It was well into the second day of competition. Hannibal was fixing himself breakfast in the student designated break room. It wasn't strictly prohibited, but there was an unspoken rule in place that judges would eat elsewhere. He was supposed to prevent bias and avoid bonding with the contestants, avoid assisting them with last minute tweaks. That wasn't a problem. Hannibal had been a judge for a long time, and antisocial for longer. Impartiality was second nature to him. No one- not even those he knew well- got even a single point better or worse than they earned. The students weren't much either. For even a man of almost thirty, such as himself, there was something off putting about the lingering remnants of childhood existence and fancy. College kids hadn't lived nearly enough to converse with Hannibal. They were shallow, empty creatures who either knew it all or knew nothing, only vaguely interesting due to the overt similarity between them and show monkeys begging to dance for food.
Hannibal did love it when they danced.
He saw one of them, very young, hardly the age of a freshman, sitting by himself. The others- they mingled, eager for approval and some sense of camaraderie. Yet this one sat alone. Hannibal watched him curiously. The silver laptop the man was working from had cat stickers littering the front, almost distracting from the neon green strands leading from the laptop to the man's ears. He was wearing a sweater vest that rested just over a dark blue button down. A red bow tie laid snugly beneath his chin. The look was at once crisp and rumpled. Hannibal peered over his coffee-black, like a normal human's. This one was different. His hair curled wildly, just meeting the edge of his tie.
Hannibal wanted to sit with him desperately, a thing he had never wanted before, but they would accuse him of granting favors should it happen that the man won. So instead, he watched.
He had note cards, of all things, clipped together and color coded, which he flipped through while mouthing the words. Hannibal was sure that a recorded version of the story was coming out of those headphones from the almost peppy way the man was mouthing along. But he had to know.
After three trips "for coffee" he discovered that it was a playlist consisting of the High School Musical soundtrack with the occasional One Direction song. This man, Will by the embroidered label on his bag, studied color coded note cards to the tune of "Breaking Free." Usually that would put Hannibal off, the obvious show of child-like interests. But as he left the room to sit at the judging table, he found himself smiling.
He'd heard about this one by reputation. Will Graham, the man from earlier. Graduated at 16- tore the collegiate competitions apart. This would be Will's third year, if Hannibal was correct. It wasn't an easy competition that he judged for, no. Contestants had to do more than just talk- they had to perform. They wrote stories and sold their universes to the judges as reality. The way the audience was drawn in was a major factor. But this man- the way he spoke was tantalizing at the, nearly sinful in other words. His curly mop was devilish under the stage lights, his eyes sparkled, and he shone, erasing the fragile pixie look he'd had in the break room entirely. He was . He spun his paradise without a single stutter. Hannibal was drawn into the crystalline pools and the trees wet with dew. He fought with the resistance to preserve this world. In short, Hannibal was quite impressed with Will's piece. But mostly he was impressed with Will Graham. How could someone so solitary and shy tell a story so captivating? How could someone who studied color coded note cards an hour before his turn recite so flawlessly? And how, Hannibal wondered most of all, could someone who listened to the High School Musical soundtrack and put strawberry cream cheese on a blueberry bagel tell such an insightful and sophisticated tale? Needless to say, Hannibal was having a bit of difficulty remaining impartial.
Will rushed off of the stage and slipped in his headphones almost immediately. Hannibal smiled to himself. Years of impartiality and he couldn't help but give an extra point or six to the man who was somehow both awkward and self assured, a strong leader and invisible. Yes, after the competition he simply had to talk to Will Graham.