hadriel_logs | A Dinner of Delights [OPEN]

Being on rage's team hasn't been easy for Jill. Deep down, she feels terrible for the way she's behaved toward so many people who didn't deserve it, but the influence of the deity just spurs her to continue with her desire to see people get as angry as she feels.

So when a note was found under her door upon her return home, Jill was first angry, then perplexed, and finally curious about what this party was. Thrown by a newcomer to the city, too. Feeling rage's influence, she expected it to be some ridiculous affair, but oh, how wrong she was. When Jill arrives and sees the spread, she can't help but be impressed by the spread.

"Wow. I didn't think food like this could exist here." Nothing quite so fancy or refined, anyway.

Hannibal smiles as he sees Jill enter. He likes having the opportunity to grow closer to the woman that Will is so fond of, both to deepen his knowledge of Will's apparent affection and to position himself to influence the relationship should he desire to. In addition to that, however, he is genuinely fond of the woman, and the warmth in his smile is real.

"Like many things, food like this is a marriage of circumstance and intention. Hadriel supplied the ingredients. I merely put them together." He gestures toward the bottles. "Do you have a preference of wine?"

Jill still has no idea that Will and Hannibal even know each other. Someone's going to have to clue her in at some point! Right now, she just thinks Hannibal is among the newest, though certainly the most sophisticated, resident to appear in the caves.

Lately, Jill has been seething thanks to Rage's influence. Some people removed their bracelets, but she left hers on hoping it would tip people off about her impulsive behavior. She's going to have so much apologizing to do when this is over. When Hannibal approaches though and greets her with such hospitality, even Jill finds it hard to feel mad.

"Uh, white. Or whatever you recommend." He probably knows what goes best with the food, too. "This must've taken you all day. I knew you were handy with a corkscrew, but I didn't imagine all this."

Will was being more sheepish than usual. He knew fine well that he'd not only scared Jill with his little antics but that he'd put her in unnecessary danger as well. It wasn't that he'd been avoiding her, it was more that he was scared she'd lash out at him. He'd seen what she'd been up to around the City, and at a guess, he assumed it was all down to Rage's influence. But still, she was a strong woman, he didn't want to get on the wrong side of her.

Walking over to where Jill was standing, sampling the wonderful food Hannibal had provided for them. He picked up some of the tapas and took a bite. Chewing before he spoke to her. "You should try the fish, I caught it fresh this morning." It was an awkward ice breaker, but it was better than nothing.

Jill noticed when someone shyly approached her. A single glance to her side and there was Will making small talk about fish. Which was really fitting, so yes, it was a decent icebreaker after what recently happened in Silent Hill and all around the city. The desire to make him angry and to feel angry with him was pushed down into the pit of her stomach. She didn't want to do that to Will, of all people. She doesn't even really blame him, but she still looks irritated.

She looked down to the sampling of fish and put a small helping onto her plate, but didn't eat right away. After a moment, Jill huffed and picked up her glass of wine. The drink helps mellow her out a bit.

"Did you use your lucky lure?"

It was nice of her, not to lash out and use him as bait for her current, altered inclinations. Will felt bad, though, considering he'd allowed her to play part in his. Still, they were in the same room together and they were being as normal as could be, given the circumstances. Living in an underground cave city, ruled over by Gods that feed on your emotions... How did they end up here?

"I actually didn't. No, I'm saving it for a special meal, a grand occasion." He smiled a little as he spoke. Avoiding her eyes like he had when they first met. He was feeling nervous, more so than normal. Guilt might have played its part in that.

The temptation to score one more point with him was strong, but Jill just couldn't bring herself to do it. Besides, as guilty as he looked, she could probably say just about anything to him right now and he wouldn't even get angry about it.

"This occasion seems pretty grand to me. Hannibal is quite the cook." Yes, she is impressed by the man, but who wouldn't be? He reminds her of some of the people she's met in her world. Due to her status in the BSAA, she's met with a few elites and been to some fancy parties. Jill always felt like the odd ball at them unless Chris or someone else was with her.

