If Abigail had spoken her views on them being Nighstalkers, and them being odd, Hannibal would’ve agreed. They did lead odd lives, and forget having a significant other. It’d just put another innocent person in danger, and thus putting the Nightstalker in danger. However, with this new turn of events, if they didn’t have to worry much on the vampire population, then he might be able to look into settle down. He wouldn’t mind settling down, honestly.
“Exactly.” Hannibal replied with a nod of his head, “No telling with these sick sadistic fucks.” He paused, waiting on a bolt of lighting or something to hit him. Surely it should’ve. His gaze narrowed slightly and then he shrugged his broad shoulders. “Oh, haha, Whistler. You always come up with the best jokes.” He smirked, rolling his eyes once again at her. He’d never admitted it, but he really did like her playful banter. It kept him grounded, centered, and above all he had someone that he could banter back with. He pouted at the light punch to his arm, “Yeah, you know them. They’ll think we got wiped out, and all will be well in the world. I just worry about Zoe.” He let out a soft sigh at the mention of Sommerfield’s daughter, and shook his head.
“I do have some self control, Whistler. Give me a little bit of credit. Jeez.” He swatted at her hand playfully, smirking all the while. I know there was something off about her the moment I laid eyes on her. Call it a vampy sense if you want to, but…there’s something not right about her.” He perked up considerably at the prospect of hunting and then frowned. “We were told, the night I arrived, no killing. Stupid rules.” He pouted again, and rolled his eyes.
“Who else would I have gotten to do it, smarty pants?” He glanced back at her, brow cocked up and shook his head. “I don’t know anyone here well enough yet to ask them to do something like that.” He murmured, and lifted a shoulder as he stared hard into the room. “I, honestly, have no fucking clue.” He licked his lips, eying his room that’d shifted into…a cheap hotel room. “Seriously, it wasn’t like this when I left.”
He eyed the stereo for a moment, “I’d been listening to Hasslehoff, if you must know. Not Mr. White. Haven’t brought a woman back here to try out the White on.” He ran his hand over the soft velour fabric of the bedspread. “That’s, fucking creepy.” He pulled his hand back, eying the room as if it was the devil. “Seriously Whistler, I had nothing to do with this.” Apparently he’d pissed the gods off more than he thought. He looked up at his reflection on the ceiling, raising a brow at it. Man, this was just fucking weird.