Eyes tracked along Will’s moments as Hannibal sipped
at his drink of choice for the evening. A soft inhale
followed after swallowing the vaguely bitter liquid. He
set his glass aside and laced his fingers together atop
his desk as he observed the consultant.
“What is troubling you, Will? You seem to be
content to try and walk a furrow into my new
rug, much to my chagrin.”
Pushing back from his desk, Hannibal rose and clasped
his hands behind his back. Stepping toward Will Hannibal
remained silent for a moment before he motioned toward
his session chairs.
a lot of these consist of him being stubborn and defensive and basically insisting that people who are upset in any way, shape or form are wrong. the last one- the "hot lesbian" one- was the final straw for me.
the problem is that he's not acknowledging that there is ANY justification for people to be upset. I understand his decision, and I understand the character and the plot- but shutting people down and acting as though their being hurt by media letting them down is being stupid/childish/wrong is just. very immature behavior. He's ignored his fans that are trying to explain to him why they're hurt, and he's ignored that people are going to have different perspectives on this. And that's just harmful and childish, and has lost the tenuous support I had for him.
I understand if people read these things differently or continue to stand beside him, but this is why I can't and won't. And that's why it feels sad and isolating being shut down by the fandom too- my show, my creator AND my fandom are all abandoning me just because I had the audacity to question and be troubled by this media.
Try not to panic; try being the keyword, of course. Isolde had yet to grasp normalcy, clearly. To be able to act domestic and move a certain way that she wasn't used to. A brief smile to start, signalling that she's noticed him before she's picking up a stack of papers, heels clicking against the floor as she moved. Slow, probably not as deadly as she could had she known him. ]
Are you lost, darling?
[ A reasonable question with a smooth tone. The smile that she manages is honestly far from warm but, she's trying. Cut her a bit of a break. ]
Lucky. That was the name of the goose her grandmother kept. She remembered it when she was a little girl. She hated it and it hated her. Even when she was nice and fed it like she was told to, it would chase her away, honking and snapping its beak and madly flapping its wings.
She really hated that goose. But her grandmother loved it, so she couldn't do anything about it. For years she and Lucky had a hate-hate relationship. The only time they got along was when one of them was inside and the other was outside the house.
You'd think when the goose finally died she would be happy. She was, momentarily, until they had pâté with dinner. She never should've asked what was in it. Eventually she figured out the "goose" in the pâté wasn't Lucky but from a store, but that didn't help with the nightmares.
She was traumatized. It took well over half her life before she could eat it again. Even so, she couldn't help but remember that evil goose in her grandmother's back yard.