When his eyes look away from hers, Jill sighs, then reaches to set her free hand on Will's elbow. "I'm not mad at you." Okay kind of but not mad enough to stay mad. "I know it wasn't your fault. I'm just glad you're safe."

It was true. Jill could have slapped him or screamed in his face right now and he still wouldn't lose his temper with her. He'd already empathized what she was feeling, both with and without Rage's interfering. He knew he'd been in the wrong and he knew Jill was a little bit disappointed in him.

"Well yeah, he is... He can do a great job without my help though." A small smile formed as he looked down at his plate. Will was never one for socializing, Jack and Hannibal were more suited to it, small talk and pointless conversations about arty farty things just felt so fake to Will. Especially when he could tell what everyone really wanted to say, how they felt and so on.

The touch actually startled him a little. Looking up at her for a few moments before looking ways again. Taking her words in and nodding his head in understanding. " It was foolish... I was on the spot and... It was all I could think of." Looking at her eyes, sighing deeply. "I'm sorry."

Jill understands the compulsion he felt to do something to inspire fear. She felt the same with rage and continues to until all of this is over. She just has to try and get a grip over herself before she does something worse.

"I've done and said things I'm not proud of, either. Things I would never say or do if it weren't for this game." Jill sighs, appearing a mixture of frustrated and discouraged. "It's like I never get to keep my own mind anymore." Here or for the past three years at home. Her thoughts and actions are always tainted by someone else.

"Anyway, apology accepted. Don't worry about it, okay?"

Bianca, who will never turn down someone else's cooking, fires off an I should be delighted to come text the moment she sees the message.

Hadriel doesn't offer the resources for her to really dress up, but fortunately Bianca is built to carry off a simple little black dress with elegance; and she always, no matter what, carries herself as though she were on a catwalk.

She pauses after she enters the room - this, too, is an unfailing habit of hers, but in this case it's at least partly a reaction to the room and the scents, and her smile is perfectly genuine.

"Oh, this is magnificent. So good to see someone willing to make an effort. I am Bianca."

Hannibal was not expecting RSVPs, so he was delightfully surprised when he received one. When the woman arrives, Hannibal finds himself admiring her poise and grace, and isn't at all surprised that she is the one who sent the message. "Bianca," Hannibal says, crossing to the woman, taking her hand, and bowing slightly to give it a light and courtly kiss. "It is a pleasure to meet you. Please, help yourself to some food. Can I pour you some wine?"

Dinner parties were never exactly Rosen's natural habitat. They tended to require making small talk and that is an art he's never mastered, however he fares better than most with politeness and etiquette. The product of a strict east-coast upbringing.

And it is politeness, really, more than anything else that urges him to attend this evening.

If he and Hannibal were going to be working together, it is probably best not to refuse his generous invitation. And it goes without saying that Lee has taken a shine to the man, so its not as if he must be dragged by the ear to be in Hannibal's company.

Although he's not managed to get any truly formal attire here (in all honesty the thought hadn't even crossed his mind in the month that he's been here) Rosen knows how to clean himself up. His silver hair is combed back in a surprisingly elegant fashion, and he is wearing a neatly kept gray collared shirt underneath a navy blue blazer.

He enters in his usual timid fashion and makes his way towards Hannibal. "Good evening," he offers a shy smile before holding out a bottle of wine he managed to find. He knows better than to go to a dinner party without a hostess gift. "I apologize that I cannot vouch for the quality, I'm sure you've noticed there are not as many options here as there are back home..." He falters, realizing he is drifting off course, "Thank you for the invitation, Hannibal."

Hannibal is happy to see Rosen. He is genuinely fond of the man, and believes he may well benefit from enjoying himself here. It is also part of the image that Hannibal is crafting, the respect of the respected invaluable to making his facade inviolable.

"It is my pleasure, Lee. I'm very glad you could come." He takes the offered bottle with a smile and looks at it, one eyebrow lifted in cultured amusement. "I must say, it's an interesting place when even the wine is an adventure into the unknown."

[Open to all]

Seeing as Will had provided some of the fish that Hannibal was going to serve tonight, and knowing full well of Hannibal's culinary expertise, Will thought it only right that he attended. Sure, it would require him to be somewhat social but he was willing to grin and bare it for a small while.

