[Will doesn't move as he advances, pinned in place by both the force of Hannibal's regard and... yes, call it desperate curiosity, to see what he'll do. his hands remain loose at his sides, and in the forearm length sleeves of his kaftan shirt it's doubtful he is sporting any concealed weapons. the tools on his utility belt are simple and straight forward, and he could certainly kill with that hammer.
he does not want to kill Hannibal with that hammer. he does not want to hurt Hannibal, not like that. he wants--he wants--]
A little over four months. I think, [he admits, unsteady and artless. he stares at Hannibal's inscrutable face and, at last, cracks an agonized grimace of a smile, before it flickers and fades away like a guttering candle.] I looked for you.
[at this closer distance, the scar on his forehead is visible through a forelock of dark curls; it's at least two years old at this point.]
no subject
he does not want to kill Hannibal with that hammer. he does not want to hurt Hannibal, not like that. he wants--he wants--]
A little over four months. I think, [he admits, unsteady and artless. he stares at Hannibal's inscrutable face and, at last, cracks an agonized grimace of a smile, before it flickers and fades away like a guttering candle.] I looked for you.
[at this closer distance, the scar on his forehead is visible through a forelock of dark curls; it's at least two years old at this point.]