He didn't think twice to question Hannibal's implicit offer (or was it a command?) to resume his seat; the motion simply spoke with authority, and Chilton could savor authority. Only when he had readjusted himself, his feet well situated beneath the white linen pulled over their table, did Chilton consider that subliminal sway that Hannibal so easily manifested, the soundless manipulation, the agile guile -- or was he simply over-analyzing an individual whom he (regretfully) admired? Hannibal was highly manipulative, and Chilton appreciated that, but the man's technique proved still somewhat shrouded. The Will Graham of Chilton's timeline, back home in Baltimore, had thoroughly discussed Hannibal Lecter from behind the steeled bars of a therapy capsule. Those arguments began to make sense, and Chilton soon saw strings whenever he looked at Hannibal's handiwork. Chilton was convinced that the man he was preparing to dine with was, in fact, the illustrious Chesapeake Ripper. He thirsted for that exposure -- both of Hannibal Lecter's double life, and of Chilton's own fame (yet written in the stars), he needed it. Despite the implicit peril, despite his own cowardly survival, Chilton couldn't help himself; he wanted Hannibal's company. He wanted the man dissected. His panic thawed as ambition clawed at his heart.
The idea seized down his spine: finally catch the Chesapeake Ripper. His guarded smile, that thin quirk, deepened subconsciously.
But yes, caution, Chilton did recall his caution. He had reached out to Jack Crawford for protection, and was denied any conceivable aid. Freddie Lounds, in Heropa, had dangled tidbits of half-truths before him -- the trouble was deciphering what halves were truth. Lounds had claimed a lot of miserable things, with only her honest word as insurance. And if any of her pinched words indicated any truth to Chilton's fate (however unlikely that was), well, then his personal aspirations of achieving the Ripper would soon turn into revenging upon the serial killer.
"I happened to noticed that they carry a few bottles of that 2005 Bodegas Roda Cirsion," he said. Chilton sought to impress Hannibal, citing the most expensive red wine on the menu. It was like a blood sacrifice. "I think it goes well with. Beets."
Yes, well.
"How do you enjoy your -- ah, housemates?"
A quick deflection tactic, to move quickly away from his intolerance of typical protein ingestion.
no subject
The idea seized down his spine: finally catch the Chesapeake Ripper. His guarded smile, that thin quirk, deepened subconsciously.
But yes, caution, Chilton did recall his caution. He had reached out to Jack Crawford for protection, and was denied any conceivable aid. Freddie Lounds, in Heropa, had dangled tidbits of half-truths before him -- the trouble was deciphering what halves were truth. Lounds had claimed a lot of miserable things, with only her honest word as insurance. And if any of her pinched words indicated any truth to Chilton's fate (however unlikely that was), well, then his personal aspirations of achieving the Ripper would soon turn into revenging upon the serial killer.
"I happened to noticed that they carry a few bottles of that 2005 Bodegas Roda Cirsion," he said. Chilton sought to impress Hannibal, citing the most expensive red wine on the menu. It was like a blood sacrifice. "I think it goes well with. Beets."
Yes, well.
"How do you enjoy your -- ah, housemates?"
A quick deflection tactic, to move quickly away from his intolerance of typical protein ingestion.