[Floods are fascinating things. They lead to abrupt changes in personality, cause vast departures of characters. They remove control from any given human, and Hannibal has never been fond of the idea of relinquishing control. He doesn't have to deal with that today, but he is all too happy to pretend - and pretend well - that he is.

When the feed begins, Hannibal sits at his desk, a smile on his face. Not his usual, neutrally pleasant look, but a real, wide smile. Look how happy he is to speak to everyone. He sells it well: Hannibal is a mimic at heart, and there have been more than enough posts to the network thus far to form his own caricature. So, he smiles, keeps his tone light. There are, after all, truces to be taken advantage of.]

Good afternoon.

I feel as thought I ought to make a gesture of goodwill. [He spreads his hands in a calculatedly helpless gesture.] There are not, however, many venues open to me. My talents are no longer considered safe ones. Were it in my power, I would prepare a dinner party for you all. Food is, after all, a great comfort. It fills and warms, it makes us feel safe and comforted. My palette has been called discriminating, but I do in fact excel at comfort food.

[That was for Abigail. He lets his smile turn a touch forlorn.]

But I am barred from kitchens, infirmary, even from the therapeutic efforts so many of us need.

[Thanks Charles.]

It seems as though all that's left to offer is my bared throat. [the smile has faded, and he looks sad, regretful. He feels none of this, but he sells it very, very well: he is the consummate actor.]

Please. If there is anything I may do to ease the suffering here, inform me. I will do whatever is necessary.

[It's veiled, thickly, but this is his bring it on, his come out come out wherever you are. He wants to know if the greater Barge consciousness has begun to forget if not forgive, to be consumed by more personal pains and fears. He wants to take advantage of whatever the flood has to offer.]