OOM: for Ganymede

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal's room in Milliways is quite simple, for his standards.

There is a book case full of well-worn old books, a small fireplace with a comfortable-looking chair, some historical prints of Florence, and a small harpsichord. There's a desk, and a desk chair to go with it. Most furniture is vintage midcentury modern, unobtrusively luxurious and classic. He even has what must be a small kitchen, made up from two towers and an island.

Everything is rich, warm wood and mature colours -- an off-grey, and some accents in oxblood red.

Comments

[the_cupbearer]

Ganymede doesn't touch anything when he enters the room; nothing but his feet to the floor, hands carefully kept in his pockets, eyeing the furniture. The kitchen is impeccably neat, ad Ganymede can't help smiling a little at it--it's very much Hannibal's style, and very much his priority.

"It's very you," he says quietly, in that timeless sort of voice, a hint of a smile coming through.

[cook_the_rude]

"It's been my home away from home for a year now," Hannibal says. "Ever since I've become Bound here."

[the_cupbearer]

"You could have asked for one larger," he replies, reaching out a hand and trailing his fingers along the harpsichord's side, feeling the veneer of the wood underneath.

"Oddly, though, I don't see a bed," Ganymede says, turning once more around to see all corners of the room with a tiny lift to the corner of his mouth. "Or do you simply not sleep in one? It strains the imagination to see you hanging from the rafters like a bat," he murmurs.

[cook_the_rude]

"I don't like rooms dominated by beds, unless they're bedrooms," Hannibal says. "So my bed folds out."

[the_cupbearer]

"From where?" he asks.

[cook_the_rude]

"It comes out from what looks like cabinets in the base of the book case," Hannibal explains.

[the_cupbearer]

"Entertaining," he says, with a little smile.

"And so now you have me here, willingly," Ganymede says with an expressive shrug of his shoulders. "What do you intend to do with that?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Offer you a drink," Hannibal says. "Everything else would be rude."

[the_cupbearer]

"And I know how you hate that," he says. "I put myself in your hands--or failing you wanting to go that route, I'll take a Manhattan," Ganymede smiles.

"Assuming you know how to make one."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal turns one of the kitchen towers and opens a cabinet on some well-assorted bottles.

[the_cupbearer]

"If you keep everything as clean as you do your kitchen, then we'll have some very interesting fun."

[cook_the_rude]

"I know how to clean up, or avoid spots," Hannibal smirks. "People can spill their guts to me, but the furniture won't notice."

[the_cupbearer]

"Is that literally or figuratively," he asks delicately.

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes," Hannibal answers, smiling.

[the_cupbearer]

"I trust we'll be keeping the spilling of anything vital to me on the latter level," he says, amused.

[cook_the_rude]

"What's vital, to an immortal?" Hannibal asks.

[the_cupbearer]

"Anything more than about a pint of blood, let's say," Ganymede replies, head tilting as he circles Hannibal slowly. "Surely you wouldn't need much more than that if you aim to keep me useful," he murmurs with a slow smile.

[cook_the_rude]

"A pint of blood can go quite far," Hannibal says. "In ruining a rug, for example."

[the_cupbearer]

"Do you plan on using my pint of blood to ruin anything?" Ganymede asks, silky and gentle-voiced.

[cook_the_rude]

"I had not, right until now," Hannibal says, smiling.

[the_cupbearer]

"And now that I have?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Now that you have, I wish to taste immortality," Hannibal says.

[the_cupbearer]

"There are probably easier ways to do that," he says. "Taste immortality."

He could think of a few offhand.

[cook_the_rude]

"I can't easily think of any recipe involving semen," Hannibal muses. "Blood, on the other hand..."

[the_cupbearer]

"White Russians," he chuckles. "There's a whole cookbook with it, actually," Ganymede says. "You should look it up."