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Improvements? (Narrative)
The hospital had held him for a week. Hannibal had not explained how he'd gotten burned on his mouth and hand, and they stopped asking after a bit. His practiced shy smile and turn of his eyes from whomever was speaking made them think he was embarrassed and it was his fault. The latter was true, the former was as far from honesty as he could possibly get. He did not regret eating the heart of his youthful counterpart. It had been a strange occurrence with even stranger results.
The burns themselves had not been too horrible. Since he'd gotten immediate care and had allowed the doctors to do what they needed to do, the healing had happened quick, and he'd be left with no scars or loss of sensation at the end of the journey. They had assured him, though, that if he'd needed cosmetic surgery, that they had the best on staff and it would be light work which would show nothing when they were done. Hannibal had been glad when the doctors assessed him and let him know it would not be necessary.
Despite the lack of scars, Hannibal had not been left physically unchanged by the ordeal. Upon his hand was the strange, yet perfect, sixth finger. It moved with his others as if it had always been there, he had no period of adjustment when it came to working the thing, though there was a slight one in getting used to seeing it there. Strangely, Hannibal did not note it as an imperfection. Though he had not grown up with it as his companion had, he felt like he'd never been without it. The finger was elegant. It did not hinder his movements or his dexterity. In fact, it helped with several things.
This was not all he had gained, either. His mind had been flooded with the memories and life of the boy. Within his head he held all the experiences, the sorrows, the joys. He knew River Tam and life as the Head of Diagnostics. He knew every secret and every kill. He also knew some things that he did not want to know. Namely: Information about one Clarice Starling, but before he could really see these thoughts and memories, Hannibal carefully rearranged his mind palace to contain a great vault, where he locked away anything to do with her that had not been his own discovery. He would not spoil this fun for himself. He would learn of her as he should.
Upon leaving the hospital and returning to Lady Murasaki's flat, Hannibal had found the keys to the office of the Head of Diagnostics in the hospital. But he had called them and let them know that he would not be taking the position. As he'd told them this, his eyes had wandered to the door that led into his personal office. Grand and glorious. He would open his practice up within this city. He would see patients again.
He sat there now, in the refined space, his elbows on his desk, sorting through memories that had not been his before, but were his now. They had shared much, he and his younger self, but not everything. Now Hannibal knew all. Some of it matched up with his own - just in a different time setting. Some of it was contrary to everything. He sorted it all to where he thought it should go, exploring new rooms in his Ars Memoriae carefully. Some he left just where it was placed, such as the memory of the wolves - that was outside, beyond the snow, in a small burned building.
Hannibal fancied that he heard the beating of two hearts within him now. Perfectly in time, but still audible to any who might care to listen closely. He knew this was not fact, not actual reality. But it still played a small smile upon his lips.
The burns themselves had not been too horrible. Since he'd gotten immediate care and had allowed the doctors to do what they needed to do, the healing had happened quick, and he'd be left with no scars or loss of sensation at the end of the journey. They had assured him, though, that if he'd needed cosmetic surgery, that they had the best on staff and it would be light work which would show nothing when they were done. Hannibal had been glad when the doctors assessed him and let him know it would not be necessary.
Despite the lack of scars, Hannibal had not been left physically unchanged by the ordeal. Upon his hand was the strange, yet perfect, sixth finger. It moved with his others as if it had always been there, he had no period of adjustment when it came to working the thing, though there was a slight one in getting used to seeing it there. Strangely, Hannibal did not note it as an imperfection. Though he had not grown up with it as his companion had, he felt like he'd never been without it. The finger was elegant. It did not hinder his movements or his dexterity. In fact, it helped with several things.
This was not all he had gained, either. His mind had been flooded with the memories and life of the boy. Within his head he held all the experiences, the sorrows, the joys. He knew River Tam and life as the Head of Diagnostics. He knew every secret and every kill. He also knew some things that he did not want to know. Namely: Information about one Clarice Starling, but before he could really see these thoughts and memories, Hannibal carefully rearranged his mind palace to contain a great vault, where he locked away anything to do with her that had not been his own discovery. He would not spoil this fun for himself. He would learn of her as he should.
Upon leaving the hospital and returning to Lady Murasaki's flat, Hannibal had found the keys to the office of the Head of Diagnostics in the hospital. But he had called them and let them know that he would not be taking the position. As he'd told them this, his eyes had wandered to the door that led into his personal office. Grand and glorious. He would open his practice up within this city. He would see patients again.
He sat there now, in the refined space, his elbows on his desk, sorting through memories that had not been his before, but were his now. They had shared much, he and his younger self, but not everything. Now Hannibal knew all. Some of it matched up with his own - just in a different time setting. Some of it was contrary to everything. He sorted it all to where he thought it should go, exploring new rooms in his Ars Memoriae carefully. Some he left just where it was placed, such as the memory of the wolves - that was outside, beyond the snow, in a small burned building.
Hannibal fancied that he heard the beating of two hearts within him now. Perfectly in time, but still audible to any who might care to listen closely. He knew this was not fact, not actual reality. But it still played a small smile upon his lips.