Walking over to the table, taking note of where others were sitting before he took a seat himself, one close to the head of the table, that way he at least had some space and free room to one side of him, should he feel claustrophobic or untalkative.

Nervous and awkward, Will gave a little smile and started to sip his wine. Second doubting his reasons for coming and honestly contemplating getting up to leave. If it wasn't for the delicious food, he very well might have. Will turned and offered an uncomfortable smile to the guest sitting across from him before he turned and spotted you making your way over to the table.

[ Closed to Hannibal ]

"I'm actually impressed." He said with a smile on his lips, looking at Hannibal over the rim of his wine glass before taking a sip from it. "You were able to make your ingredients stretch as far as they have." Looking over the table at all of the fantastic food on display. Will had once had suspicions about Hannibal, but being in this place and having provided most of the fish for the party, he was reconsidering his original suspicions about the doctor.

Taking a sample of some of the tapas, savoring the taste as he crashed his teeth and moved his tongue as he chewed. He was impressed, Hannibal's cooking lived up to its reputation, the pleasure in eating it was something Will couldn't hide from his face. Smiling and nodding as he swallowed then cleansed his pallet with the wine.

"You'll have to teach me how to cook sometime. Err, if it isn't too much trouble. I mean, we are trapped in an underground cave city for the foreseeable future... Not like you have any other pressing matters to attend to." A smirk and Will was reaching over to sample another small taste of that wonderful food.

Hannibal took great pleasure in other's appreciation of his culinary skills, especially from Will, a man not quite so easily impressed by such things. That it was not purely the skill of creating a dish with an exquisite palate but also the cleverness of stretching ingredients was appropriate. That Will provided one of those ingredients, and one that had such an emotional significance to him, would go a far way toward establishing Will's trust in Hannibal's cooking.

"I spent a bit of time taste testing the food available at the shops. Determining what would make a good base for bringing out the flavors of the produce from Sorrow's garden. But truly, the fish is the finest ingredient here. With thanks to you." He refilled Will's wine glass. "I would be happy to teach you, if you have the time. True culinary skill starts well before the kitchen, in training all the senses to recognize a harmonious marriage of components."

Bit by bit, Hannibal was starting to gain some of Will's trust, especially in his cooking. The things he'd been trying to accuse Hannibal of and with very little evidence too. Yes, this would go a long way in stopping Will's suspicions. Very clever of him to allow Will to provide the main meat, after all, how could he be suspicious of something he himself produced?

Smiling at Hannibal's words, Will tipped his glass once it was full and nodded his head. "You make it sound so easy~" There was a playfulness in Will's tone, suggesting he was not only trusting of Hannibal's food, but relaxed enough to have his normal guard up. He was comfortable and meant a lot, especially seeing as Will was normally so het up and tense from all his nerves constantly being on end.

One doesn't come to a party empty handed, but it's not easy finding good party fare in Hadriel. But one had to come out to support teammates with whatever was available, and even if he didn't know them, and the promise of a nice dinner sure sounded delightful to Prussia.

He confidently adds a package of Chips Ahoy cookies to the party table. One or two might already be missing. He's not one much for fancy parties, but Prussia's impressed with the shop and the food layout.

"Wow, I had no idea we could pull something so fancy in a place like this. Pretty impressive!"

Hannibal lifts an eyebrow at the cookies in mild distaste. It would have been bad enough for them to be a nearly inedible store-bought brand, but the fact that there were already a couple missing? Rude.

He crosses to the gentleman and offers a faint smile.

"I was not expecting anyone to bring food. How kind." He offers a hand. "Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

Hannibal is greeted with a strong, friendly handshake.

"Gilbert Bielschmidt. Doctor, huh? That's probably a rarity around here. Sorry I couldn't bring something, y'know, more party-like, but the store isn't always too well-stocked. But I also didn't know what kinda party this was gonna be. I'm pretty impressed anyone could manage a nice set-up in a place like this. You do all this yourself?"

"For the most part," he answers with a suave humility. "Although I was fortunate enough to find the perfect space. Please." He gestures toward the table. "Help yourself to some food. Can I interest you in some wine?"

