milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Eden doesn't really know where he acquired any particular knowledge of machines, and for all he knows, the adjustments that he's making to a metal object that looks half like a miniature Large Hadron Collider and half like a modern art project built around a glass ball could very well cause it to explode. He's doing them more on instinct than anything else.

(He can, if he wracks his brain, summon up some kind of vague idea of what the device is for, but it's a struggle caring enough about the thought to keep it anywhere near the forefront.)

He has a smallish Scottish Fold curled up on the table next to him, in every respect in a sleeping pose bar that it is quite obviously wide awake. By now, Eden barely notices Chirithy, so he just works around the little fluffball.

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There is a man in a plaid suit and a paisley tie, carrying a bowl of soup, some pieces of bread, and a glass of wine on a tray.

He stops by Eden's table, and peers at the device.

"Hello," he says. "That looks very intricate."

"I think it's meant to be part of a town defence system," Eden says without looking up, reaching up with his free hand and plucking away a piece of bread with unerring accuracy.

"You're welcome," the man says. "How does it help defend a town, and more importantly, against whom?"

"I am welcome," Eden agrees. "Maybe something to do with creating a momentary hard light pillar. Couldn't tell you. I probably do know, though."

Beat.

"At the very least, if I test it out when it's done, I'll know then."

The man puts down the tray, careful to keep Eden's project between it and the cat.

"So you've got memory issues, but your kinaesthetic memory still knows how to make these things?" he says. "Good idea to nudge your mind like that. You might want to try that outside. It would be a pity if your pillar of light singed the nice old rafters."

Chirithy doesn't go for the food, but it does watch Hannibal very carefully.

"Not sure I can call them memory issues," Eden says. "I remember the past so-many days just fine. It's everything before that that's a little fuzzy."

He does glance quickly at Hannibal (and the suit, which gets a brief raised eyebrow from him) before reaching over for some bread.

"Are you a lawyer?"

"I'm a psychiatrist," the man says. "Do you remember from a certain fixed point, or does your memory change so you always remember a fixed number of days?"

Chirithy unfurls itself at this question, peering up at Hannibal with bright blue eyes.

"Eden's memories prior to his arrival in the town he currently lives in are unclear," it says lightly. "It's a hazard of interdimensional travel, one of many possible side effects from unprotected transit through the darkness between worlds."

"I even ended up being followed through," Eden says cheerfully. "It wasn't pleasant for anybody. Buildings were wrecked. Nights out were ruined. Puddles were splashed. A truly dark time. But yes, what Chirithy said. I can't remember much before that point."

"Hello, Eden," the man says. "Hello, Chirithy. Nice way you have of introducing each other. I'm Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

Pause.

"So your memory was affected by some means of interdimensional travel considerably rougher and more dangerous than simple passage to Milliways. I hope it was worth it -- if either of you remembers what the purpose was?"

"'Pparently anyone who comes to Daybreak Town is almost always there to join one of the Unions," Eden says, shrugging one shoulder.

"What kind of union are they?" Dr. Lecter asks. "Especially as they seem to be worth risking one's memory for."

"They're unions for hitting things with really big keys," Eden chirps. "The most important thing to do."

"How that?"

"It is in defence of the worlds," Chirithy says. "The keyblade is an important weapon. Its chosen wielders gather in Daybreak Town, where the Unions can provide them with safe access to other worlds, where they can hunt Heartless and protect people."

Eden takes advantage of this short speech to take another piece of Hannibal's bread, dip it into the glass of wine, and gnosh loudly on it. His manner suggests entirely that this is his bread and wine, simply by virtue of being near him.

Edited 2015-03-24 12:46 (UTC)

"What are the Heartless?" Dr. Lecter says, giving no sign of discomfort at having his food and drink commandeered.

"Big shadow things," Eden says, miming out a pair of claws and gnashing his teeth. "One actually followed me through! It was great. We were besties. He's dead now. Or not dead, but close enough. Gone. No more."

"Why are they called heartless?" the doctor asks.

"Possibly out of a sense of deep irony, given that they're created from hearts," Eden snorts, more than a shade derisively. "One of my textbooks has a gigantic essay about why they're called that. I would've read it, but after the first paragraph self-immolation seemed preferable."

"They are hearts lost to darkness. They've left their owners behind and become bestial creatures driven by hunger," Chirithy says.

"What, literally?"

"Oh, yes, completely literally," Eden says. "People whose hearts have become Heartless just kind of fade away, I'm told. And then those Heartless go out and collect more hearts, and so on."

"People without hearts die," Dr. Lecter says, "because hearts are needed to pump a person's blood, which transports oxygen, and if the heart is missing, no oxygen gets to the brain, and it stops working. Hearts without people are just dead, red organ meat."

Eden and Chirithy tilt their heads and squint at Hannibal in perfect unison.

"We just think that heart is the seat of our emotions," Hannibal carries on, "as because of said emotions, the level of epinephrine, commonly known as adrenaline, in the blood is increased, which has a palpable effect on the cardiovascular system."

Pause. Eden dabs the bread in some wine again.

"Nah, I'm pretty sure the heart is, you know, glowy. Kinda pink. Floats out when you kill a Heartless."

"Then you and I are speaking about different things," Hannibal says, shaking his head sagely.

"What you're talking about," Eden says gravely, "sounds kinda weird."

"It's how our physical bodies work," Hannibal says. "I studied it at great detail in the process of becoming a doctor. What you're talking about is some sort or metaphor or magic, not literal heart -- but of course, if common consensus defines this kind of life force as 'hearts' in your world, then it's a valid meaning of the word, just like a playing card in the suit of hearts will show 'hearts', too."

Eden pats Hannibal's arm comfortingly. "You're probably thinking of the liver."

This can happen.

"No, I'm not," Hannibal says. "Of course, metaphorical anatomy has a very long tradition, but then, you seem to take those metaphors quite literal."

"He's definitely thinking of the liver," Eden stage-whispers to Chirithy, before patting Hannibal on the arm again.

"Well," Dr. Lecter says. "Tell me what the liver does, according to your anatomical knowledge. We will have a way of sorting this out. There must be a glitch in the translation magic."

"Livers at things. Provides stern words of encouragement. Enjoys fine art. Explodes sometimes," Eden says.

"Now you are simply extemporising," Dr. Lecter says. "I sincerely doubt it."

he looks at Chirithy, as if expecting it to make more sense than the human.

Edited 2015-03-27 23:20 (UTC)

Chirithy probably could be the voice of reason here, but it seems to have no intention of doing so, instead clambering up onto Eden's shoulder.

"Oh, no, it's well known for it. The Liverless are terrible, cultureless beasts, full of soft words of discouragement," Eden says, deadpan.

Edited 2015-03-28 00:04 (UTC)

"Now you are just trying to pull my leg," Dr. Lecter says.

"I would never do that to you, Hamilcar," Eden says reproachfully.

"Wrong Carthaginian, sorry."

"I don't even know what a Carthaginian is."

"Hannibal, Hasdrubal and Hamilcar were Carthaginian generals who gave a lot of trouble to republican Rome," Dr. Lecter says, "and you were trying to poke fun at me for being named after one. To be quite precise, I'm named for another general named Hannibal, Pushkin's grandfather."

"None of those are ringing any bells," Eden says honestly.

"Then I must wonder why you confused my name," Hannibal says, mildly shaking his head.

"It was a toss-up between that and Bjorn," Eden says gravely.

"How very funny," Hannibal says.

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