and i wonder what pretty has to say.

[consulting]

CHARACTERS: Hannibal Lecter ( cannibalizes ) and Sherlock Holmes ( consulting )
LOCATION: The Library
WARNINGS: Oh good grief. EVERYTHING. Potential talk of gore, possibly potential gore.
SUMMARY: Sherlock and Hannibal, brain picking. Possibly literal.
NOTES: ACTION OR PROSE IS GOOOOD.



[ Sherlock is in the library trying to make sense of everything. It's not a usual haunt for him. Sherlock keeps to his room (and at times other peoples) for the most part. The O2 Gardens, occasionally when he needs a smoke. He's had to rearrange where he's been going as of late. The past two weeks have proven to be more taxing than anything he's experienced on this ship. He's bogged down by the new memories that have resurfaced. Events from home take to a slow repetition in his head. He's in the process of rearranging. Finding out where people fit, who knows what and how much. How convincing he can lie to his attachments ( God, he detests that word. )

It's a morbid but honest thought. Isaac was a case, a potentially excellent case - and he wishes he could enjoy it more. It's been a long time since he's found a conclusion to anything and it's grating. The answers come to quickly or take far too long. He needs something he can solve. Something to wrap his brain around. Something without attachments.

He puts the 'book' on the table, closing it's cover shut. He props his elbows up on the table, folding the tips of his fingers together and letting out a puff of air.

He needs a distraction. ]

Comments

[cannibalizes]

[ a library (on principle) contains knowledge. in this case, Hannibal thinks it withholds it. there are books spread out around him, some of them shut while others are open; his finger holds a spot in one and his eyes scan another where he stretches his neck, seemingly unable to focus on the simplicity of one thing at a time. his bangs are in his face because he doesn't have anything to slick his hair with here and while it might do him well to inquire about it on the network he prefers not to have meaningless conversations.

it suffices to watch and to listen, for now.

he blinks and glances up, chin rising, eye level straight across the two other tables dividing the sighing man from himself. a more basic soul would assess that as boredom, restlessness and discard it. he picks at it, tugs it between his teeth and says nothing. content to stare while he straightens his spine in his seat, displaying no sense of cowardice when and if he's caught looking. he won't look away like a frightened bird springing into flight.

Hannibal doesn't move and he doesn't ask but his curiosity is there in the room with them, tangible as the pages surrounding them. ]

[consulting]

[ Sherlock acknowledges the network as buzz. All chatter. But he knows the Tranquility needs it, for news, for hope and the reminder that they are not alone in dealing with this whole situation. Sherlock spends a lot of time on it, it's interactions without the need to get personal and he prefers to text than talk by a long mile. He skims past posts of sentiment and gossip in favor of trying to find clues and the barest hint of red text. He likes the network because it gives him the opportunity to disconnect when people are boring.

Sherlock notices the look. He notices everything. It's another reason why he avoids crowded places. Everything is a buzz and whir of detail. Sherlock knows how someone else looks when they're watching; although, he has to admit he isn't used to being watched.

Sherlock takes a moment to try to see what Hannibal is reading. Determine if he's anything interesting by the book he keeps. He takes a moment to try to read hannibal. The face doesn't register as familiar - ergo, keeps interactions to the network minimal. It's a sign of a few things. Someone who keeps secrets or someone who's time period was before the wide spread use of computers. Either, or.

If you gaze into the abyss the abyss gazes into you, after all.

Sherlock holds that stare. ]

[cannibalizes]

[ the books are of no consequence. medical research. procedures and new insights, the inventions of his future--this one and corrections to old theories. it's a lot to memorize but he isn't taking notes, not the kind that are physically in his hand. he stores all of it in his head out of habit, from the times when he'd buy a textbook, memorize it and return it within the week for half price. anything he could find on space travel. he'd been looking for any particular information he could find on naval ships, ranks. literally anything and everything that might have served its purpose. there's even an untouched cookbook somewhere in the stack.

his eyes ache to the point of mindlessness which is what makes him smile, forsake one branch of knowledge for the other.

books can explain it better, more precise but people can tell as much of a story when they want to. sometimes their insight cam be a source of humor, if nothing else. he has no reason to smile and still his lips curve upwards because he does like his secrets and he won't keep them by being indifferent. ] As many that condemn this ship for its apparent lack of entertainment value, this is the fist time I've noticed another person among this archive all week.

[ but Hannibal prefers frequenting the medbay and holing up in his bedroom, when he's not trailing people to see what they're getting up to. ]

[consulting]

[ That's another thing, to see people actually go to the library to read. It's mostly been used as a place to mingle with anything but the books - it's why he avoids it. Hannibal is reading up, and while it isn't entirely uncommon it is still more strange than anything. The lack of a notepad is something that catches Sherlock because it can in fact imply two things leisure or a good memory. Either one is alarming. If leisure was the case, consider he's taking up more scientific texts it implies a scientific mind behind it. Good memory is another thing that catches him because the amount of information available in those books and he's not taking a single thing down?

