hauntedhome: (☙ 13)
ʟʏᴅɪᴀ ᴅᴇᴇᴛᴢ ([personal profile] hauntedhome) wrote in [community profile] herbgarden2016-01-04 05:42 pm
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Open Post: Lydia Deetz

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itrhymes: (pic#8139026)

[personal profile] itrhymes 2016-02-16 04:24 pm (UTC)(link)
Does Lydia have any idea how many people haven't recognized his accent. Does she. If she'd guessed on her own, she'd have risked having to pick him up off the floor. Hannibal can count on his fingers how many people haven't looked confused at the name 'Lithuania' since he moved to America. They're not exactly a dominant global power.

"Oh, the services are terribly boring, on the whole." With the exception of America's more southern churches, with all the screaming and tongues and falling to and fro across the aisles, calling for Jesus. "I find them to be beautiful to look at, however. The older ones in New England sometimes have the flare you find over in Europe." You can practically feel the Rich Affluence coming off of Hannibal in waves.

The kettle ticks as the metal heats.
itrhymes: (pic#7610233)

[personal profile] itrhymes 2016-06-10 01:32 am (UTC)(link)
Hannibal's mouth purses with a smile, teeth just barely hidden. The kettle is the soft, throaty sound that precedes the shrill whistle. Hannibal rescues all of their ears - and the green tea's delicate water temperature - by taking it off early.

"As I said, my family was. In name, at least." He watches Lydia over the steaming water, as he spoons out tea into the strainer for steeping. "I enjoy the pageantry associated with religion. But I do not partake in it as someone looking for protection or guidance, no.

"You said you find church boring. Can I assume you feel the same way about God, or do you feel that you are religious without the need for a church?"
itrhymes: (pic#8139026)

[personal profile] itrhymes 2016-06-10 11:59 am (UTC)(link)
"People certainly have developed their own hatreds, and then hidden behind a number of books over the centuries, to justify their violence." Hannibal collects two teacups from a narrow cabinet. Matte, dark grey, with delicate darker grey patterns. Hard to notice the difference except as the gloss catches the light.

He catches on a quick thread of thought, strung through what Lydia has just said. As he measures out tea into their cups, his eyes flicker to hers above the steam. "You think people should be their own Gods? Create their own personal religion?" He replaces the kettle on an unused burner.

He reaches across the space between them, her cup offered in his hand. "Or perhaps that we should do away with the concept altogether?"