Prussia shrugged. Wine would do. "Yeah, why not? It's a party, right? I've been sayin' we need more of this kind of stuff, y'know? I haven't been here too long, but it's pretty easy to tell how miserable people are. Instead of just waiting around until the next awful thing happens, might as well try to keep morale up any way you can."

He might not be singing the same tune in the future, but for now, Prussia can't stand to see so many tired, jumpy people filling this town.

Yukari is rather curious, and perhaps slightly perturbed at the invite he finds tucked beneath his door. Who would go to all the trouble, after all? What is this? An indirect request for a date? God, he certainly hopes not. In fact, he has half a mind to toss the invite and forget it's existence.

But, some level of intrigue takes over. Just what does this man want? He decides he'll attend the dinner party, though not without his weapon, for security reasons. He dresses in his typical mercenary attire, with his jacket supporting his long-bladed sword and heads to the location on the map.

When he steps into the restaurant, finding it's setting rather romantic, he cringes internally. Oh, great, this really is supposed to be a date... As he looks at the interiour, he wonders if he should back out before he's noticed.

Edited 2017-03-21 15:12 (UTC)

Hannibal sees the man when he enters, and notes his expression as he takes in the interior. He wonders what it is that concerns him so greatly, what is the cause of his obvious discomfort. Does he suspect this is some sort of ambush?

"Welcome," he says. "Would you care for a drink?"

Ambush would be a nice way of putting it. And when Hannibal approaches him, offering to pour him a drink, he lowers his brow as he sizes Hannibal up.

"Are you the one who left the note beneath my door? You'll have to excuse me if I'm not so inclined toward sharing a drink with someone I have no intention of dating. Much less I don't think I've even seen you before. I'm certainly not partial to stalkers."

Blunt and straightforward, Yukari sets it at that - his full opinion on this invitation matter.

Hannibal blinks in genial surprise at the scowling man. "I'm afraid you've misinterpreted the situation. I left a note beneath every door. This is a dinner party for all the denizens of Hadriel, not a date of any sort. My apologies if that was unclear."

"So you are Dr. Hannibal Lecter, then?"

Yukari lets out a breath he was subconsciously holding. Thank Gods for small miracles, it's not a date. Yukari's expression changes to something lighter.

"Well, how very admirable of you. I suppose it's excusable this time. Forgive me for not being more fashion appropriate, then. If it would be more necessary, I can go home and change."

To be fair, he only dresses up for particularly special occasions. Which he certainly cannot claim to see much of in Hadriel.

Excusable. Hannibal raises his eyebrows slightly in amusement, noting the apparent arrogance. It's quite an interesting way to first meet this man, and Hannibal contemplates whether he belongs in his mental rolodex of potential dinner "guests."

"No need to change. Considering the situation and the surroundings, I am not expecting my guests to be in their Sunday best." He smiles, offe4rs a hand. "You know my name, but I'm afraid I don't know yours, mister...?"

"Well, then, I shall be grateful for this casual evening then."

Yukari gives the man a humoured smirk and a firm handshake.

"Yukari Mishakuji. Just Yukari is fine. I have no need for the formality, Hannibal-chan."

Anyone Japanese-savvy will understand right away that using -chan, along with the first name, upon just meeting someone denotes just how much respect Yukari holds for the person in question -- none.

Rolodex, then.

Hannibal smiles again, a polite smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He nods at the man, a slight, sterile nod.

I hope you will excuse me my formality, he answers in perfect, beautified Japanese, his tone much like his nod, lofty and polite in a way that signals superiority. I do believe that life is far more pleasurable with it.

Perhaps it is a veiled warning, or maybe an extension of the courtesy for the man to rethink his attitude.

Edited 2017-04-07 06:08 (UTC)

Yukari blinks in surprise for a moment, certainly not used to anyone here conversing with him in his native tongue in such a way. Much less had he expected it from this man. He lets out a delighted chuckle and willingly answers back in his native tongue, casual and carefree as ever.

