Hannibal's house, Thursday

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal	Hannibal had gotten no sleep at all the previous night. At first because of the nagging feeling that someone was watching him - he had very good instincts, and had learned to trust them. And later, because said watcher had finally become too prominent to ignore. And if some damn ghost thought he was giving up his body, he was in for a nasty surprise.
Bob	Bob had over a thousand years of stubbornness on his side, not to mention actual knowledge of magic and possessions. He also had over a thousand years of learned patience, though, and he wasn't above biding his time. And, it turned out, he had no idea how to work half the things in Hannibal's house. (Hannibal? Who named a child "Hannibal" these days?)
Hannibal	It was a respected family name, thank you. And if "Bob" didn't like it, he could damn well leave! Hannibal didn't mind sharing a bit - he did that regularly with Jono, after all - but this was his life, damn it!
Bob	Really? Now, sharing (as a foothold) wasn't a bad thought. Maybe just a day or two, to let a poor, condemned soul experience a bit of life?
Hannibal	Hannibal might be young in comparison to his visitor, but he had hardly been born yesterday. But sharing (as a stopgap to figure out how to get rid of him) was certainly an option.

So yes, eventually they'd come to a bit of an agreement. Or a stalemate, depending how you looked at it. Currently, Hannibal was cooking his lunch and listening to Lucia di Lammermoor and doing his level best to politely ignore his passenger. Bob was enjoying the smells and the music.

Comments

[furnaceface]

//Probably,// Jono allowed, closing his eyes and leaning, a little. //Maybe I won't aim for forever, then.//

He still couldn't quite put to words how soothing that was, the way Hannibal fearlessly embraced either aspect of what he was made of. He'd known people who were obsessed with the fire, to the point where they barely acknowledged that it was part of a person, and even more still were afraid of the flames. None had ever really been so bold as to run their fingers through it the same way somebody would smooth down somebody's hair, as a gesture meant to soothe and reassure.

He appreciated that gesture, in a way he couldn't quite put words to. So he did the next best thing, and sent Hannibal a brush of thanks, a weird combination of warmth and vulnerability and a hint of the comfort that he was feeling, that, hopefully, he'd managed to send to Hannibal alone.

... He kind of didn't want Bob in on that one.

[sharp_as_knives]

Contrary to appearances, Bob really could be tactful and quiet, so while he might have caught the edges of that, he politely ignored it.

Hannibal just smiled and hummed in appreciation.