![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Hannibal's house, Saturday morning
Apr. 18th, 2015 03:15 pmHannibal hadn't slept last night. Not through any sudden bout of insomnia, but because of staying up to listen to a five-year-old's chatter. Memory played tricks on you; Hannibal knew that better than most. But his memories of Mischa couldn't have painted her as any more sunny or wonderful than she was.
She'd spent the evening exploring his house and pulling him along with her. He'd told her the history of himself and their family, albeit somewhat edited.
Now they were sitting in the library, Hannibal on the sofa and Mischa in his lap as he read to her from a book of French poetry. She only understood one word in five, but she'd always enjoyed just listening to his voice. In her lap was a purring Joni, who had unsurprisingly taken to her. On the other end of the sofa was Beethoven, equally unsurprisingly eyeing her suspiciously.
He could manage for a weekend. Hannibal had Mischa back, however temporarily, and he wasn't giving her up until he had to.
[OOC: Expecting one or two, but open!]
She'd spent the evening exploring his house and pulling him along with her. He'd told her the history of himself and their family, albeit somewhat edited.
Now they were sitting in the library, Hannibal on the sofa and Mischa in his lap as he read to her from a book of French poetry. She only understood one word in five, but she'd always enjoyed just listening to his voice. In her lap was a purring Joni, who had unsurprisingly taken to her. On the other end of the sofa was Beethoven, equally unsurprisingly eyeing her suspiciously.
He could manage for a weekend. Hannibal had Mischa back, however temporarily, and he wasn't giving her up until he had to.
[OOC: Expecting one or two, but open!]
