"Any name he's made is for him alone, I suspect." His eyes trailed her, his other senses keeping track of her as she moved, though she did not leave much of a trace of herself behind. There were no footfalls to listen to, no beating heart. He could smell her, but she did not smell of humans. It wasn't quite death, though it did cling to her subtly. It was more like cold itself that Pamela smelled of. The predatory scent of a hunter. And her delicious perfume.
When she stopped, his head moved in her direction, and his eyes rested on hers. "No? What would you call your entanglement, then?"
Hannibal vastly approved of the attire, and the way it was worn. One could like a style but not fit into it. Hannibal wondered where this one had come from that she should enjoy her mode of dress but also be intimately familiar with it. It didn't just hang on her as if she were playacting, it moved with her as a second skin. Comfortable was too mild a word for the way Pamela was in her clothing. More than that, though, Hannibal thought. There was no part of her that seemed ill at ease in anything, even this strange meeting.
"If an item is worn well, it never goes out of style."