—— “Too much of it will destroy your liver, Nigel. You know my feelings concerning your drinking habits.” The doctor retreated, heading for the stash he kept tucked away in the office for whenever the need arose for it. Helped loosen the tongue and relax his patients, but there were the seldom times that he brought it out for other company.
Like Hannibal gives a fuck about his liver. Maybe about how edible it will be when he finally kicks the bucket... nothing more. Nigel watches with keen eyes as Hannibal walks over to the cabinet, procures them both a stiff drink. Meanwhile he makes himself comfortable on one of the patient couches. better than the shit in his Bucharest flat--that's for sure.
"So. Still picking brains?" Literally. Figuratively.
