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Sinric comes through the door dancing and laughing, all joyous flirtation and golden charm.

Until the door closes behind him. The mask drops away and he leans heavily against it with a sigh.

Sinric drags himself tiredly to the couches, meaning to rest for just a moment before he goes upstairs to wash and sleep properly. But the couch is so very comfortable...

Find him dozing by the fire.

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Childermass sits down in a chair across from him, pipe in hand, and quietly observes the room.

Sinric sits, then leans. His head bobs slowly as he starts to fall asleep where he sits.

"There are better places to sleep", he observes dryly.

He jerks awake, rubbing his eyes. "Pardon?"

"There are better places to sleep", he repeats. "More comfortable, at any rate."

He blinks rapidly, leaning forward to rest his face on his hands. "I mean to go up to my rooms. I just..." He yawns deeply. "It has been such a long week."

"So it seems", he says with a nod. "And I suppose the chairs are not so uncomfortable."

"Comfortable enough to make it easy to drift off in them." He pushes back his hair, pulling a face. "I should bathe. I must stink of peat smoke and horses."

"You have been travelling?" he guesses.

He nods. "The emissary we're meeting with choose one of their nomadic camps for the negotiations. Primitive but charming, at least a first. But after five days, we're no closer to a resolution. And after five nights of feasting and drinking, I'm exhausted."

"At least, I can think of worse smells than peat smoke and horse hair."

Horse droppings, for one.

The piss of drunk men. That's high on Sinric's list. "Hmm." He starts to nod off again but shakes himself away. "I should go up." Which requires standing up. And act of will that takes a bit of a run up now he's sat down.

Childermass raises a sardonic eyebrow at him.

"That seems easier said than done."

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thewidewideworld - 2016-05-26 11:33 (UTC) - Expand

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manofbusiness - 2016-05-26 11:46 (UTC) - Expand

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thewidewideworld - 2016-05-26 20:48 (UTC) - Expand

Somebody sits on the armrest of that couch, accompanied by a warm, spicy scent as if from a hot drink.

"You look as if you could use some chai," says the voice of Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

"Chai?" He asks sleepily? "Smells heavenly."

"Indian spiced tea," Hannibal says.

A mug appears close to Sinric's face, proffered by Hannibal's hand.

He sits up enough to take the cup, his long fingers brushing Hannibal's. He hums a happy sound as he shifts to rest his head on Hannibal's knee and sips.

Hannibal sips from his own teacup, apparently happy to be silent for once while Sinric wakes up a little.

He reaches up to rub Hannibal's knee. "How do you know this was exactly what I needed?"

Edited 2016-05-26 10:24 (UTC)

"Because I know you, dear Sirnic," Hannibal says, "and because I make it my business to give my friends exactly what they need, even if they don't realise it themselves."

Sinric looks up into those deep maroon eyes, his lips curling up in a smile. He reaches up to cup Hannibal's cheek, drawing him down into a sweet kiss. "Whatever did I do to earn a friend like you?"

"Turn up in the right place, at the right time," Hannibal says. "How do we earn our friends? We don't. They happen."

"Then I am very, very grateful you happened to me." He purrs sleepily, his expression warm and loving.

He takes another deep sip of the wonderful tea, moaning softly.