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Tate Langdon (
2016-07-09 11:48 pm (UTC)
Perhaps Tate is more of a person who sees morals in black and white. Constance raised him that way, although he doesn't really realize that; it's too ingrained, those veiny roots nestled just too deep into the soil for Tate to see, were he to look. As you might guess, he never digs very deep there -- but Hannibal's remark lies in the garden of character as a glint that a curious eye might be tempted to unearth.
His own created morals... Tate doesn't fully understand. Morality has to have cooperation from other people to practice it together for it to work, otherwise there's just chaos.
Compelling, to be honest, but that seems like straying off the path a little, don't you think?
Tate nods, face a little blank, but finally within the vicinity of baseline calm. "Thanks...Doctor Lecter." Despite how quiet and monotone the words come, it seems like his gratitude runs deeper than how shallow his intentions usually are.
Okay, that's enough. Tate smiles, a rug pulled over the unsightly spot of some vague semblance of vulnerability. With a thumb, he swipes the side of his nose. "I guess our hour's up for the day, huh?"
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