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Tate Langdon ([personal profile] go_away) wrote in [community profile] herbgarden2016-07-03 07:50 pm

Open Post: Tate Langdon

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itrhymes: (pic#7884750)

[personal profile] itrhymes 2016-07-08 01:31 pm (UTC)(link)
"You keep speaking of good and bad, as if these concepts are concrete and universal. Morals are a human invention." Hannibal watches this boy, so wrapped up in black and whites that he can't see anything else. Constricted by others and himself, limited from what he could be.

Hannibal can see the ropes binding him, and he wants to cut them free. A beast unleashing another beast. "I am not intimidated at the prospect of finding out where your own created morals will lead you. I look forward to it." And his tone feels heavy with hope and with finality. Hannibal nods kindly, but his pressure of presence lightens. He becomes a solid background noise instead of trying to absorb every particle of Tate's attention.

You're free to go and lick your wounds alone if you'd like, Tate. Hannibal is satiated for now.
Edited 2016-07-08 13:34 (UTC)
itrhymes: (pic#8139026)

[personal profile] itrhymes 2016-07-10 12:00 am (UTC)(link)
Hannibal might say that being a psychiatrist - being his kind of psychiatrist - is more akin to being a gardener than an inventor. With his patients and his friends, he doesn't seek to create a robot from nothing. Rather, he uses seed and soil that already exists, placing everything just so. He can hover over it afterwards if he wishes - and he only occasionally does - but in the end, he cannot control what grows from what he has planted. Whatever Tate allows Hannibal to sow is what he will get - he cannot alter it except in whispers and tugs towards the sunlight or the darkness.

Tate seems to be pulling himself back together, piece by piece. Hannibal has already unmoored the attachment he'd clasped between the two of them, and now he smiles, taking one step backwards. It's a clear invitation that they're finished. "I think so. Unless you truly need more time spent sitting in a room arguing. I may not be so calm if you progress to throwing books at myself, however." His voice still has its usual restrained liveliness - a monotone that still manages to clearly convey emotions. But his eyes have deeper wrinkles at the edges, and it's clear he's smiling at Tate as Hannibal turns to leave.

"Oh, and Tate." Hannibal pauses at the very doorway back into his office, body facing the opposite direction. His head turns owlishly to watch the boy. His tone and demeanor both immediately soften and slow. His smile is gone, but it doesn't make way for a frown. "Regardless of how heated an argument may become, I would never strike you." Said calmly, as though he were informing Tate of any other innocuous household rule.
itrhymes: (hmm)

[personal profile] itrhymes 2016-07-10 06:18 pm (UTC)(link)
There really was only ever the chance for a negative response, wasn't there? Hannibal waits it out patiently, face as impenetrable as ever. It bends only when Tate verbally responds, flush creeping up his neck and against his cheeks. Tate's embarrassment spills over, guilty and bold as blood, and Hannibal's face thaws into something impassively kind. He doesn't fawn with sympathy, he doesn't reassure. He doesn't panic in the face of Tate's discomfort, because his words didn't backfire. They're doing whatever it is they were meant to do, and Hannibal is happy to watch that effect.

If nothing else, perhaps Tate can sense how Hannibal is unruffled and unembarrassed at his own overreaction, and can take comfort it in later. For now, Hannibal is letting him go easily. "Some things are best when they are heard, regardless of how much we tell ourselves we already know them. Like nourishment for the spirit. You can't eat once and expect you won't need it ever again." Hannibal's eyes linger on Tate, as long as they can as he turns away to open his office door.

Now inside the office, Hannibal pins him once again with a stare. "I realize we are skipping our session for the day, but if you need anything, please simply knock." Hannibal keeps fingers wrapped on the handle, ready to close both the door and this conversation.