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If I say yes, will you give one?

If it doesn’t feel forced, yes. I would much rather dance, if you are willing.

An encore should never feel forced.

But I would be delighted to dance, thank you. [ She smiles, a little reserved but far from cold. She has learned how to assimilate--or at least how to mimic--very well. ] May I have your name?

No, one never should.

[ He has learned something similar, though the impression of warmth is both something of great effort and which pleases him to put on believably.

Have a smile. It seems genuine enough to fool experts on related analyses. Though he never bothered masking his strange mix of European accents. ]

Hannibal. [ A pause of consideration before he adds ] Doctor Hannibal Lecter. And yours? If I may. Though you are welcome to remain mysterious and intriguing, if it suits you.

Hannibal. That's a lovely name, if uncommon.

[ Hers is distinctly less so, if only for the spelling, but she betrays (and has) no real feelings on that matter. She does take his hand when he offers it, seeming to think a moment before she speaks again. ] Sinthia. Schmidt, though I have no formal title.

I'm flattered you think I'm intriguing. [ Some people find her vaguely strange, on the verge of offputting, because she emotes so relatively little. The uncanny valley effect, they call it, though Sinthia passes well for normal to all but those paying carefully close attention. When she isn't putting effort into it, she tends to seem fairly...predatory. ] You're very graceful.

Sinthia. [ He seems to be tasting the name on his tongue the way one searches for the flavors of a wine to determine its value.

The devil can be a warm companion. It is better than dwelling on the frigid terror of his youth. Anything but that.

That vaguely predatory - to him at least - vibe has a lot to do with his increasing realness and interest, in general. He is not skilled at faking interest. Hannibal can and will not, beyond the strain of professional obligation that does not exist here.

Leading her into a waltz, probably by Schubert, he leans in and speaks intimately close to her ear. This part is not an act. He lives specifically for moments like these. Where morality is irrelevant and the decadence of culture can shine on its own. He speaks many languages, including German, but knows not to make assumptions. ] Thank you. You are as well. I won't ask why you are here, or where you came from - for now. It would spoil the dance.

[ While he speaks, Sinthia keeps her attention on the dance Hannibal is leading her in, letting her body do as it will with perfectly fluid movements: she's been trained well in some way to move, be it dance, or gymnastics, or something else. But she moves as graceful as a shark through water, lithe muscles easy to direct. If Hannibal could have seen her face, he'd notice her eyes unfocusing, the line of her mouth relaxing as she listens to his voice in her ear. In response, she merely hums gently, shifting her weight gently as a soft voice--hers--sounds in Hannibal's head as if her lips were against his ear, though her mouth never moves.

Devilish, indeed. ]

Perhaps later, then?

[ Not Schubert, but Chopin's Waltz in C Sharp Minor (although he preferred Chopin's prelude in D Minor "The Storm", but it was what it was - pleasant to his ears and danceable). Much better than Schubert, less militant and pompous than Strauss. Somewhat dreamy and detached, even.

He moves with the grace of a nobleman, further trained formally in Paris. Hannibal is a skilled lead, strong and entirely in control but somehow also soft in his direction, ever aware of any guiding touch and his balance in pressure suggesting a genuine respect and awe for the form and care of his dance partner. It was his pleasure to highlight the beauty of whatever woman he was dancing with, in this case, Sinthia.

Her voice in his head surprises him and almost throws him off. He says nothing, marveling in silence and focusing on finishing their dance. They are probably a difficult pair for any around to keep their eyes off of. When the dance is done he bows to her, his eyes never leaving hers, or blinking. Quietly, only for her to hear, Hannibal speaks. ] An unusual gift. I know I did not imagine your voice in my head. You had my curiosity before - now you have my full attention.

[ The graceful turns of the music give them both a wonderful opportunity to show skill, and Sinthia is no stranger to doing so; while she would seem shy of attention given how quietly she speaks, she is very well aware of what she wants to say, and what she doesn't. And it pleases her to no end to be able to tell that Hannibal is much the same. He is a superb dancer, and his ability to hear her voice in his head and not stumble for even a beat is impressive--and an ability very few indeed can boast. She knows.