"Pleasurable, hmm? I must admit that's a rather interesting outlook. And what are you suggesting then?" He lilts his voice with that question, knowing full well that if this man speaks so vividly in Japanese that he is alluding to the suffix used previously on him. His delighted chuckle continues. "Do forgive me if I'm not so inclined. I can count on one hand the numbers who have 'earned' my respect."

The forgive me is almost blatantly laced with facetiousness. Unlike Hannibal, Yukari's smile reaches his eyes, even sparkling with the delight of this rather subtle confrontation. And this is Yukari's own way of issuing a challenge. Make him respect you, if you can, Hannibal.

Compared to most people cordially invited to a formal dinner party, Wade probably stands out more garishly than a debutante in a trailer park. Only in this case, it'd probably lean more towards the opposite.

He hasn't changed from his customary red and black spandex outfit, nor has he bothered to divest himself of his weaponry-- although some of the more pointy implements he's decided to leave at home; his guns still remain holstered at his belt-- because in this crazy town in which they're nothing more than playthings of the gods, he's long since gotten used to the idea that anything's possible. Regardless, he feels rather out of place amidst all this finery-- a rather odd feeling to experience, seeing as though he usually doesn't give two hot shits where he goes or what others might think of him (at least on the surface, anyway).

At least he's turned on the trusty image inducer for this soiree, and thus his face is unmasked, decidedly unblemished and sporting the brown hair he'd had pre-cancer. Wade takes a moment to take in the sight of the delectable food spread before him, arching a sardonic eyebrow.

"Kind of a year too late to roll out the welcome mat like this, but hey, I'll take it. Better late than never, in any case."

He japes, but his stomach growls as if in direct defiance of his sarcasm. He's never really gotten rid of his opportunistic eating habits from his three-year stint in Haven, after all, and he's not about to turn up his nose at free food, questionable circumstances be damned.

Hannibal notes the outfit and the weapons. He might have found it rude for his guests to be armed back in Baltimore (or, at least, those without service weapons) but this place is different. He can't begrudge the man self-protection in the face of the terrors potentially lurking in the city.

He would, however, have to remember this man.

"I'm afraid it's not a welcome party," he remarks with a smile. "Just a dinner party." He offers a hand. "Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

Dangerous times call for dangerous measures, even when you're virtually immune to anything that can give you even the slightest case of death. Wade's gotten so used to just toting his weaponry around with him that they've almost become like appendages to him. Besides... it was sort of like free advertisement. One never knew who was carrying cash and looking for some extra muscle.

"Ah, don't listen to me. I'm just bein' snarky on account of the fact that I rarely get invited to these kinds of things. You usually bring wine or something to a party, right? I'll have to remember it for next time."

Wade's never trusted doctors in the best of times, especially not ones who have a degree in messing around with the brain pan, but he's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Fight a guy to the death afterwards if you have to, but at least shake his hand first-- that was Wade's motto. Usually. Occasionally. He might've said it at one time.

Wade grasps the man's hand and gives it a hearty shake. "Wade Wilson. Or Deadpool, if... y'know. You're not into the whole brevity thing. My friends call me Wade, though-- it's not like it's a secret identity or anything."

Have you clued in that this man's a talker yet, Dr. Lecter?

Were Hannibal in need of protection or a hired gun, he would almost certainly choose this man. His posture, the easy, casual grace of his movements, the confidence in his voice, all are the hallmarks of a man well trained to fight, a man who deserves that suit, those guns at his hips. An aficionado of killers, Hannibal finds himself quite interested in the man, and doubly so when it becomes clear that this is one of the people he spoke with over the network about psychiatry. And a particular one at that.

"Wade. It's..."

Hannibal pauses as a certain scent meets his nose, one he knows quite well as indicative of cancer. But this is incredibly strong, and of several different types of the deadly disease. In his years of experience as a doctor, he is genuinely surprised this man is still alive.

He clears his throat.

"Pardon me. It's very good to meet you."

Huh. That pause was kind of weird. Brain-fart, perhaps? Wade didn't know head doctors could get those, but he supposes everyone's guilty of those at one point or another. Shit-- he doesn't have a booger, does he?

