[Lance has been mostly avoiding Red Wings ever since The Incident.
He knows it isn't necessary, especially now that things have calmed down a little, but he's still hesitant all the same; not only does he not want to run into some people in specific, he also just generally doesn't have the energy to be around a ton of people and then also have to fake being okay with that. So it hasn't been a place he's been stopping by much.
However, he does occasionally end up nearby, especially when directing some of the now thankfully less in number people who needs a little help after the Aerie. That's why he's milling around about a block away, having just sent someone toward the building and getting ready to wander back out into the city.
But there's someone coming this general direction, and that wouldn't be noteworthy except that the person has short hair; of course it's not like the style is absolutely unique to Displaced, but combined with the location it's kind of an easy guess. So, when he's near enough to not have to raise his voice, Lance offers a small smile and asks--]
New here?
[It's vague enough not to be suspicious if this isn't a Displaced, but also hopefully pointed enough to catch attention if it is.]
( Red Wings is the first place somebody leads him when they finally open the front door. He's been there once, but it was the very first day and drugs were still very present in his system. The whole thing had been disorienting, and although he could probably remember the path if he peeled at the layers of his brain long enough, it's far easier to follow a guide. He goes not because he's particularly taken with the owner or her associates, but because it's made abundantly clear it's one of the central safe havens in the event of an emergency. Good to know the landscape around it.
He has no intention to actually eat there. It seems like a way better idea to familiarize himself slowly with places other than just the two points and the straight line in between. He's more than willing to go it alone, though he wouldn't have minded Naomi's company. She has a friend to catch up with, a more personal guided tour to experience, one he'd rather not third wheel.
New here?
The wariness is muddled with a general sense of fatigue, it stands out a little less sharply than it normally might. The fact that he's keenly scoping Lance out is (hopefully, he thinks) somewhat subtle. There's still some faint, dry humor in his voice — self deprecating, maybe. )
Is it that obvious?
( It's plenty clear enough; hard to imagine that anybody would recognize the subtle tells and general air of being lost unless they're particularly familiar with it. )
[It's subtle, but not subtle enough for Lance not to be aware of it; he doesn't really mind, though, because new arrivals have it even worse than everyone else does in trying to figure out the situation they're dealing with. Appraising a total stranger who stopped them on the street with a suspicious question is only fair.
At Will's question, Lance makes a vague gesture at his own hair--the heat has made parts of the curls more noticeable and other parts fall flat, because that's just how hair is--as he answers.]
Not super obvious, but that combined with Red Wings is enough for an educated guess.
[Also the fact that Lance doesn't see any hint of recognition in Will's expression, when pretty much everyone now knows Lance's face after the Aerie. But he won't mention that just yet.]
Did you just get out?
[Another vague question so that that if for some reason there is some mistake it won't be a problem, though he doesn't think that's much of a risk at this point.]
( The unfortunately short crop on the majority of the safehouse occupants - new or seemingly established - is definitely a trend he picked up on. He knows why, and he's kind of taken to measuring longevity by hair length. Lance has at least an inch and a half on him, maybe more considering the curl. The Aerie recognition on the other hand, that hasn't even remotely occurred to him. Too detached from it in the way people are generally detached from history.
He puffs out a breath gently, settles his hands on his hips, casts an absent backward glance at Red Wings not too far behind them in the rear view mirror. )
Yeah, a little while ago. Half the people flocked this way almost immediately after the doors opened. Seems like it's practically an ingrained culture with most of the people here.
( Lumping Lance into that category as well, considering the occam's razor idea that he's headed there himself. Better to keep a carefully neutral sounding opinion on the place to anyone that happens to be part of said flock. )
[Lance follows his gaze briefly back toward Red Wings before returning his attention Will, watching his reaction. The answer's no real surprise of course, just confirmation of what he expected, and so he can ask--]
So are you one of the particular new arrivals I led astray on the network?
[He says it lightly, with a clear tone of 'led astray' being a ridiculous way to put it; none of the new arrivals that replied to him had disagreed, after all, and while some could've but just not responded, he doubt he has to worry too much about that possibility. It's more about identifying himself than anything else, in case this person did indeed witness that mess and might be hesitant about his fellow Displaced so far.]
