Wow.

“Could be.  C'mere.”

“That’s quite a line of questioning. Any theme you’re hoping for?”

-whistles- "Yeah, that is pretty bad. Christ, who did that number on you?"

@runsonfear said: “Hard to imagine you getting into many fights, Doctor. Just how bad was ‘very bad?’“ 

“I was unable to relieve myself for two weeks without the help of a catheter…if you must know.” 

Once Hannibal was close enough, Will reached out slipped his finger behind the knot of his friend's tie. With a tug, he said: "Get this shit off you."

“Could be.  C'mere.”

No.  It doesn't surprise me.

What surprises me is how persistently you're trying to get me into bed with you.  Not that I'm not flattered.

We’re very similar in the way we think and act. I feel a certain passionate draw to you, it feels even seductive at times; I know you feel that as well, being the empath you are. Of course, you aren’t bad looking either.

This seems to surprise you?

Which head or yours is doing the thinking right now?  The big one or the little one?

Try again.

You don’t.

Your standards were set when you displayed Randall as you did.

I’m not your standard, I’m your goal.

Lust burns inside you, I can hear it soaking your words.

“ ‘Not-entirely-bull’ is still bull; the most you’re likely to get out of it are the washed out Polaroids of faces and places and old movie plots.

Do your dreams mean something, Dr. Lecter?”

// remember that time i made a will blog for the express purpose of rp-ing with your hannibal and then i completely forgot about it? haha yeah... // [runsonfear]: "Dream analysis is a load of bull and you know that."

“Not entirely. It was Freud who really developed and popularized dream analysis, and while he was wrong about…most everything, we can still use some of what he preached. Analyzing dreams can help to uncover what may be lying at the root of your problems.

Tell me about your dreams, Will.”

Whiskey. "Coffee's fine." The cold bit as soon as mentioned; he puffed air out between his lips and could see his breath.

He let Hannibal lead him wherever. The hand on his shoulder gave him something to focus on for a while.

Will nodded and let his head hang down for a bit.  It’d be nice if the answer to that last question was on Will’s shoes, but it wasn’t.  He cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Not rightly.”  He had a smile cracking sheepish on his face, and it made him feel even more loony.  “Guess I felt like a visit.”

Swallowtail. The youngster's diary. 1820.

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"Who the fuck is Susan?"

“First of all: where in the hell is this coming from?  Second of all: she’s a friend.”