That's all. [Folks. Thank god he didn't say that bit aloud -- it was slipped into his mental narrative like a hangman's noose, all smiles at the gallows. Looney Tunes. That's where his exasperated, gnawing at hysterical, mind went. Looney Tunes.]
And, Will?
[Chilton sat up, properly, meeting Will with the same eye contact that the other man had granted him. Every miniscule detail of this harrowing exchange would be analyzed, and the thematic context of Will coming to his rescue would be dissected thoroughly. This would rupture whatever distance they previously had.]
[Chilton might have found himself at a loss had he gone that far, but Will wouldn't ever be able to hold it against him, wouldn't remind him of it. He'd gotten into the head of a serial killer and thought up Sesame Street, of all things, as a method to express disapproval and disgust at a ruined design. They were all finely tuned with lunacy, in their own ways. What else was there to do at the gallows other than smile when one's fate was already sealed?
Unless Abigail Hobbs was in line next to him, of course, then there was no room for smiling. Here and now, Abigail's safely tucked away and not for the same motivations or purposes Hannibal held her with, and Will does smile when he hears those very, very polite words. It pays to be polite, and it pays to hold eye contact once he gets it.]
You're welcome. [There goes the lock, Will opening it just enough to get a peek out the door, to make sure no one else is down the hallway. Coast clear, he swings it only as much as he needs to slip through, unusually friendly smile vanishing as that distance closes.] You have a good night, Frederick. I'll talk to you later.
[He can hold Will to that as much as he had the last time, as much as he's holding him to his word about cleaning up this antler-laden mess. He's going to do a thorough job, but not until he stops by Abigail Hobbs' room, fetches a silly cat toy, and makes himself both audible and visible to the house at large again. Plenty for Frederick Chilton to analyze and dissect, and Will wouldn't expect anything less.]
no subject
And, Will?
[Chilton sat up, properly, meeting Will with the same eye contact that the other man had granted him. Every miniscule detail of this harrowing exchange would be analyzed, and the thematic context of Will coming to his rescue would be dissected thoroughly. This would rupture whatever distance they previously had.]
... Thank you.
no subject
Unless Abigail Hobbs was in line next to him, of course, then there was no room for smiling. Here and now, Abigail's safely tucked away and not for the same motivations or purposes Hannibal held her with, and Will does smile when he hears those very, very polite words. It pays to be polite, and it pays to hold eye contact once he gets it.]
You're welcome. [There goes the lock, Will opening it just enough to get a peek out the door, to make sure no one else is down the hallway. Coast clear, he swings it only as much as he needs to slip through, unusually friendly smile vanishing as that distance closes.] You have a good night, Frederick. I'll talk to you later.
[He can hold Will to that as much as he had the last time, as much as he's holding him to his word about cleaning up this antler-laden mess. He's going to do a thorough job, but not until he stops by Abigail Hobbs' room, fetches a silly cat toy, and makes himself both audible and visible to the house at large again. Plenty for Frederick Chilton to analyze and dissect, and Will wouldn't expect anything less.]