[Hannibal does not get in the way; he turns to watch, though. A predator drawn to movement, judging whether or not it is a risk, or prey, or worthwhile at all. He turns the knife, long fingers twining about it, over and over before he forces himself to tuck it against his forearm again.]
You have the raw materials.
[He sets the butter knife down carefully, delicately at a not-quite-perfect angle with the tea pot. Then he gestures to Will's bed.]
May I?
[Asking is more a trial than he expected it to be.]
spam
You have the raw materials.
[He sets the butter knife down carefully, delicately at a not-quite-perfect angle with the tea pot. Then he gestures to Will's bed.]
May I?
[Asking is more a trial than he expected it to be.]