( He hadn't even bothered to try and pin a name to him; the number of displaced he hasn't come close to interacting with ( be it network or in person ) staggeringly outweighs the number he's met. It wouldn't be worth the time to even hazard a guess. Turns out he doesn't need to — the question makes it immediately and abundantly clear.
Frankly, he's a little gratified to feel the airy tinge of bitterness that faintly curtains it. )
I'm afraid so. It wouldn't have even occurred to me to be upset about the situation if you didn't run such an aggressive propaganda campaign the first and only time we spoke to each other. It's impressive marketing.
( Which he recognizes isn't an outright return of the favor, an actual introduction would've been the more polite thing to do. He figures it narrows down the list significantly to a pretty small list of candidates; he's a little curious about the guess. )
[The response earns an amused flicker of a grin, and the response is easy--]
Thanks, I'm extremely talented in making people think and do whatever I want, which is why I get yelled at so often.
[So ridiculous. To be fair, he can manipulate people into doing what he wants--for the most part, anyway--but this hadn't been an example of it.
As for who he's talking to, he doesn't usually guess, but he will this time just because he'd briefly distracted himself from all the everything else going on by analyzing the language used to identify which of the various anonymous individuals on the posts had which conversations. So he feels relatively confident when he ventures a guess.]
( He's pretty well versed in the art of slipping a small kernel of truth in an otherwise absurd offhand comment. It's not a particularly concerning notion, if he's right. Everybody's capable of manipulating other people to some extent, some people are just better at it than others.
He also gets the passing impression maybe Lance could find himself being particularly effective while getting yelled at far less if he set his mind to it. The conclusion is there based on evidence that certainly exists hidden in text across a dozen posts, but he doesn't feel the need to seek out specific examples, or to consider them with any real depth. To say he's learned to trust his instinct on things like this is... a hilarious understatement.
Frankly, and although it's taboo to admit, he's less concerned about people who are manipulative and more concerned about the outcomes they achieve with it. if his assessment is correct, it's far more indicative of who Lance is as a person that he could and chooses not to. )
Small world.
( Affirmed pleasantly, a little amused. Nice to see a familiar... disembodied text personality. He'd add on what are the odds, but frankly they're actually pretty high considering the business they're standing beside.
Which brings him to his next question, a little more visibly confused; )
Are you a regular?
( Of the bar, he means. It doesn't track with what he'd have assumed about him, but he couldn't imagine where else Lance could be headed if not there. )
[It's always interesting to Lance when he can practically feel someone thinking while he's talking to them. It isn't incredibly rare or anything, especially back at home with his friends, but it's not exactly the norm here. So many people in this place--and in Hadriel, and at home too--seem to have very little going on in their heads, or at the very least don't bother to think anything over before they say or do something.
So it stands out, and it's interesting, and he notes that. But for now he'll just focus on the question, shaking his head a little.]
Not exactly.
[And especially not lately.]
It's a gathering place for us, and it serves as a centralized location for helping out during a crisis, so I was referring somewhere there to take a moment; they were feeling a little overwhelmed with... Everything.
[And so Lance had talked to them for a bit, because that seemed to be what they needed most, but then they'd just wanted somewhere to be around people for awhile. Red Wings was an easy place Lance knew would be safe to send them.]
( Dramatic anime music plays as the camera pans to their unmoving faces while they go on long tangential narratives about each other back and forth for the next several minutes and the animation budget real cheap.
Altruism makes far more sense to Will, and that's probably pretty apparent in his features. It's a consistent enough theme that Will's picture of him starts to flesh out in watercolor over top of the roughly sketched outline.
Then again, he's been incredibly fooled by this act fairly recently. All things now come with a slightly thicker layer of scrutiny by default.
It's on the tip of his tongue to say something to the effect of his extra-curricular activities being at complete odds with the perception of him publicly, but that's a lot right out of the gate. Shockingly, people don't tend to like when you start pointing things out about them after having spoken to them once.
Keep it light, don't go chasing rabbits down any holes. )
Think you could recommend anywhere else to eat?
