[He is made up of rage, every cell is fury, every nucleus bent on carnage. He is nothing but destruction one moment, a beast roaring into the wind, giving voice to his only purpose of being--
And the next he is still, quiet, confused. He's - good Lord, he's covered in blood, he has his hands around someone's throat - Hannibal's hands tremble with the force of his division, his bafflement. His hand uncurls from Dillon, and he steps back as his brow knits, as he looks down at himself, studying his hands and the blood beneath his fingers. He does't feel hurt - he doesn't feel hurt at all, then where...
His eyes find Dillon's again, and all the animal fury has been replaced with human concern.]
no subject
And the next he is still, quiet, confused. He's - good Lord, he's covered in blood, he has his hands around someone's throat - Hannibal's hands tremble with the force of his division, his bafflement. His hand uncurls from Dillon, and he steps back as his brow knits, as he looks down at himself, studying his hands and the blood beneath his fingers. He does't feel hurt - he doesn't feel hurt at all, then where...
His eyes find Dillon's again, and all the animal fury has been replaced with human concern.]
Are you hurt?