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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'This place can alter things for each person, and create a whole new-'

It's not a question, it's a statement he's speaking out loud to himself. Well. The thought of changing things has crossed his mind of course, but each person creating a differing alternate based on their reality? He's well familiar with the many-universe theory of course, but to find proof, to see how it can be made to pass...

...well, his thoughts are stretching on and on, and that's usually a dangerous prospect.

'Interesting,' is all he says.

"Quite."

A corner of his mouth twitches. Just for a second, if that.

Then he straightens up, and nods his head at the dodo.

'How do you even know when it's done? Nothing to compare it to, and all that.'

"I do know when a roast of any size or kind is done," Lecter says, smiling. "The rest is a question of scales and thermometers."

'You sound like an expert in food.'

He did not in any way, shape or form, know that already. Nuh uh.

"Probably because I am," Dr. Lecter says, tilting his head in a slightly amused manner.

Jim looks amused too, and tilts his head the other way.

'Are you going to try it?'

Dr. Lecter lifts the lid off the pot with the fricassée. It smells wonderful. He takes a long-handled spoon, and tries it.

"Some more pepper," he muses.

'I mostly eat at Subway myself.'

This is not true.

It might be true of Jim from I.T., but not Moriarty.

Dr. Lecter adds a few twists of pepper from a mill, then stirs.

Jim crosses his arms over his chest, and pulls the disguise back over himself. Well, why not? He might know who Lecter is, but he's not going to give himself away.

It's a little like someone pulling an invisible sheet up their body. Subtle changes all the way up; a push out of his stomach, a drop of that shoulder, a minute slackness added to his jaw. Only someone good would notice the change in progress, but just about everyone would be fooled by the finished product.

"You will still try the dodo fricassée, though?" Dr. Lecter says, as if Jim had said something out loud.

In his head, he smiles.

'I thought I said I wouldn't.'

He will.

Dr. Lecter tastes the dish again; then, he takes a fresh spoon and offers it to Jim.

He pushes lazily off from the counter, and takes the spoon. And he makes sure to get a good taste of meat. How often does a guy get an opportunity like this?

'Not bad. Beats a meatball sub.'

"I would very much hope so," Hannibal Lecter says.

'Of course you would.'

He puts his spoon down, and licks a fleck of gravy off the tip of his finger.

'I'm going to go back to work now.'

Sherlock's only on the first puzzle. He's got an interesting few days ahead of him.

"Good luck with that, Jim," Dr. Lecter says, putting the lid back onto the pot.

'Oh. Well. Things aren't so hard to keep running.'

Wheels go 'round, you know.

'I'll see you, Doctor Lecter.'

He saunters off, and out of the kitchen, without looking back.

"Good-bye, Jim."

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