( A shrug, a scrunch to his mouth, a nonchalant affect deliberately donned. Passable enough to sell, but with the distinct air of being in on an inside joke if you can tell it's fake. Not hard to guess why that might be. )
Lance is doing a little less analyzing than Will is at the moment though, both due to general exhaustion and to some level of being distracted; he shifts slightly on his feet, which prompts one of his shoes to light up, though he ignores that in favor of casting a brief glance at their surroundings. It's a relatively well-traveled road so it's not as though movement or sound are unexpected, but he's paying attention for anything that might be unusual.
But he turned his attention back to Will as he speaks, and if there's one thing above all other that Lance is good at no matter how drained he is, it's facial expressions. So the purposefully affected expression and gesture are seen for what they are, though that in itself isn't terribly noteworthy and he won't call it out.]
Depends if you want to sit down somewhere, or just grab food.
[Since a lot of the food trucks here are pretty great. But since the question is clearly just about going somewhere other than Red Wings, rather than to somewhere in specific--]
( He cannot put into actual words just exactly what he feels when he sees Lance's sneakers light up. It's such an absurd detail, such a telling kind of piece to his puzzle so unexpected he almost chokes — laughter driven, mainly.
That's what does it. Strangely enough, that's what cements his opinion for the time being.
Sit down or grab. They're both unappealing options for different reasons; the former because he's a little more high strung considering... everything. Committing to settling in place is going to take a little mental effort. The latter because it evokes an image of toting something back to the safe house, and he's frustrated enough already that he's forced to sleep there ( the alternative being a hunt for a homeless shelter, given the state of the city... He can't imagine the general state of emotions would be any better ). He'd like to keep his time in there to an absolute minimum. )
Somewhere... out.
( Not an answer to his either or. Considering he's veering off the forked trail, it's probably not nearly specific enough, but the interpretation Lance decides on doesn't matter. Outside of the safe house, outside of a restaurant, outside of the sphere of influence around the displaced, maybe just outside in general. Any of the above in conjunction with the first. )
( Will often wishes he were the type of person that could forget his dreams. Some people wake up blissfully unaware of the bizarre and surreal nightmares they had the night before. One of the many, many downsides to a near-photographic memory, they don't just fade away.
He remembers Lance being there. He remembers the concept of shared dreams. He was really hoping that's not what it was, but he's acutely aware that hope was just nicely dressed denial.
Well.
This is bound to be an awkward conversation. )
I'm out of training at six. How's seven? I know it goes without saying, but if we could have those drinks at bar with a small crowd, I'd really prefer it
( By which he means... just not that one particular bar. )
[And as promised he'll have chosen a corner booth in the bar, quiet and out of the way, and since he's familiar with the owner of the bar at this point he's confident that no one will bother him and Will while they talk.]
( If he knew which friend Lance was referring to he might feel a little more comfortable about the whole thing beforehand. Ellie's good, she's kind, he met her in those precarious early safehouse days.
To be completely honest, she matches the Hobbs profile. He's aware of how dangerous the association is when he makes it. He still makes it. Can't help it. It's already done.
When he slides into the booth across from Lance he's ten minutes late and still in his work clothes — wound up getting too consumed with something for too long, which wouldn't surprise anyone who knew him if anyone knew him here. The stainless steel chain he pulls over his head is probably a familiar sight. More specifically, the badge attached to it. Five hundred years and not very much changes about law enforcement. It's not a real full-blown authority badge, but rather an identifier that lets him navigate the building freely. He's a trainee again. )
Sorry, sorry- I'm not usually...
( A little harried sounding, or maybe abrupt like they'd been already in the middle of a conversation. A beat, a swift pivot. )
I don't know why I'm lying to you, this is actually a habit.
[Lance already has a drink by the time Will arrives, though it's just a beer; he's controlling his drinking a bit overall, though he's still taking the edge off his nerves. This is going to be a weird conversation.
He looks up when Will joins him at the booth, unfazed by the lateness--he's not that late--and much more interested in the badge. Hm.
The sudden abandonment of the attempt at an excuse earns a small smile of amusement, and Lance shakes his head.]
It's fine, don't worry about it. Are you training to work with the police?
( There's a short sigh at the top of his answer, breath fading into words tinged with just a little friction in them. )
I'm training to teach them.
