"You're a man of varied interests Doctor Fell. I didn't expect you to be knowledgeable beyond your field." Dr. Sagliato uttered, trying very hard to be perceived as nonchalant and unaffected by his colleague's appeal.
"It sounds as though you don't trust my judgement." The assassin's intuition spiked at the challenge, already in place.
"Don't take it to heart Doctor. I simply have my reservation about your employment."
"Reservations?" Hannibal quirked an eyebrow, a trait that the fictitious 'doctor Fell' had. The assassin's handler must have snuck that minuscule tidbit as a silent retribution, as Hannibal was the type of agent to fully immerse in his alias. His so called 'meat suit' perhaps.
"Yes, well, it would be uncouth to admit, but I prefer an Italian be placed in your position. You are foreign, you may know our history, you may know our culture, but you don't know our way of life. You do not have the capabilities to compensate for your lack national identity." Hinted hatred spiked at every word's intonation. Doctor Fell physically attracted Sagliato, but a part of him is appalled by his . . . Eastern European decent.
"Is this an invitation to prove you wrong?"
"Humour me, Roman. We both know why your here."
Hannibal halted for a moment. His eyes looking flaccidly at the pompous man. It was a far-reaching prospect for the man to actually know his true intentions, nor does he believe that the man has any innocent connotations in his salaciously wanton tone.
At the heightening tension a familiar tune echoed through the relatively cramped office. Hannibal tentatively looked at his colleague, before deciding it was best to answer it.
"Would you excuse me? it seems that this is an important call." Hannibal said as he looked at the contact ID.
"You are excused." Emilio replied, pressing his hip to the side of the desk, in an act to seem unaffected by the cut tension.
Hannibal moved far in sensible distance, far enough for Emilio to be in his peripheral and hear him speak, but far enough for him to be unable to discern whatever Bedelia's reason for calling. A calculated distance, to seem open and vulnerable to his employer, whilst being able to contact his handler. In personal taste, he finds eavesdropping a very uncouth activity, but for the sake of the mission, he must tolerate the insufferably pompous and promiscuous man.
"Lydia, what is the purpose of your call?" The assassin uttered, already using the established guise of his handler immediately. It was almost a habit, especially on missions, no flaw can be seen on how he handled the conversation.
"Your haughty daughter made a mess of things." Bedelia started, as a tirade maybe on the midst.
"Explain the situation. "Hannibal released a calculated sigh, and pressed two fingers at the bridge of his nose, simulating silent disgruntlement.
"She told Will where you are. . . " the assassin made a faux hum in agreement.
"And she knows about 'M'. Your little girl just tried to threatened me. Please discipline your own child before I personally do it, and you would not like my methods." Bedelia continued, the distant sound of a car boot being smacked shut, indicating that she and Abigail were on the move, without outright stating it.
"Understood, I'll try to make arrangements for you. Goodbye Lydia." Hannibal uttered, putting on a face of settlement and acceptance.
"Adieu." Bedelia replied before hanging up.
"Who was that?" Emilio piped up immediately, after he had any indication of the call ending.
Hearing the name 'Lydia', and how endeared doctor Fell acted, irritated him to impatience. Such an unexpected response even to himself.'
"My wife . . . She had a fight with our daughter, after our . . . Pet ran away." Hannibal explained in humor, a slanted version of what the happenings.
"You have. . . A wife." The curator uttered tentatively, a tint of furious anger on his frown.
Hannibal approached his employer, who was obviously making a pass at him. Mere inches separated them, as the doctor Fell laid out his charm. It would be more efficient to have a man with power over the vicinity on his side. An easy way to evade a multitude of possible problems.
"Yes, I hope that fact doesn't affect any outcome of this conversation." Doctor Fell leaned close to the curator's ear in a whisper.
Hannibal wasn't above baiting for something more, if it meant convenience for him.
"No—not at all. But reservations are also inset of that matter." Sagliato uttered hurriedly, feeling slightly lightheaded at the charm and attention he is getting.
"Maybe dinner would change your mind. . . I'd like to invite you to dinner, at my apartment." Hannibal uttered, whilst stepping away from the other man. Already knowing he succeeded in his endeavor to trap the man with his charm.
