Hannibal opened the door and took in the scene. Yet another friend with an injury. Clearly there was a vortex of chaos swirling around him, inching ever closer in. He was going to have to watch himself.
"And how is it that you've hurt yourself, Jonathan?" It was easy to take the cue and pick up the teapot and pour enough in each cup to accommodate sugars and cream. He could see that Crane wouldn't be doing it himself.
"Is this why you've called? Or is there something more?" Hannibal thought it would be the latter. Arkham had doctors of its own. Though, perhaps there was need for a more skilled surgeon. Hannibal sat down and picked up the teacup, holding it gently.