Releasing the man's hand-- dude has a strong handshake, which he notes with mild approval-- Wade briefly and surreptitiously checks his face with two fingers on the pretense of scratching his nose. Nothing odd there that he can feel, which is a relief. Maybe this Lecter guy just needed a moment to collect his thoughts. Judging from the accent-- he can't get a read on what it is, but the inflection sounds vaguely European-- English might not be his first language.

"Likewise." Said in a vague, distracted tone, partly because he hasn't made up his mind whether it is good to meet this guy yet, but mostly because his appetite's taken the wheel again. He casts his gaze once more over the food laid out before him, as if taking in the lavish culinary pornography for the first time. Appreciatively, he whistles.

"Where'd you get the spread, doc? I didn't know this place actually had catering here."

Edited 2017-04-13 14:03 (UTC)

Hannibal steps to the side, gesturing toward the table, inviting his guest to it. "No catering, no. I made everything here. The ingredients available in Hadriel are, shall we say, eclectic. It made for quite a challenge, and one that I hope I've succeeded to match." He watches as the man moves, noting no particular weakness that might identify any specific cancers, no tremors or breathing irregularities. And certainly his appetite was unhindered.

"How long have you been in Hadriel, Wade?"

Well. You don't have to tell Wade twice. The man plops himself down in one of the seats just as easy as you please, plucking one one of the appetizers from its plate and popping it into his mouth with relish. His eyes immediately roll back and he utters a sigh he doesn't bother to suppress as the flavor virtually explodes over his taste buds.

Fortunately, he has the presence of mind to finish chewing and swallowing before he speaks.

"Mmnh-- jesus christ it's like my mouth had an orgasm. What would you even call that, an oral-gasm?"

He grabs one of the empty plates and proceeds to load it up with more food.

"What was the question again? Oh-- how long have I been in Hadriel, right. Uhhh... kinda hard to say, actually. Six months? A year? Time kinda flies when you're livin' in a cave, y'know?"

Hannibal might not particularly approve of the man's less than refined choice of language, but he is sufficiently prideful in his culinary skills that the man's reaction to the morsel forgives many sins.

"You're very kind. And a year is a long time to be in a cave." Had he been sick when he came here? Was it something he developed while he was here? Was it because of this place, because he had been here so long? Or was it this place that was keeping him alive, even as his body filled with tumors?

Curious.

"May I get you a drink, Wade?"

Wade responds to that observation with a shrug. "Hey, aside from the jackass gods who don't seem to give a shit about us beyond our use as living batteries it ain't so bad. At least they had the good sense to let us have free rein instead of hookin' us up to machinery like we're in The Matrix. Somethin' about that flick always bugged me-- I mean, I wouldn't trust Keanu Reeves to hold the door open for me."

He's getting off-topic. Again. Kind of a chronic condition of his, really.

"Anyway, it's a helluva lot better than the place I used to live. At least this place doesn't have a dude with a hard-on for torture and a tenuous grasp on the Hippocratic Oath. Oh, and uh... I'd love a drink, thanks. Whatever you got'll be fine."

Hannibal remembered speaking to this man over the network, when he spoke about his mistrust of psychiatrists. That combined with these comments made Hannibal wonder if Wade had been in a psychiatric institution. He did not strike Hannibal as insane, but he had been in the field long enough to know that didn't mean anything.

He poured a glass of wine and turned back to his guest, offering him the glass.

"I feel I must apologize for my fellow disciple of Aeschylus. May I ask what you were hospitalized for?"

Unfortunately for Hannibal, Wade's not particularly classy when it comes to wine. He's not very classy when it comes to much of anything, really. So while he takes the offered glass of wine with a word of thanks like any polite guest, he holds the glass by the bowl the way that any well-respected wine-taster is instructed never to do. Hannibal's remark gives him pause, however-- he's not entirely sure who or what this "Eskalis" is, so he decides not to prove his ignorance by mentioning it.

"Wouldn't exactly say I was hospitalized per se-- I mean, I was at one point, but that's not what I'm talkin' about. Unless you imagine a hospital run by Jigsaw, anyway. You'd think I'd get used to that shit after the second time, y'know? Must be like, I dunno... givin' birth or something-- your mind just kinda blocks off the memory afterwards or whatever."

