milliways_bar | (no subject)

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As entrances to Milliways go, this is one of the more unprepossessing. A man stumbles through the door in slacks and T-shirt (a particular brand of underwear showing above his waistband); despite the fairly well-groomed hair and care with his appearance, he still seems a little crumpled and ungainly. The door swings near someone, and he instantly apologises before standing almost straight and looking around.

(Interesting.)

'...oh. Um.

...oh.'

Well, this is new. Jim likes new.

[OOC: Note on playing with Jim here. If more than one person tags, could we please only have one intro thread? Anything after the first will find him either sitting a little nervously at the bar, or gazing in wonder out of the observation window. Thanks! :D]

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'Don't like opera either. Sorry. Or Les Mis.'

He does look apologetic.

'It's all history? I'm into computers. That's what I do, work in I.T. I don't read a lot of classics.'

"That is such a flippant abbreviation for an important classic," Hannibal Lecter says. "They nickname the book version 'The Brick', almost affectionately, as if they'd never even seen a book that voluminous, which is odd, as much of popular literature you geeks love is that long -- Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Song of Ice and Fire. Those are less important here, though. Knowing that Brick will help, I assure you."

'Well, you know. Computer generation. Geek. What're you gonna do?'

He pulls a goofy smile that's got just a hint of hard edge to it.

'I read part of it in school. Maybe I'll give the rest a look through.'

Whether the doctor is trying to help or hinder him...well, he can figure that out for himself.

"It's worth it, and actually quite insightful," the doctor says.

Something in his pocket goes 'ding'.

"Ah, that's the dodo."

He pulls the word apart. Insightful. That could mean so many things, and he won't jump to conclusions. Well, not too many. He's only just got here, after all.

'Could I take a look at it, at least? I'd be the only person on my world even to see dodo meat.'

This might be the most exciting thing ever to happen to Jim from I.T.

"Do come along," Hannibal Lecter says. "You are quite welcome to have a try."

'Oh, I don't know about that. Looking at it might be enough.'

(Looking at it is never enough.)

He stands up, and runs his palms down his slacks in a show of awkwardness.

'Lead on, MacDuff.'

With a bow, Hannibal Lecter leads the way into the kitchen, taking up his apron from where he left it, neatly folded over a chair.

It's a large, busy, professional kitchen largely populated by large rats.

On one of the gas hobs, there is a huge pot and a somewhat smaller saucepan; in the big pot, the huge bones of an enormous bird carcass are gently boiling.

The rats get his attention, briefly. He saw them in the main barroom, but carry things is different to actual cooking. But hey, Jim's not squeamish. He looks into the big pot and pulls a face.

'Bigger than I thought.'

He's never thought much about the dodo. It's had its day. The world's over it.

"And tasting much better than I dared hope it would," Hannibal Lecter says.

He takes the lid off the smaller saucepan to stir through the delicious-smelling fricassée.

'Do you have anything to compare it to? Or are you talking about just this bird?'

It does smell good. But as he recalls, Hannibal Lecter is something of a gourmet - to put it mildly - so he wouldn't expect anything less.

"I am talking about this bird," Hannibal Lecter says. "However, I was wondering if the meat itself would be very tasty. Swans aren't, either."

'I'm no help to you there. Kind of a basic palate.'

Not necessarily true, but definitely true to say that food is nowhere near as important to him as it is to Lecter. Also, Jim from I.T. would definitely never have tried swan.

"But great curiosity, I take it," Lecter says.

'Are you saying I look like a curious guy?'

He smirks unevenly, spreads his arms and looks down at himself. He could be talking about the clothes, and what he designed them to say about himself.

'Simple tastes, is what I'm saying. But I don't mind distractions, like anyone else.'

Hannibal Lecter pokes the long bones in his large pot with a long, wooden spoon.

"I detect a certain unafraid curiosity," he says, "that still isn't likely to get any cat killed."

'Well, far be it from me to say you're wrong.'

He murmurs this, leaning against the worktop opposite and watching the man stir. Hannibal's elegant. He would expect nothing less - than elegance, and also being right on this point.

'And I'm not looking for anything that'll kill me.'

Call him cautious. At least today.

"Very little here will actually kill you," Hannibal says. "It's not permitted to, and it actually will not. I think only one person died since I first came here, and that was because of a zombie attack."

'It's actually not allowed?'

He sounds surprised, but is actually kind of incredulous. What, is there a law? No one allowed to die here? Perhaps they throw sick or injured people back out of the door.

"It's not allowed to kill," Dr. Lecter says. "And as this place is rather limited, getting away is literally impossible. The forest and mountains turn you around on their own."

'Oh yeah, of course. I bet.'

Jim from I.T. is relieved.

Jim is thinking it might be fun to test that out. He'll see who's around. He doesn't get his own hands dirty, after all.

'I was told the rules. They seem sensible.'

And are therefore for sensible people.

"Very sensible," Hannibal Lecter agrees. "And very sane. And sometimes, there are little gaps between the letters of those simple rules, and the good-will of the good people who keep them up. That can go against you, or in your favour."

He half-laughs, the sort of noise someone makes when they're surprised to hear something, and don't quite know why they've been told it, and it's also surprisingly inappropriate.

Basically, it's odd that Hannibal Lecter would be so openly helpful, unless he knows something he shouldn't. He gets that 'Jim from I.T.' is already finished with this man, but...well, perhaps it's not so surprising that the doctor makes no bones about cutting through it. Perhaps he feels it's the the quickest route to getting his full name - but then, would it even mean anything to him?

'Reading between the lines, I'd say it's up to me which way it goes.'

He sets his elbow on the counter, and some of the disguise slips away. Just a touch. Enough to make it clear he's choosing to let it go, and it can come back at any time.

'And what do the good people here think of you, if I may ask?'

"Unless they heard your name under the wrong sort of circumstances," Hannibal Lecter says, "and then visibly suppress a flinch when you introduce yourself. Some, of course, very visibly do not flinch."

He smiles at Jim, politely and assuredly. Bones, it seems, are not being made at all.

'Maybe they've never heard of you.'

He's dying to know whether anyone's heard of James Moriarty. Dying.

But he readies the obvious excuse also - he could be from Hannibal's world in the future, quite easily. No one need mention the word story at all.

'It doesn't mean they don't care.'