( Which is... frankly hilarious, and he couldn't help but correct a few "instructors" in the middle of whatever wholly inaccurate, idiotic misinformation was coming out of their mouth. If they let their ego get in the way of actual fact he's not sad to see them go once training is complete. )
I might have made a few enemies. I'm glad we don't use tires anymore, because I'm sure mine would be flat.
[He so wants to ask Will how he made enemies already, but he decides not to just yet; he's also kind of interested in how accessible it seems to be to be able to teach. Lance hadn't considered any sorts of jobs in his field--any of his fields, actually--for various reasons, but a big one had been the fact that he doesn't have any credentials, and he hasn't really looked into what's available without them. Still, the idea of teaching is kind of interesting.
But that's a discussion to maybe have later, as well as the fact that Will's getting involved with the police in any capacity, which might be really useful. For now, one thing at a time.]
They have flying cars now, which is a totally weird thing to say.
[And obviously Will would know about the flying cars by now, but still. Lance is making some small talk for the moment as he decides how he wants to get into the main topic.
Fortunately the server comes by to take Will's drink order and give Lance another minute or two to mull over what he wants to say. Once the order is fulfilled and Lance and Will are alone again, it's been enough time for stalling to be over with.]
Um, so, you probably guessed what I wanted to talk to you about, but maybe not exactly what.
[Good start, A+]
But um, to give a little context first, I was in a place like this before I was here. It was called Hadriel, and like here, there were people from many different worlds.
[He taps his fingers on his drink for a moment until he catches himself doing it, hesitating briefly, and then finally asks--]
( As it turns out, the NAPD is wildly understaffed. They're practically churning out bodies like a puppy mill, which means it's probably a good thing he's getting into the system before it truly reaches its height. Hopefully he can catch the last of the wave and recover a little bit of hope that some of them understand more than gun.
Honestly, he appreciates that they mostly skip the small talk. He's not the biggest fan, usually. Particularly not when it's because somebody's beating around a particularly thorny bush.
You probably guessed what I want to talk to you about. An eyebrow lifts up for a split second in time with a bob to his head, a telegraphed yeah I'd say so gesture.
The sass is very quickly eradicated.
He's read about the different worlds phenomenon. He knows the high level overview, even if it still sounds and feels fantastical despite all the very tangible evidence. He hadn't expected it of Lance, and he definitely didn't expect--
Lips part slowly, dry skin sticking together until it reluctantly separates. Slow, carefully controlled processing. There's a deep, uncomfortable knot twisting in his gut. So much for the silver lining that he'd surely be well beyond Hannibal's influence here.
The first time he met Lance, really met him, he got a beat on what Lance could be capable of. Felt very strongly that he wasn't, that he hasn't, that he won't, but this is... an entirely new variable. A splinter of doubt, smaller than the ear had been but still enough to make him immediately wary of Lance. More, even, than he'd been when they were complete strangers. )
What... exactly do you know about Hannibal Lecter?
[Lance is watching Will's face carefully, at least as much as he can while trying not to make him too uncomfortable in the process, but the sudden trepidation is incredibly obvious. Not too surprising, and a clear indication that Lance's conclusion about who the man was is correct, and stemming from that it's easy to guess at least one of likely many reasons Will would be nervous.
In return, Lance carefully loosens his body language, attempting to appear as non-threatning as possible as he assures Will--]
Barely anything. I only met him briefly; I know he's a psychiatrist, but that was about it. His time in Hadriel didn't overlap with mine much, and he wasn't very social on the network; he also wasn't taking any patients.
[He hesitates again, unsure if he should follow that up immediately, but then decides to just go ahead and get it all out there.]
( Once you've been intensely scrutinized by Hannibal Lecter, being studied by anyone else feels somehow less. It's like attending the orchestra and then following it up with your nephew's violin recital. Still a little grating, but comparatively less overwhelming.
Somehow in ways he's yet to try to articulate he feels... immune. Immune to being studied, or pushed, or manipulated. Kintsugi with cement and bone.
Some of his wariness gentles, but not all. Outright lies aren't his trademark, but Hannibal can accomplish a lot in a very brief span of time. It's a relief to know he took no patients, but beyond that... )
Abigail was there?
( It's less of a question and more of a recitation. A touch of disbelief, a touch... sad. That's no surprise to either of them, probably. )
How much better is "better"?
