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...S'ppose that would be hard for them, yeah. [Silas is just going to lean out over the edge of his tree branch and address the man who certainly wasn't addressing him just a moment ago.]

That's quite the subject to bring up in peaceful woods, good sir.

{The lean silhouette of a man flinches like a squirrel at the sudden voice, sending a yelp that echoes through the trees surrounding him. Er, them?

Ichabod looks practically offended to find someone lingering in the tree above him, as if this had been some practical joke, but a firm swallow and the flattening of his coat against his torso has the constable collecting his unsettled nerves.}

It's quite the crime to commit, one might say, but it at least provided the late miss Dempsey with a scenic resting place.

{Forgive Ichabod if he appears to be flippant; he's still waiting for his pulse to simmer down.}

Edited 2013-07-30 03:30 (UTC)

[Forgiven with all the importance and concentration of breathing; he seems particularly unmoved by the jolt and resultant snap of the other man. There's a slow smile brewing on his face, though, and he leans ever-further over his branch, coat rustling over his tunic.]

Miss Dempsey? [We're losing the smile, now, as he turns thoughtful.] Now what's all this about? Who's been killed in my woods?

[ a knowing, almost sad smile quirks at his lips as he looks away from his guest. ]

Though, the dead hide the truth even better than the living at times.

They don't quite speak up about it, either. [This is the man he's been sent to help, is it? Hannibal found it easy to slip up behind him in the operating room, and he now hovers feet from Ichabod. A surgical knife is on the table near the vivisection. Hannibal can't help but gravitate towards it.]

Unless you know how to listen. [Introductions? He can begin those once he's properly sure he has Ichabod's attention.]

{An eyebrow lifts immediately, perplexed by this man's apparent possession of this forest. Is that how it works, here?}

Your wood, sir, and yet you hold no knowledge of the incident? {It's less a query and more of a statement. Ichabod's hands disappear behind his back as he straightens himself, as if he means to level himself with this man's gaze so high up in the tree.}

Helena Dempsey, last seen alive two days ago approaching this wood to reach the mountains east of here, was found last night brutally slain in the most curious fashion.

Not quite. {Ichabod shuffles his leather case from one hand to the other, giving way to a gentle symphony of metal and glass components.) It's knowing how to understand how they communicate, and what they are trying to say. Then all can be revealed to you.

Unfortunately, I've met one too many deceased persons who were, ah... A little too vocal for my tastes. {"One too many" being a simple and single one.}

{There's a small commotion when Ichabod's knee jerks appropriately to being startled, where it collides with some of the many complicated metal pole systems working to keep the operating table standing. He also may have jumped against the small tray holding his hand-made instruments.

Whipping around he seeks out the face of this intruder, but his magnifying goggles only serve to obstruct his vision where the image of this man's visage is so blown, Ichabod can very nearly see the atoms that create his physical manifestation.

Fumbling but swiftly, the constable removes them.} And it is for my ability to listen that I am assigned to dictate what clues they are trying to share.

{He glances over this younger man curiously.} You're the medical student, then?

[There's not much that deserves a proper, serious frown, but this would be one of those things. Or both, really.] Not much good that comes from having 'brutal' and 'curious' together.

[But this is his wood - that is indeed how it works here - and duty is calling loud and clear. The tree branches are scaled as though they were perfectly-aligned ladder rungs and not the crooked teeth of a oak.] Much better to have a conversation eye-to-eye, yeah? [And they are indeed, even if Silas rather dwarfs this slim man in width.]

Now, if you're not too busy - show me.

[A volunteer for your bragging theatrics, Crane.]

[Hannibal waits to be addressed, calm as you please, and watches with hawk's eyes in an appropriately-tilted head. He seems to even be missing the humanizing blinks that should occur with such a stare.

At being called out, though, Hannibal's face is slowly bled through with a smile, one of quiet confidence. He gives a calm nod.] Hannibal Lecter, steadily climbing towards my degree. You're to be my guide in this, so tell me; what truths is this unfortunate soul's corpse giving you?