Hannibal had graciously granted Jacob (@evilsontherun) unrestricted access to his residence whenever his duties with patients occupied his time. This arrangement often extended into the late hours, occasionally allowing Hannibal to indulge in a few evenings where he would entertain Jacob—or vice versa. He was never fully prepared for the myriad of stories that would unravel the moment he crossed the threshold of his foyer.
Historically, Hannibal had been reticent to engage with his neighbors, scarcely knowing their names or whether they owned pets. It was Jacob who swiftly acclimated to the surrounding community, forming connections with various individuals. Unfortunately, Jacob also possessed a tendency to recount details about his life and the people intertwined within it. Consequently, Hannibal's private existence became a subject of public interest; the neighborhood was now intimately aware of his identity and the affiliations he shared with Jacob.
Jacob's Bingo offer was an opportunity to tempt, though he found that the little blue haired ladies at the church were far more sinful than he ever imagined. They say you get more conservative as you get older, this was in fact, a lie.
Hannibal had never before experienced such relentless advances. Despite the countless souls he had encountered throughout his life, none had been as unabashedly bold as these elderly women. His rear was sore for days, those needle fingers pinching in all the soft spots. With an exasperated groan, he let his gloves fall onto the nearby furniture, casting his eyes heavenward in a moment of frustration.
"For Satan's sake, Jacob, you needn’t go to such extravagant lengths for the sake of our neighbors. Permit me at least a modicum of solitude where I am spared from responding to a cheerful ‘Hi-Diddly-Ho, neighbor!’… Things were decidedly quieter before your arrival,” he lamented. It was irksome to realize that the entire neighborhood was now privy to his existence through Jacob's extensive socializing. His gaze drifted to the tin resting on the living room table, a wretched gift from Ms. Mabel—her infamous cookies. While Hannibal loathed them, Jacob, in his usual fashion, indulged in them heartily, which only encouraged Ms. Mabel to continue her relentless baking. This latest tin was the third to infiltrate his home, much to his chagrin.
With a reluctant swallow, Hannibal exhaled deeply before continuing, “I shall venture forth, hoping that divine retribution strikes me down while I traverse that church.” A shiver ran down his spine at the very thought, though he was convinced that it was the throngs of well-meaning yet overly enthusiastic elderly women who shielded him from the sanctity of the holy spirit within the church.
They were wicked grannies.
Jacob trotted down the stairs with his familiar enthusiasm, a towel scrubbing through his damp hair. No brush was ever required -- he would fetch his hat, cover it all, and be done with the matter. The cowboy stepped in the door of the living area. He let his towel fall around his neck, hands holding to either end.
"Hey there, sir," he greeted Hannibal, smiling his brightest. "Thought that was ya, comin' home. Ya missed a full day ; a dog's missin' off the folks a few doors up. There's two little 'uns lookin' for it, with their ma . . . " Jacob sighed, expression dipping sadly. " -- 'm gonna go help 'em some more. Nothin' worse than a couple a' kids cryin' on ya."
The cowboy moved to turn away and then paused. He glanced back over a broad shoulder, brow raised. "Ms. Mabel gave us more a' those cookies. We were gardenin' 'fore I saw them kids out hollerin'. Y'know, she said bingo's back on in the church basement this Friday. S'pose 'm goin' . . . 'n she told me 'm allowed a partner again." Jacob scratched at his beard, unable to help his own curiosity. "Ya think ya'd want t'come, Doc, or are ya still sore from the first time ?? " Not that Jacob could blame Hannibal if he swore the occasion off forever -- the bingo ladies had been rather charmed by him, for better or for worse.
