and he waits, focusing on his breathing rather than the pain that breathing causes.]
no subject
But a sane man would run. So Hannibal keeps stumbling backward, wears an expression that says this has gone awry, that Bruce was supposed to die before he could change. He nearly trips, keeps his feet only just barely, and turns to run through the door, barely clearing it into the hall before the Hulk rams through behind him. He turns at that point, several feet away. After all, there's no reason not to minimize damage to the rest of the ship.
It's not an expression of bravery or of nobility. Hannibal lets fear into his face, head craned up to stare at the giant green rage monster he cannot hope to combat. He lets it look like fear has turned his legs to ice, to jelly. The rest of him will follow suit soon.]
no subject
[ He does not really see that the man stops, that he play acts. He bowls him over like he's nothing, reaches out to rattle him like a rag doll. God knows what it is that kills him; the brute impact of the much larger impact, the fact that the Hulk grabbed him and shook him like a rag doll, or the smash into a bulkhead. Any number of those things could have done it. ]
[ But once he's a limp toy, this would be killer, the Hulk tosses him aside like so much trash, and then bangs down the hallway, angry but triumphant. As he runs out of steam, he sits in the common room on the third floor, and mutters to himself: ]
Hulk smash bad doctor.
Bad doctor hurt Hulk!
Bad doctor hurt M'gana.
[ Violence self-justified, he releases his hold on Bruce's body a few minutes later. Green recedes, muscle shrinks, and Bruce is left in a heap in his ruined clothing. ]
[ He won't be moving for a while... but when he does? His long streak without actual violent incident will be lost. ]