( Which comes with an unspoken broader question — how much do you know about... everything? )
Yeah. I'm not sure how long she was there, maybe half a year? She arrived after I did and wasn't there the whole time I was.
[But time blended together in Hadriel, and he was there for so long that it's hard to put dates to much on memory alone.]
We weren't really close or anything, but we were... I guess casual friends, is probably a fair descriptor. She had a lot on her mind, and we talked about that sometimes.
[He doesn't want to go into details, not sure of what Will might know and not wanting to betray Abigail's confidence, no matter the time and distance. It still feels wrong.
But there are other conversations that aren't that personal, and there's one he remembers pretty well. So he hesitates a moment, not sure how well the offer will go over, but it feels right to make it.]
I can show you a memory, if you'd like. Nothing serious, just...
[Just a moment. And now that he thinks about it, it might've been the last conversation he had with her.]
( He's not sure yet what it is he feels about what he's hearing. Too many things at once, they're a tangled web in his mind and he just knots himself further trying to flatten out the strands. Part of him is... happy, somehow, that she got six more months of life added to one that was painfully short. Part of him feels a gripping jealousy, an unfair petty anger that she spent it with Hannibal. That he wasn't there for her, or to see it. Those are the easiest threads to identify, the loudest ones.
She had a lot on her mind, and we talked about that.
It's in the back of his mouth to ask did she tell you I killed her father? He chews on it for a while instead, and only stops chewing at the offer.
A muscle in his jaw thumps through a heavy silence, and his mouth twists again into something painfully discontent. Agitated maybe, self-deprecating maybe. Too much at once, none of it good.
He wants to. In any other circumstance he'd accept a memory in a heartbeat, he just doesn't...
Eyes drop to the glass his fingers are wrapped around, then the door to the bar, and then finally back in Lance's general direction if not directly at his face. )
I have... an uncommon circumstance and I don't know yet how that interacts with...
( A jerky nod toward Lance's chest. The empathy bond. As far as he knows, it's a non-optional condition for the memory sharing.
It's still not a no. The temptation's clawing at the doors and windows in his mind. )
MENTIONS
[Action]
He knows it isn't necessary, especially now that things have calmed down a little, but he's still hesitant all the same; not only does he not want to run into some people in specific, he also just generally doesn't have the energy to be around a ton of people and then also have to fake being okay with that. So it hasn't been a place he's been stopping by much.
However, he does occasionally end up nearby, especially when directing some of the now thankfully less in number people who needs a little help after the Aerie. That's why he's milling around about a block away, having just sent someone toward the building and getting ready to wander back out into the city.
But there's someone coming this general direction, and that wouldn't be noteworthy except that the person has short hair; of course it's not like the style is absolutely unique to Displaced, but combined with the location it's kind of an easy guess. So, when he's near enough to not have to raise his voice, Lance offers a small smile and asks--]
New here?
[It's vague enough not to be suspicious if this isn't a Displaced, but also hopefully pointed enough to catch attention if it is.]
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He has no intention to actually eat there. It seems like a way better idea to familiarize himself slowly with places other than just the two points and the straight line in between. He's more than willing to go it alone, though he wouldn't have minded Naomi's company. She has a friend to catch up with, a more personal guided tour to experience, one he'd rather not third wheel.
New here?
The wariness is muddled with a general sense of fatigue, it stands out a little less sharply than it normally might. The fact that he's keenly scoping Lance out is (hopefully, he thinks) somewhat subtle. There's still some faint, dry humor in his voice — self deprecating, maybe. )
Is it that obvious?
( It's plenty clear enough; hard to imagine that anybody would recognize the subtle tells and general air of being lost unless they're particularly familiar with it. )
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At Will's question, Lance makes a vague gesture at his own hair--the heat has made parts of the curls more noticeable and other parts fall flat, because that's just how hair is--as he answers.]
Not super obvious, but that combined with Red Wings is enough for an educated guess.
[Also the fact that Lance doesn't see any hint of recognition in Will's expression, when pretty much everyone now knows Lance's face after the Aerie. But he won't mention that just yet.]
Did you just get out?
[Another vague question so that that if for some reason there is some mistake it won't be a problem, though he doesn't think that's much of a risk at this point.]
