milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Svava is very, very resolutely acting as if nothing were out of the ordinary. That has served her well when visiting other worlds and trying to fit in. And this being Milliways, certainly there have people people around who've worn... outfits such as this, right? Right.

So, in red and black perfectly fitting space-agey type armor ~~created by the laws of anime physics~~, the Valkyrie makes her way over to the bar. Acting as if nothing is out of the ordinary at all. ~~Whee.~~

Hot chocolate with liquor is ordered.

ETA:Mun not feeling well, most likely out for the night.

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Svava blinks, and turns around carefully. More for what was said, rather than the armor being uncomfortable to move in.

She staaaaaaaaaaares at "Stitch" for a good, long moment. Then storm blue eyes glance from the creature to the box of items that feel of runic magic. Her lips quirk.

"Doctor Hannibal Lecter, I presume?"

"I asked for hands ..." He spreads all four arms. "I got them."

He hops into the box and back out with one of the 'phones.' Attached with a rubber band is a small instruction booklet. "Valentine has one, too. They won't work yet, because the center isn't attached to Bar yet.

"I'll wait to talk to Bernard about it before trying."

"Most certainly talk to Bernard, yes." Svava nods, and starts looking through the instruction booklet. "If we are able to set this up... It could end up being very useful."

He nods. "One can hope."

He clears his throat. "About Archie ..."

Svava looks back over to Lecter, with a slight raised brow. "Yes?"

"...

"I'll play nice."

She frowns faintly. "You won't 'play' at all."

"Too late. Are you going to throw a temper tantrum should the two of us meet again? Hmm?"

Hannibal is not one to take limits well, as she should know ...

"Have I ever thrown a temper tantrum?" She raises a brow, frowning faintly.

"You have hardly formally met him, Hannibal. Why does it sound like you do not like him?"

"How would you prevent my 'playing' with him at all, Svava? Will you guard him every moment of his existence? Will you encase him in a little plastic bubble on the off-chance you're not there?

"Not formally, because I didn't care to tell him my name, no. But we have spoken."

She just eyes Lecter. "Why do you want to 'play' with him anyways, Hannibal? You don't seem to just up and pick random people to harrass, so there's a reason, and it most likely has to do with me."

"You have an interesting idea of 'nice,' Svava."

"'Nice' is caring about the feelings of others. I doubt my definition would seem odd to most here." She raises a brow.

"Then you have a low opinion of my definition of the term." His voice has gone cold.

"I do not care to see my friends 'played' with, when that word is of the same tone as a cat 'playing' with a mouse. That goes for all of my friends and loved ones, Hannibal."

Her fingers tap on the surface of the bar. "And you've never said why you dislike him."

He crosses his lower arms and taps his chin with one of his uppers. He mutters to himself. "Hmm. What did I do with that recipe book? Did I end up leaving it in New England? Mm. No matter. Most of them can be found online now anyway ..."

He goes about closing up the cardboard box.

A long sigh. "Gods, Hannibal. What is the matter with you?"

He turns. "Hmm? Oh, I seem to have misplaced one of my favorite books ..." Deliberately misunderstanding.

"Not about that. Why are you not answering my question? Why are you upset?" Words clipped and careful.

"To the first, because your question is based on a false assumption.

"To the second, because you automatically assigned a malign intent to my words."

"Because quite a few of my friends have taken it upon themselves to threaten him; and you are much more the sort to undertake that then they. And follow up on it, by previous examples." Carefully, still watching him.

"And you call that my version of nice. How ... enlightening. I shudder to think what you would consider bad behaviour on my part."

"No. Your version of nice seemed to be either sarcasm or very dry humor." She mutters, then raises a brow, looking over at him.

Svava does not answer what she would consider bad behaviour on his part.

He gives her a very level (unamused) look. Then gathers up the box and .

With a mutter, Svava sets down her cup of half-finished hot chocolate, and heads for the back door.

Cold, wet, raining Scottish weather or not, its better to work off her temper out of doors.

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