The smile piques Sherlock's interest.

Sherlock takes a moment to read into the wording. He doesn't identify it as modern, he notes the hint of formality almost. ]

That's because books don't stimulate most people. People prefer their information and condensed and bullet pointed, a result of technological advancements.

[ It also implies he's a regular at a library. ]

Not you, though.

[ addressing his choice of reading material. ]

[cannibalizes]

[ an eyebrow rises (only just so) because he doesn't consider himself to be stimulated. the ideas (however fascinating) don't make his heart race. to be fair to his reading material, there isn't much in the world that does. but it could just as easily be taken as offense towards the blatant finger jabbing at the laziness of society. ] If I'm going to pick up any scrap of paper that narrows the bulk of it down and presents only the most vital information, I'd prefer they were bullet points of my own design.

[ naturally because his attention to detail surpasses those that others call impressive. what's important to one may not be the same to another. minute details used to connect a larger whole can easily be overlooked in that manner and Hannibal can't say what knowledge a pamphlet could hold after being strained twenty times that a book couldn't explain better.

his shackles aren't up yet, this is casual conversation. but those watchful eyes- they press against his skin (be careful, Hannibal) and tempt him into rising from his chair and shutting his present book to return two to the shelves. he can round Sherlock's table to do this and so he does. he's not too far out of hearing range while they slide back precisely where he pulled them from. ] I believe I can assume you hold a similar amount of respect for getting to things at their source.

I JUST REALISED THIS CONVERSATION IS MADE OF CHEEKBONES.

[consulting]

[ There's a difference between being stimulated and being entertained. It's a subtle difference, in Sherlock's definition. Society is lazy, however. That's something Sherlock will agree with. It's not that that people are brilliant, just hard working and it's a line that's blurred. But where mediocrity knows nothing higher of itself, it is genius that recognizes genius. ]

Designing your own bullets, require attention. A knack for sorting between what is trifle and what is relevant.

[ Sherlock knows he's going against his own axioms in conversation in the library, but he sees it as a spark. An opportunity. Let me be distracted. Hannibal doesn't ask to sit, and Sherlock doesn't offer. It's all a game and Sherlock's found someone else who plays. This is just a start however. They're wadding in shallow waters waiting for the deep end. ]

Books are however designed to be a second hand source. A biased opinion. They're useful, naturally. But I wouldn't trade it for experience.

MAGNIFICENT CHEEKBONES!!

[cannibalizes]

Unless you've developed a time machine, it would seem to unfortunate that you'd prefer one over the other. [ he doesn't disagree. dictionaries in multiple languages, encyclopedias, textbooks, theorems- each of them serving their purpose and all of them biased. an educator may only teach one way of solving an equation while there are several approaches. and it's there down to the grit he can imagine under his fingernails again. it's in the way that his artwork never quite satisfies his.. hunger.

exquisite. exact. but neither one replaces watching someone squirm on the floor with blood gushing past their teeth, spine misaligned, screaming. descriptions and depictions never suffice, unless they're the only choice. he says one thing, thinks another. it isn't dishonest because it wasn't a question. ] And yet I can agree that there are particular experiences no man (simple or otherwise) could recreate with words if he tried. Take war, for example. [ a personal declaration: ] So many accounts, loosely accurate and none of them truly capture or magnify the brutality or the compression of the human mind under pressing circumstances. Paintings don't give you hypothermia if you touch them and journals don't carry the stench of the soldiers they threw into the fires.

[consulting]

[ Sherlock understands that much. ]

[ To Sherlock Holmes nothing is more complex than the mind of a criminal. Nothing is more stimulating. Even the pettiest thief is worth some form of his brief attention, but Sherlock understands the difference between petty thievery and actual genius. Those differences, whether moral or otherwise, define a person as interesting in his view. Crime is always founded upon by some drive or fuel. Whether it's the need to survive or the thrill of it or raw condensed emotion or pleasure - it's always interesting. He wants to know every drive, every reason for it. He wants to know how each cog and gear functions in the criminal mind. It's a need. ]

Recreation of the world through memoirs is an abstract concept. You see the writings from the eyes of the viewer and regardless of how unbiased one tries to be our opinions will pepper and inflect themselves upon the work. Authenticity will be sacrificed for art and even the best description of a flame will produce no heat.

[ a beat a moment trying to pick apart one of hannibal's lines in his head. ]

Not everyone compresses under duress. How one reacts under a stressful scenario is a tell-tale mark of character.