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He puffs out a breath gently, settles his hands on his hips, casts an absent backward glance at Red Wings not too far behind them in the rear view mirror. )
Yeah, a little while ago. Half the people flocked this way almost immediately after the doors opened. Seems like it's practically an ingrained culture with most of the people here.
( Lumping Lance into that category as well, considering the occam's razor idea that he's headed there himself. Better to keep a carefully neutral sounding opinion on the place to anyone that happens to be part of said flock. )
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So are you one of the particular new arrivals I led astray on the network?
[He says it lightly, with a clear tone of 'led astray' being a ridiculous way to put it; none of the new arrivals that replied to him had disagreed, after all, and while some could've but just not responded, he doubt he has to worry too much about that possibility. It's more about identifying himself than anything else, in case this person did indeed witness that mess and might be hesitant about his fellow Displaced so far.]
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Frankly, he's a little gratified to feel the airy tinge of bitterness that faintly curtains it. )
I'm afraid so. It wouldn't have even occurred to me to be upset about the situation if you didn't run such an aggressive propaganda campaign the first and only time we spoke to each other. It's impressive marketing.
( Which he recognizes isn't an outright return of the favor, an actual introduction would've been the more polite thing to do. He figures it narrows down the list significantly to a pretty small list of candidates; he's a little curious about the guess. )
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Thanks, I'm extremely talented in making people think and do whatever I want, which is why I get yelled at so often.
[So ridiculous. To be fair, he can manipulate people into doing what he wants--for the most part, anyway--but this hadn't been an example of it.
As for who he's talking to, he doesn't usually guess, but he will this time just because he'd briefly distracted himself from all the everything else going on by analyzing the language used to identify which of the various anonymous individuals on the posts had which conversations. So he feels relatively confident when he ventures a guess.]
Will, is it?
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He also gets the passing impression maybe Lance could find himself being particularly effective while getting yelled at far less if he set his mind to it. The conclusion is there based on evidence that certainly exists hidden in text across a dozen posts, but he doesn't feel the need to seek out specific examples, or to consider them with any real depth. To say he's learned to trust his instinct on things like this is... a hilarious understatement.
Frankly, and although it's taboo to admit, he's less concerned about people who are manipulative and more concerned about the outcomes they achieve with it. if his assessment is correct, it's far more indicative of who Lance is as a person that he could and chooses not to. )
Small world.
( Affirmed pleasantly, a little amused. Nice to see a familiar... disembodied text personality. He'd add on what are the odds, but frankly they're actually pretty high considering the business they're standing beside.
Which brings him to his next question, a little more visibly confused; )
Are you a regular?
( Of the bar, he means. It doesn't track with what he'd have assumed about him, but he couldn't imagine where else Lance could be headed if not there. )
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So it stands out, and it's interesting, and he notes that. But for now he'll just focus on the question, shaking his head a little.]
Not exactly.
[And especially not lately.]
It's a gathering place for us, and it serves as a centralized location for helping out during a crisis, so I was referring somewhere there to take a moment; they were feeling a little overwhelmed with... Everything.
[And so Lance had talked to them for a bit, because that seemed to be what they needed most, but then they'd just wanted somewhere to be around people for awhile. Red Wings was an easy place Lance knew would be safe to send them.]
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Altruism makes far more sense to Will, and that's probably pretty apparent in his features. It's a consistent enough theme that Will's picture of him starts to flesh out in watercolor over top of the roughly sketched outline.
Then again, he's been incredibly fooled by this act fairly recently. All things now come with a slightly thicker layer of scrutiny by default.
It's on the tip of his tongue to say something to the effect of his extra-curricular activities being at complete odds with the perception of him publicly, but that's a lot right out of the gate. Shockingly, people don't tend to like when you start pointing things out about them after having spoken to them once.
Keep it light, don't go chasing rabbits down any holes. )
Think you could recommend anywhere else to eat?
( A shrug, a scrunch to his mouth, a nonchalant affect deliberately donned. Passable enough to sell, but with the distinct air of being in on an inside joke if you can tell it's fake. Not hard to guess why that might be. )
If somebody's looking for a little variety.