"Where are we going?" Abigail protested, as Bedelia entered a nondescript car, that she had just purchased via cash at hand. . . Mostly the cash lying around the Hannibal's property.
"I said where are we going?!" The older woman refused to even acknowledge the presence of her younger counterpart. Choosing to just start the drive to the airport, painstakingly avoid all major and national roads, in case another shooting incident happens.
"Would you just shut your mouth?! You know exactly where we are going your insolent child!" Bedelia shouted, already at her wits end with the insanity happening all around her. Her patience was wearing thin, and her physical protection as well. She hoped to any deity out in the universe that Hannibal does as he promised
"Madam, a call." The assistant uttered, already preparing herself to be the brunt of her employer's anger. Already used to the cruel and hurtful ways of her master.
She approached the platinum blonde carefully. As her master leisures on her loveseat with whiskey at hand. Her legs dangling off the armrest, as though she was a child unable to sit still. Mischa looks striking with her translucent skin, pale hair and maroon eyes. The assistant sometimes pities the fact that her master's daughter didn't inherit an ounce of her features, instead taking after the man who violated her master to no end.
"Chiyoh, just hang it up, if it's not important." Mischa said apathetically as she took an unrefined swig of her whiskey, un amused by the recent happenings. Will Graham is alive, and it's such an unpleasant result. And she had no clue where and how her brother hid him this well. There was also the fact that Bedelia has escaped her employment, truly such a pity to dispose of such a skilled handler.
"Madam, it's your brother."
Immediately, the blonde shot up and grabbed the cellphone from her assistant's clutches and excitedly spoke to her long-awaited sibling.
"You've finally called me! How are you my dear brother?" Mischa said overtly excited, her tone bordering on shouting.
"Mischa. . . I'm fine. How is Chiyoh?" Hannibal uttered reluctantly, keeping his patience from thinning.
"She's fine. Why don't you ask about me?" The blonde woman gave the dark-haired woman a glare, as it seems like her brother has more care for the servant than her.
"I know your perfectly fine, I have no need to ask you." Hannibal uttered passively, already remembering why he chose to leave in the first place. The overbearing monitoring of his sister and previous employer, was suffocating and irritating in tandem.
"Do you like the little gift I gave you?" Mischa staved off to another topic, her mind already drifting off. A side effect of her 'accident'.
"What do you mean, Mischa?" The assassin's tone hardened, already sure that his sister pulled another one of her games to play.
"Tobias Budge of course!" She replied happily.
"Explain to me how is he a gift?" Hannibal already didn't like the direction of this conversation. Only a few people can astound him in sheer wit or petulant spite, and his sister is one of them. Her sheer apathy and lack of discretion was truly a monster in the underworld. And to be the target of her games was a position no man would ever wish for, even to their enemies.
"You were fascinated with this Will Graham, but he will and has endangered your life, brother. I don't like him. I'll take care of him." The blond started, waving a hand to dismiss her handmaiden away, making the asian give a structured bow, and left her employer to her call.
"I sent Tobias to replace him. I specifically chose him just for you— he is smart, fast and is willing to kill! Isn't he great! A perfect match!" Mischa continues, before taking another sip of her drink.
"He is trying to kill me." Hannibal uttered passively, as if to state the bland weather.
"Part of the fun brother, it's not like Will Graham hasn't put you on a death sentence alrea—"
"Mischa!" The words his sister said, ripped what was left of his already paper-thin patience.
"Stop this nonsense, and push back your mercenaries." Hannibal added injunction to his losing wits.
"Then come home with me! Let's go back home!" Mischa uttered in a petulant childish way, her seductive, manipulative presentation shattered, as her true childlike self emerge to its full extent.
"You did this to . . . Make me come home? We don't have anywhere to come home to anymore Mischa." A slight disbelief blessed Hannibal's mind, as such a rarity it was to him. But such a childish and obtuse demand was in place. His sister had truly reached the peak on insanity. What woman would want to return to the place of her assault? The demise of her former self?
"The estate—" a pleading tone escaped from Mischa, as her nails dug deep into the leather upholstery of the loveseat.
"Isn't our home anymore, not after what happened. Call off the dogs. Goodbye sister." Hannibal uttered, ending the call without any pause.