Finishing their dance is a matter of peculiar understatement; the waltz is soft, almost sweet with the barest air of the unsettled nature a minor key lends, and Sinthia comes to a stop as if she were stepping off a cloud, gentle and light as she watches her partner bow. There's something about the otion of almost seeing the vulnerahle back of the neck that still tickles very faintly along her nerves from a lifetime ago. ] And you have mine. Not many know what they've heard, much less so immediately.

People are staring at us. [ They are beautiful, and the undercurrent of danger--as all beauty has--is thrumming between them like a plucked bowstring. ]

I am not sure how what you have done is possible, but I do not question what is clearly experienced to be true. [ This from a man whose fantasy is to stop and turn back time.

He is difficult to throw off-guard, but much more difficult to impress. To be fair, a woman as dangerously attractive as herself would not have needed to try hard, but the rest added to his respect, appreciation, and ability to admit interest so honestly and quickly upon meeting.

That pulsing undercurrent was something rare to be marveled, and could not be feigned by even a great actor of the pretense of humanity. Chemistry was one of the few real things in this world. Something about keeping the blood flowing? She had left him with a rare and not entirely masked hunger in his eyes, though his self control would subdue this immensely.

He speaks in a tone that is even with the slightest hint of husky admiration. ] Let them stare, then. They should admire what we gave them.

[ He extends her his arm, both for wanting to resume their physical connection which he absolutely craves, and because he would very much like to speak more privately. The attention, while they have it, does seem to create a beaming glow on his face. He enjoys showing off, but moments like these with strangers were something to thrive on.

Almost better than the rush of a successful hunt, and the crescendo of music as he cooks. Perhaps better, in some ways. ] Care to speak somewhere more private?

Would you like to know? [ Much like asking someone if they are sure of a decision, the question bears the subtle but distinct implication that the knowledge likely to be gained is not necessarily easy to bear. But then...Hannibal seems like the type to want to know, for better or worse. Sinthia herself was. She has the memories of torture to prove it.

Still, she's not entirely, or even mostly, unfamiliar with flattery, and while she could dissect the likely causes and motivators of the husky edge to his voice and the flare of something in his eyes like a match struck in the dark, Sinthia doesn't want to. She does want to keep talking to him; he alone of the crowd of people in the room has her interest, and if anything she can tell of him is correct...he could be very useful to her. Memories are tricky to recover in an otherwise untouched mind, after all. Sinthia takes his arm as gracefully as she'd let it go earlier, fingertips soft on the fabric of his jacket. All about them like a swirl of fine silk was a vaguely sexual, most definitely sensual connection, the whisper-soft scrape along the basal nerves that these two are dangerous.

She'd be lying if she said she didn't want it that way. ] They are. And I would, if you please, Hannibal.

[ Not that she has any way of knowing this, but he does not flatter unless he means it. Which makes it more of a genuine compliment than flattery. ] I would, very much.

[ An answer easily spoken and entirely sincere. The ability to register to Hannibal as fascinating to his intellect as well as basic instincts was rare and appreciated. To flag as dangerous on top of the rest was something marvelous. It was not an opportunity he would let slip away, all the more reason to show polite gratitude.

There was a private balcony, and he guided them there. When they reached it, he left it to Sinthia to detach if she wished. Instead, he paused to admire the view and shifted his head to be able to read any expression that might slip onto her face as he spoke. ] I am all ears, for whatever you wish to share.

I've been able to speak that particular way since I was eight. It was the outcome of an experiment, as are the other abilities I have. [ She considers showing him the others, though they tend to be even more of a shock than the telepathy. She decides to split the difference and only demonstrate the other easily-controlled gift: slowly, she unclasps the diamond-and-pearl drop earring from beneath her hair, and holds it out in her palm. It trembles once before she drops her hand, and the jewelry stays aloft, held as securely as if by a glass plate. There's nothing under it, nothing holding it up, and her hands return to her sides as calm and serene as ever.

As she watches it, flicking her gace up to Hannibal's face, the earring turns a full circle end-over-end, with only the faintest flicker of concentration passing over her face as though she were exerting force, though her muscles are still. ] Telekinesis, as well.

[ Hannibal absorbs what Sinthia says, about having that ability since she was eight. He does not have time to both process and formulate a question before she is demonstrating something else.

He thinks, of course of the teacup - how when dropped, it shatters, and cannot be willed to go backward and reassemble itself. Except here, it is an earring instead, which does not drop, but stays somehow suspended in midair. His mouth is not literally agape but that is still very much his sentiment.