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Lance is doing a little less analyzing than Will is at the moment though, both due to general exhaustion and to some level of being distracted; he shifts slightly on his feet, which prompts one of his shoes to light up, though he ignores that in favor of casting a brief glance at their surroundings. It's a relatively well-traveled road so it's not as though movement or sound are unexpected, but he's paying attention for anything that might be unusual.
But he turned his attention back to Will as he speaks, and if there's one thing above all other that Lance is good at no matter how drained he is, it's facial expressions. So the purposefully affected expression and gesture are seen for what they are, though that in itself isn't terribly noteworthy and he won't call it out.]
Depends if you want to sit down somewhere, or just grab food.
[Since a lot of the food trucks here are pretty great. But since the question is clearly just about going somewhere other than Red Wings, rather than to somewhere in specific--]
Either way, yeah, I have some suggestions.
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That's what does it. Strangely enough, that's what cements his opinion for the time being.
Sit down or grab. They're both unappealing options for different reasons; the former because he's a little more high strung considering... everything. Committing to settling in place is going to take a little mental effort. The latter because it evokes an image of toting something back to the safe house, and he's frustrated enough already that he's forced to sleep there ( the alternative being a hunt for a homeless shelter, given the state of the city... He can't imagine the general state of emotions would be any better ). He'd like to keep his time in there to an absolute minimum. )
Somewhere... out.
( Not an answer to his either or. Considering he's veering off the forked trail, it's probably not nearly specific enough, but the interpretation Lance decides on doesn't matter. Outside of the safe house, outside of a restaurant, outside of the sphere of influence around the displaced, maybe just outside in general. Any of the above in conjunction with the first. )
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@lance.sweets
[And the genuinely meant but still definitely small talk out of the way--]
Would you have any time to meet up in the next day or two? I'll cover some drinks.
[He'd suggest food, but alcohol seems like the better choice especially if they get onto the topic of the dream's contents.]
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He remembers Lance being there. He remembers the concept of shared dreams. He was really hoping that's not what it was, but he's acutely aware that hope was just nicely dressed denial.
Well.
This is bound to be an awkward conversation. )
I'm out of training at six. How's seven?
I know it goes without saying, but if we could have those drinks at bar with a small crowd, I'd really prefer it
( By which he means... just not that one particular bar. )
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[He'll send along a location marker.]
See you then.
[And as promised he'll have chosen a corner booth in the bar, quiet and out of the way, and since he's familiar with the owner of the bar at this point he's confident that no one will bother him and Will while they talk.]
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To be completely honest, she matches the Hobbs profile. He's aware of how dangerous the association is when he makes it. He still makes it. Can't help it. It's already done.
When he slides into the booth across from Lance he's ten minutes late and still in his work clothes — wound up getting too consumed with something for too long, which wouldn't surprise anyone who knew him if anyone knew him here. The stainless steel chain he pulls over his head is probably a familiar sight. More specifically, the badge attached to it. Five hundred years and not very much changes about law enforcement. It's not a real full-blown authority badge, but rather an identifier that lets him navigate the building freely. He's a trainee again. )
Sorry, sorry- I'm not usually...
( A little harried sounding, or maybe abrupt like they'd been already in the middle of a conversation. A beat, a swift pivot. )
I don't know why I'm lying to you, this is actually a habit.
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He looks up when Will joins him at the booth, unfazed by the lateness--he's not that late--and much more interested in the badge. Hm.
The sudden abandonment of the attempt at an excuse earns a small smile of amusement, and Lance shakes his head.]
It's fine, don't worry about it. Are you training to work with the police?
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I'm training to teach them.
( Which is... frankly hilarious, and he couldn't help but correct a few "instructors" in the middle of whatever wholly inaccurate, idiotic misinformation was coming out of their mouth. If they let their ego get in the way of actual fact he's not sad to see them go once training is complete. )
I might have made a few enemies. I'm glad we don't use tires anymore, because I'm sure mine would be flat.
( His lips scrunch. )
I'd also need to have a car.
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But that's a discussion to maybe have later, as well as the fact that Will's getting involved with the police in any capacity, which might be really useful. For now, one thing at a time.]
They have flying cars now, which is a totally weird thing to say.
[And obviously Will would know about the flying cars by now, but still. Lance is making some small talk for the moment as he decides how he wants to get into the main topic.
