Since his semi-recent liberation from the hospital, Abel Gideon had been more restless than usual -- a logical reaction, considering his circumstances. Though his mobility was limited and his safety (his life, his comfort, his digestion) were at risk thanks to Hannibal Lecter's presence once more hovering above him like a vulture, staying within the confines of his own home all day every day was not much better than the cold solitude of the hospital. It was safer, but very boring, very undignified, and Gideon felt insulted suffering the latter two.
He wasn't reckless, of course; he knew better than to wander around free and vulnerable for Hannibal to find him. The only times Gideon allowed himself to venture about Heropa were when he could be certain there would be ample people around out and about, silent witnesses to shield him from possible abduction. He'd thought it before, after all -- though he may, even now, not be harmless, there were still ample methods to get the upper hand on him, particularly for someone physically and mentally capable.
Heropa, thankfully, was small enough that he could navigate himself in his electric wheelchair without a great deal of difficulty. It was tiring but good exercise, and good -- probably -- for his mind. He wheeled with some difficulty past the wooded pathway by the pier, eyes cast out skeptically over the water and the array of ships. What made him stop was two things: The boat named The Freudian Ship, and the familiar face he could see aboard it.
"May wonders never cease," he commented dryly, altering his course to pass the ship by. Louder, one hand cupped beside his mouth, he added: "Ahoy there, Frederick."
no subject
He wasn't reckless, of course; he knew better than to wander around free and vulnerable for Hannibal to find him. The only times Gideon allowed himself to venture about Heropa were when he could be certain there would be ample people around out and about, silent witnesses to shield him from possible abduction. He'd thought it before, after all -- though he may, even now, not be harmless, there were still ample methods to get the upper hand on him, particularly for someone physically and mentally capable.
Heropa, thankfully, was small enough that he could navigate himself in his electric wheelchair without a great deal of difficulty. It was tiring but good exercise, and good -- probably -- for his mind. He wheeled with some difficulty past the wooded pathway by the pier, eyes cast out skeptically over the water and the array of ships. What made him stop was two things: The boat named The Freudian Ship, and the familiar face he could see aboard it.
"May wonders never cease," he commented dryly, altering his course to pass the ship by. Louder, one hand cupped beside his mouth, he added: "Ahoy there, Frederick."