For a moment, he is almost hypnotized watching the earring turning in front of him in the air, but then his eyes take it out of focus and observe Sinthia's face instead. ] You are able to move objects with your mind.

[ He is not asking it, just stating it allowed to process, and confirm, if anything. Nothing about her gave him the impression that this was some sort of elaborate parlor trick, but then, this mask would be true of the best magicians and deceivers. He would know. It was because he had heard her voice first, that he did not doubt her.

With a few sudden steps forward, Hannibal takes the earring between index finger and thumb from where it is rotating, moving the other hand to hesitate briefly beside Sinthia's face before brushing any hair out of the way of replacing the earring. ] May I?

[ The story of how she gained such an ability as marvelous and extraordinary as teepathy at such a tender age is a long one, and not particularly a pleasant one to repeat, though she doen't have much in the way of conflicting feelings about it herself. She lived through it, whatever else may be said. When he states what she can do, Sithia nods gently, watching the little jewelry piece float as if cradled by invisible strings.

When he reaches up to her face Sinthia glances up suddenly to his, hesitating only a moment before she turns her head minutely to offer him a better presentation to refasten her earring. ] Yes, if you please.

It's been a long time since I've shown anyone that hasn't reacted...poorly. You don't seem frightened of what I can do.

[ There were no violent thoughts on the forefront of his mind, because he had none towards her. Only a deep desire for the time to understand how she had come to have such abilities, and how they might have shaped her life. Hannibal was never one to rush, though, given a choice.

There was some sort of tempo between them, he could almost hear it, and was determined, for now, to keep in step with it. The earring refastened, his hand lingers for a moment at the side of Sinthia's face before his hands return respectfully to his side. He does not give much in the way of increased space between them. ] You have given me no reason to be afraid. You've been truthful, engaging, and vulnerable. Lesser men fear what they do not understand. You have extraordinary abilities, Sinthia.

Are there others? [ He means both others who have abilities as well as other powers she might have held back, but will leave the interpretation to her. ]

Yes, there are.

[ Both people like her, with abilities normal humans did not have, and more abilities she had yet to display, though he did not yet elaborate which. Normally, she would never have even thought about breaching the bubble of silence she kept around herself about the things done to her and the results of them, but Hannibal was strangely talented at easing her wariness of being around people who could react unpredictably. He himself certainly had, and she was more interested by his lack of discomfort than she was about nearly everything else...nearly.

He was so close they were nearly touching, and it would have taken only a little motion from her to hand her palm flat against his chest: teleportation was tricky for her to manage at the best of times, but if he really wanted to know...she could do little worse than showing him firsthand. She rather hoped he listened to directions, though. She reached out to take his hand, her grip firm but not panicked, just tight enough to allow little in the way of startled recoil. That would have ended very badly for him indeed. ]

Think of somewhere you want to go. Think very clearly. And do not let my hand go. [ She would be able to see it, given the way she was concentrating on his face to the exclusion of all else, breathing slow and deep and steady. And the moment she had it clear in her mind, they vanished. The in-between was dark, cold, powerfully windy and the shadows that seemed to make up a blackness so thick it was nearly tangible moved in strange ways, uneasy to watch. But then everything stopped, jarring them back to solidity and stillness, and not a hair out of place on either of them. ]

[ If anyone could appreciate multifaceted answers to questions, it was Hannibal. He would assume she meant yes to both, one of which was soon answered.

Not having hours to contemplate the ideal worldly response to this question, and unable to show his face in many of his previous favorite cities that first came to mind (due to having been internationally wanted for years and now thought deceased), Hannibal's mind sabotages himself; images of his family's castle in Lithuania burst to the forefront of his mind.

And suddenly there they are, gazing upon it from the courtyard. In this, he shoots a brief, wide look of feral panic at Sinthia - which Hannibal would deal with knowing he had expressed that before her later - not because she had scared him with the teleportation, but because of where they were. This ability was truly the most incredible thing he had witnessed in his life, but it was difficult to fully compose himself. His tone is a notch darker and more distant than it had been moments ago. ] We should not be here.

[ And yet, he seems mystified by the haunted beauty around him, lost in the ambience for each individual sense, his original panic becoming something almost serene, but with violent pulses just beneath the surface. ]

Edited 2024-01-21 05:34 (UTC)

[ Oh.

Now that is most interesting.

