milliways_bar | (no subject)

Jim has ventured down only rarely since his birthday, and only then because there's a party on. He is liking Bar's decision to paint his face for the duration! It's fun!

And then he comes to the bar for lunch. His gentle internal wondering of why Sherlock wasn't in bed when he woke up this morning is answered when he's presented with a note.

Jim goes very still. He remains very still for a long time, the paper crumpling evvvvvvvver so slowly in his fingers, creases cracking like ice dropped into water. He's glad of the face paint for a whole different reason, because oh, he's proud of Sherlock, he's proud of him for this, but he's going to fucking kill him as well, and do it properly this time. The game plays on. Yes. Yes, it does, and thank God, because at least this proves they really will never be ordinary.

So he laughs. Loudly, and with a manic edge he doesn't even try to hide. Well done, Sherlock. You even left the note in the bar, rather than somewhere private. Well, then it deserves a public reaction. Jim shuts up and shakes his head, almost fond. He straightens his pristine jacket, and smooths his hair back.

Then he turns and picks up the nearest chair, swings it over his head and smashes it to pieces on the floor. He smashes it until he's left with nothing but a leg, which spins out from his hand across the room, whipping through the air.

Sorry if it bounces off you?

[OOC: Birthday link is lots of NSFW, natch. And it's probably obvious, but Jim's a tad erratic in this EP and may be prone to outbursts.)

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"It does," Hannibal admits. "These things are meant to humiliate, after all."

'And here I thought it was to stop you biting.'

Spitting, whatever. Mainly biting. He remembers that scene from the movie as well as anyone else who's seen it.

'Though it begs the question why you'd make a pie with that across your mouth.'

"It only materialised on me the moment I came out from the kitchen," Hannibal says. "I suppose I will be able to take it off in the privacy of my own room. With nobody around."

'Awww, you won't even be allowed company without it?'

He tuts, and shakes his head.

'Halloween's all fun and games until it messes with your sex life.'

"Yes, it obscures all my best and most useful features," Hannibal says.

'I don't know if you're being sarcastic, or self-deprecating.'

Interesting what Hannibal values. Jim can't be bothered to consider it.

'I know someone who looks like you. It's weird.'

Possibly he's looking for distractions now, or he might not have mentioned it.

"That happens," Hannibal says. "Who is it?"

'Not exactly like you. Not a double. Just something around the eyes, and the cheekbones. Similarities in accent.'

It doesn't mean anything. He thinks it would, if they were from the same world. The likeness would be too telling to be ignored in that case, but like this it's just an anecdote for the sake of something to focus on.

'His name's Magnusson. He's a newspaper man. Owns a few, runs the media, you know of the sort.'

"What do you do with a media mogul?" Hannibal asks, sounding willing to accept the diversion.

'I didn't say I played with him.'

He's not saying he didn't, either.

'But as you mention it - he has a sideline in blackmail. The sort of man who had something on everyone.'

He doesn't like Magnusson. No one likes Magnusson. Definitely useful, though.

"Useful," Hannibal says. "How do you get him to spit up his knowledge?"

'Who said I did?'

Did Hannibal, did. Nice try, though.

'I never needed his help to do anything. He was no fun anyway. He liked to control everything, did Charlie.'

Some might argue that Jim did too, but only to a point. He was all for action, and Magnusson preferred to keep everyone chained up with his knowledge. Dull.

"I suppose he needed your help, in turn?"

Jim shrugs, and looks away. CAM isn't enough to divert him for more than a minute.

'If someone who looked like me turned up-'

Hmm. That's something he hasn't considered before.

"Yes?"

'Don't know. Probably find myself with a new boyfriend.'

His foot is tapping on the floor, and he's about thirty seconds from gone.

'What flavour pie is that?'

"Spicy chicken," Hannibal says. "You're welcome to it."

'Yeah. No. Thanks.'

He couldn't eat. He springs to his feet suddenly, and pops his neck.

'See you around, Hannibal.'

"You will," Hannibal assures him. "Just not now."

He wants to take himself and his mask out of the public eye, his tone of voice seems to say.

Weird. Jim is likewise going to disappear for a day or two. Different reasons.

He nods, and is gone.