[The way Will asks tells Hannibal everything. Brittle words, easily snapped, easily bent, easily molded. Broken, shattered, devoured. The scrape, scrape, scrape pauses for a moment as Hannibal stares at his new weapon, lifting his eyes slowly to Will's face again.]
I am not a hunter.
[The thought makes him almost giddy, pleased at the irony. Words can be so fragile.
Garret Jacob Hobbs was a hunter, and he is not like Garret Jacob Hobbs. He is....more. He has always been more, he will always be more, and the facade of pretending otherwise is growing tiresome.]
spam
I am not a hunter.
[The thought makes him almost giddy, pleased at the irony. Words can be so fragile.
Garret Jacob Hobbs was a hunter, and he is not like Garret Jacob Hobbs. He is....more. He has always been more, he will always be more, and the facade of pretending otherwise is growing tiresome.]
Will you fish?