Hannibal noted the appalling way the man treated the wine, but made no outward show of it. Unfortunately, were he to consider the improper treatment of wine to be unforgivable, he would have far more people in his mental rolodex.

It was Wade's answer that was particularly interesting. Hannibal poured himself a glass of wine and sat beside his guest.

"Are you speaking of medical experimentation?"

Wade can't get a read on this guy-- strange really, he's usually so good at that-- but something nonetheless causes his heart to take a sickening plunge; causes him to regret spilling his guts out of his mouth. It's a chronic condition, one that he's had throughout most of his life, and as far as he knows there is no cure. Wade takes a bracing gulp of the wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he replies.

"In so many words, sure." A safe, noncommittal statement. "But hey-- if I came clean about all the raw shit I've seen, we'd be here all night, yeah? Not exactly good topics of conversation to help with digestion either, know what I'm sayin'?"

"Indeed." The man's discomfort is palpable. In other situations, that may well have been the signal for Hannibal to back off, lest he shut down someone who is particularly sensitive. This man, however, is not such a wilting flower. He wouldn't press him on the terrible things he's seen, but he would not pull back from what he planned to say next. He leans in to ensure that what he said was heard by Wade only.

"Tell me...did the cancer appear before or after the experimentation?"

Smart man. Probing without seeming like he's probing, in such a way that would make Wade want to divulge the information freely. Which is not to say that he's not willing to give Hannibal what he wants-- after all, the topic of Wade's cancer had long since stopped being a sensitive subject with him.

"Before. Definitely before. Leukemia, if you're wondering. The same thing Colonel Sanders died of, if I'm rememberin' correctly."

The mention of the fried chicken tycoon reminds Wade of how hungry he is, and he stuffs another forkful into his mouth. It's definitely not to stop him from talking. Not at all.

Hannibal notes Wade's table manners with a mild sense of distaste. "You may find that you enjoy the flavors more if you give them a chance to spread across your tongue before swallowing," he remarks, his tone gentle and devoid of the disapproval he feels. When Wade swallows, Hannibal continues his line of questioning.

"It started with leukemia, but it's more than that now, is it not?"

A sheepish smile in Hannibal's direction-- he's being polite as hell about it, but Wade knows when he's being chastised. The next forkful goes into his mouth more slowly, and he holds it in his mouth for a few seconds, savoring it. The man's not wrong-- the subtle flavors of the dish are sublime. Wade closes his eyes, chews; swallows.

"Heh. Sorry. Last place I was at didn't have much in terms of food, either. Gave me a real penchant for boltin' stuff down as soon as I get my hands on it. I'll try to rein it in, though. A spread like this is worth savoring."

He's about to pop another morsel into his mouth, but something in the far reaches of his mind stops him; arrests the fork on the way to his lips. He looks at Hannibal now, puzzled but not yet suspicious.

"Wait... did I tell you I had cancer?"

The inexcusably rude would have told Hannibal off for his remarks about the food, or continued gorging himself with no respect for Hannibal's artistry. That Wade took heed and slowed down, with clear appreciation, was a significant mark in his favor. As a psychiatrist, Hannibal had seen patients with various eating irregularities, and he was well familiar with the sort of learned behavior Wade was exhibiting.

At the last question, Hannibal gave a gentle smile. "You did not. Various illnesses produce distinct scents. These are commonly imperceptible to humans; however, I have a particularly acute sense of smell."

"Huh. Wait-- scents?"

Has he been stinking up the place this entire time without even knowing it? Wade puts his fork down, taking a moment to not-so-surreptitiously sniff under his armpit. Nothing strikes him as particularly pungent, save for a slight odor of blood and gunpowder that he's never been able to get out of his clothing. This guy must have the DNA of a bloodhound or something, to smell a disease like that.

"Uhh... soooo what does it smell like, then? In the interest of science, or whatever."

A Dinner of Delights [OPEN]

Jill Valentine | OTA - will match format!

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Rosen / OTA

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Will Graham | Open & Close

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Prussia | open

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Sorry, rough week.

Wade Wilson | OTA

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