Sinthia can see the change on his face, the panic, the surprise, the animal nature underneath al that careful composition--not unlike herself. She knows what she feels when the mask slips off her face, when her smile becomes a thing no longer contained and curated to show harmlessness, and it's breathtaking to see on someone else. The shade that creeps into his voice has her stepping forward again--she'd taken half a step back, knowing very well that some people did not take to instantaneous transport without physical side effects--and offering both slender hands out, palm-up. She hardly looks judgemental of his expressions, merely...curious, as if any feeling had to fight through layers of cotton wool to be seen. ] This place is beautiful. Where is it?

[ The place, the man in it...the way he changed when he realized where they were. ] I can take us back if you like.

[ It almost seems as if he has hypnotized his body in some sensory meditation. His eyes still have a sharper, more alert look and he is very in control of his movement, but physically he seems at ease and radiating a disconcerting calm that contrasted with his initial panic.

Hannibal stares, briefly transfixed on the slender, upturned hands before he raises his gaze at her voice. Body language seems to invite her closer, the initial way he leaned his head towards her hands added something vulnerable to that assessment, for those who might pick up on it. ] It is my family home.

[ Probably easier to pick up from his surface thoughts than to hear the slight change in tone that was somehow both proud, and sad. ] No, not just yet.

[ After a moment of contemplation, he reaches out a hand of his own. ] Will you come with me?

Yes. [ She shifts ever so slightly, seeming to settle as if stepping down from a cloud; she moves as gracefully as ever, smooth and powerful and aware of every inch of herself. She knows precisely where she is going in any given space, and it is a beautiful thing to see someone so capable of being dangerous with so little effort. Sithia moves to him, taking the offered hand gently, but not shy of the unknown she's getting into.

And she can hear the mingled pride and...almost regret in his tone and thoughts, as well; it leaves her wondering why, and not for the first time tonight. ] Where are we going?

[ They will have to discuss, at some point, why they both clock each other as highly dangerous, but seem drawn to each other and familiar with it, rather than the defensive sense of self-preservation that tends to usually come with encountering other predators. Even most with mutual respect were enemies and threats. ] I would say an evening stroll, but it is too dangerous to be outside at this time of night, this near the forest.

I can still get inside. [ Chiyoh had kept it maintained for years. She was probably alive out there somewhere, but he doubted she would ever come back here, unless forced. It was entirely possible, with their prisoner gone as well, he could have the home all to himself, and Sinthia's company. For as long as it was safe to stay in one place, especially his ancestral home. ]

Unless you would rather return?

"Do you think it is more dangerous than either of us?" she asks gently, brows lifted. She knows more than believes that Hannibal is very capable of being dangerous--men who move like him, especially without weapons, are either harmless or do not need them. And she does not think he is the former.

"I have no reason to go back, particularly." She'd come on her own to gather information, but that could be done any other time as well. "This place is...interesting. It almost reminds me of my home." Not militaristic enough to be exact, and the look of the place is entirely different, but the feel is exactly what she remembers. Vaguely foreboding, but more than fascinating enough to keep her interested.

It was not more dangerous than either of them, and her question caused him to pause and reflect on living here and being protective of his baby sister, and the years he raised her practically by himself. But those thoughts could wait.

Besides, what did a woman who could lift things with her mind and teleport have to fear of anything? “A fair point.”

He was walking them around to a side entrance where a spare key was hidden in a loose stone. “Where is home for you?”

At the question, she was silent for a moment as she considered. "I don't actually know where I was born. But I grew up in Austria. On a military base," she elaborated quietly. She wasn't ashamed of it, but it did require a little explanation. "But I've lived all over the world. Russia, Germany, Austria, the United States, Italy, Bosnia. And where are we now?" she asked.

She could tell it was Europe by the climate, by some of the trees, but not definitely, nor where precisely on the continent they were. When Hannibal picked up the stone and the key, Sinthia took a step back to look up at the wall over the door. "I haven't been inside a castle in a very long time," Sinthia breathed. "Not one like this." She used to daydream of them, of being a princess, before...well. Before a lot of things. The childish dreams had died quick deaths in the face of the harsh realities of war. And she had adapted quickly enough to survive--and excel.

Edited 2024-01-26 19:26 (UTC)

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i adore this so much ftr /chef's kiss to you

eee thank you so much! <3

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