Fortunately the server comes by to take Will's drink order and give Lance another minute or two to mull over what he wants to say. Once the order is fulfilled and Lance and Will are alone again, it's been enough time for stalling to be over with.]
Um, so, you probably guessed what I wanted to talk to you about, but maybe not exactly what.
[Good start, A+]
But um, to give a little context first, I was in a place like this before I was here. It was called Hadriel, and like here, there were people from many different worlds.
[He taps his fingers on his drink for a moment until he catches himself doing it, hesitating briefly, and then finally asks--]
The man in your dream, was his name Hannibal?
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Honestly, he appreciates that they mostly skip the small talk. He's not the biggest fan, usually. Particularly not when it's because somebody's beating around a particularly thorny bush.
You probably guessed what I want to talk to you about. An eyebrow lifts up for a split second in time with a bob to his head, a telegraphed yeah I'd say so gesture.
The sass is very quickly eradicated.
He's read about the different worlds phenomenon. He knows the high level overview, even if it still sounds and feels fantastical despite all the very tangible evidence. He hadn't expected it of Lance, and he definitely didn't expect--
Lips part slowly, dry skin sticking together until it reluctantly separates. Slow, carefully controlled processing. There's a deep, uncomfortable knot twisting in his gut. So much for the silver lining that he'd surely be well beyond Hannibal's influence here.
The first time he met Lance, really met him, he got a beat on what Lance could be capable of. Felt very strongly that he wasn't, that he hasn't, that he won't, but this is... an entirely new variable. A splinter of doubt, smaller than the ear had been but still enough to make him immediately wary of Lance. More, even, than he'd been when they were complete strangers. )
What... exactly do you know about Hannibal Lecter?
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In return, Lance carefully loosens his body language, attempting to appear as non-threatning as possible as he assures Will--]
Barely anything. I only met him briefly; I know he's a psychiatrist, but that was about it. His time in Hadriel didn't overlap with mine much, and he wasn't very social on the network; he also wasn't taking any patients.
[He hesitates again, unsure if he should follow that up immediately, but then decides to just go ahead and get it all out there.]
But I um, I knew Abigail better.
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Somehow in ways he's yet to try to articulate he feels... immune. Immune to being studied, or pushed, or manipulated. Kintsugi with cement and bone.
Some of his wariness gentles, but not all. Outright lies aren't his trademark, but Hannibal can accomplish a lot in a very brief span of time. It's a relief to know he took no patients, but beyond that... )
Abigail was there?
( It's less of a question and more of a recitation. A touch of disbelief, a touch... sad. That's no surprise to either of them, probably. )
How much better is "better"?
( Which comes with an unspoken broader question — how much do you know about... everything? )
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[But time blended together in Hadriel, and he was there for so long that it's hard to put dates to much on memory alone.]
We weren't really close or anything, but we were... I guess casual friends, is probably a fair descriptor. She had a lot on her mind, and we talked about that sometimes.
[He doesn't want to go into details, not sure of what Will might know and not wanting to betray Abigail's confidence, no matter the time and distance. It still feels wrong.
But there are other conversations that aren't that personal, and there's one he remembers pretty well. So he hesitates a moment, not sure how well the offer will go over, but it feels right to make it.]
I can show you a memory, if you'd like. Nothing serious, just...
[Just a moment. And now that he thinks about it, it might've been the last conversation he had with her.]
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She had a lot on her mind, and we talked about that.
It's in the back of his mouth to ask did she tell you I killed her father? He chews on it for a while instead, and only stops chewing at the offer.
A muscle in his jaw thumps through a heavy silence, and his mouth twists again into something painfully discontent. Agitated maybe, self-deprecating maybe. Too much at once, none of it good.
He wants to. In any other circumstance he'd accept a memory in a heartbeat, he just doesn't...
Eyes drop to the glass his fingers are wrapped around, then the door to the bar, and then finally back in Lance's general direction if not directly at his face. )
I have... an uncommon circumstance and I don't know yet how that interacts with...
( A jerky nod toward Lance's chest. The empathy bond. As far as he knows, it's a non-optional condition for the memory sharing.
It's still not a no. The temptation's clawing at the doors and windows in his mind. )
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I never got this notif wow
NEVER FORGIVE NEVER FORGET