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ʟʏᴅɪᴀ ᴅᴇᴇᴛᴢ (
2016-02-02 03:01 pm (UTC)
As Hannibal moves towards his large desk, Lydia saunters slowly after him. Her eyes are still catching new oddities in his office: a harpsichord tucked away in a darkened corner, a lacquered wardrobe-looking piece on a near wall, and
what the heck
is with this second upper floor with all those books?
But she isn't too distracted to keep up with Hannibal's words, especially words so directly aimed for her. She's a little surprised at the secret insistence of his response, his promise of interest in her art. She doesn't realize that her feet have stopped her along the edge of this expensive, squishy rug outlining an aura of presence around his desk. A small smile leaks across her lips, fingers already itching for her bag while her eagerness inflates.
Then Hannibal asks something that has Lydia stopping all over again. Why else is she here? This confuses her; her brow twitches obviously as she seems to think of both a response, and a question. Why else would she be here?
She has always felt that she is at least as smart as most adults she comes across -- if not
. It is however an observation made objectively and usually at a distance; she does not interact with many at length that aren't her parents, and perhaps teachers. Then there's Barbara and Adam, but the infrequency of seeing them makes their relationship difficult. She can't even
to them. Now, she's found a new adult that she feels doesn't put her on a different level from them. He talks to her, not down to her; he shares philosophies and wisdoms with her, never condescending her. She didn't realize fully until he asked that she
felt some other motivation for seeing him -- and even now, Lydia isn't sure she wants to discuss it. It would just be weird.
"Well..." Lydia drawls, shoulders shrugging slightly under her sweater. Her eyes have drifted down to the floor, as if the words she is looking for are in the flora-like details. She didn't
him, because they're not close and she's met him twice. "...I just wanted to see you?" When Lydia's eyes come back up, her whole demeanor looks as if she's waiting for a very precious vase to shatter to the floor. Quick, defense mechanism: "Friends tend to do that, you know. Kids these days call it 'hanging out.'" Yet, there is at most a
of sarcasm in Lydia's voice -- or is that just her natural monotone? Look to her face for more: you won't find cruelty there, only her own mask of sincerity.
(And yes, Hannibal, she did just call you her 'friend.' Don't make a big deal about it or anything.)
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