A drink is pale pinkish-red wine in a crystal glass; he fills it and hands it over. His own is set to one side of his cooking.
"You've been speaking to Franklyn's mother, Ms Dwyer?" He sounds genuinely interested in that, though it doesn't shake off that tired shadow. His hands smooth thin sheets of unbaked pasta, preparing it to be sectioned. "I hope that she is carrying on well enough."
Not that, personally, Hannibal thinks anyone in Franklyn's family cared too much. They found him particularly insufferable - he's sure he could have slowly killed him while recording their session, released the audio files to his family, and still never have been found out by simple virtue of apathy. Poor, lonely Franklyn. He should have left when he was told.
ugh i am sorry, i was up another 20 minutes but this never showed in my inbox til this morning.
"It's hard to lose a son so young." That doesn't seem to ring quite true either, true to Hannibal's understanding of the small tragedies in Franklyn's life. 'Ms. Dwyer' is trying to be clever, clearly. The woman sets her fingers around the stem of the glass, lifts, leaves a dewy circle on the stone. She probably won't be here long enough for the water to set into a dark stain, though ironically, she plans to be.
She takes a sip. Her face changes. "This is wonderful," she says, twisting the glass around in her fingers, admiringly. Her gaze slips past to his cookware, and then she glances out toward the office space again. Then, "And I love your establishment, too; the wood-panelling in this room alone must have cost a hundred thousand dollars. High-risk clients seem to be quite lucrative for you, Dr. Lecter.
"Perhaps you could tell me about that." She looks at him sidelong, a quirk in her brow, a smile beginning to curl the corner of her mouth and everything. It may border on rude.
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"You've been speaking to Franklyn's mother, Ms Dwyer?" He sounds genuinely interested in that, though it doesn't shake off that tired shadow. His hands smooth thin sheets of unbaked pasta, preparing it to be sectioned. "I hope that she is carrying on well enough."
Not that, personally, Hannibal thinks anyone in Franklyn's family cared too much. They found him particularly insufferable - he's sure he could have slowly killed him while recording their session, released the audio files to his family, and still never have been found out by simple virtue of apathy. Poor, lonely Franklyn. He should have left when he was told.
ugh i am sorry, i was up another 20 minutes but this never showed in my inbox til this morning.
She takes a sip. Her face changes. "This is wonderful," she says, twisting the glass around in her fingers, admiringly. Her gaze slips past to his cookware, and then she glances out toward the office space again. Then, "And I love your establishment, too; the wood-panelling in this room alone must have cost a hundred thousand dollars. High-risk clients seem to be quite lucrative for you, Dr. Lecter.
"Perhaps you could tell me about that." She looks at him sidelong, a quirk in her brow, a smile beginning to curl the corner of her mouth and everything. It may border on rude.