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|: 008. Spam/Video : See Me, Hear Me, But Don't Touch Me :|

     [ Spam for Hannibal Lecter ]

     [Slevin has been working for several months to get to this day. This is the point of no return, the first domino, the peak of the track before the drop - once he's passed this, once he's pushed this piece, all he can do is commit to the fall and accept where it goes.

    Well. Unless he doesn't.

    He's taken care to come across as mostly under the radar, or if he accidentally ends up above the wire, harmless. He runs his mouth but he never does anything. In the Barge environment, that has been especially easy to do. Now, though, he checks that the Glock he picked up in Los Angeles is still loaded (it is) and clean (it is), and slides it away into his waistband; a knife, too, tucked into his pocket, also from Los Angeles, his favorite black hoodie - roomie and bulky and chosen precisely for these qualities - settled comfortably over both. He'd have liked to have the glasses, but they were traded away for another point in his favor in this long game. It's all about to pay off, or flop.

    He closes the door behind him on his way out of his cabin, and moves for the dining hall to locate his target. He doesn't even hesitate.

    Hannibal hasn't been out and about much, but when he does he keeps to a routine that would be difficult enough to process through the breaks unless one were watching for exactly that; Slevin has been. It's simple, when he spots him in the dining hall, to know where he'll be if he's going to be out later tonight. Slevin finishes his own dinner, and then leaves to intercept him in the hallway.

    Level 2 is risky - it's busier than the deeper levels, and the infirmary being so near could save Hannibal if Slevin is interrupted - but that's never really bothered him, and it is objectively the emptiest level anyway. It will, regardless, be quick.]

     [ Private to Chris D'Amico : Video : Later ]

     [Chris has seen Slevin go distant and detached a few times now; this is slightly different, but related. He looks confused as well when he comes on the screen, and he's staring at something out of frame, something on the floor, expectantly; he's in a dark room that is not his. A few moments of stillness, of silence, and then Slevin speaks in a voice matching his expression, still without looking.]

     Chris, I.

     I think I may have made a mistake.

     [ Zero Spam : OPEN ]

     [Slevin was expecting to be spending some time in a cell in Zero when he started this. It's a price he's willing to pay, for what he'd expected to gain from it.

     Maybe he was right. Maybe he was wrong. It's difficult to tell from where he's settled on the cot in the cell, leaned back against the bars, feet crossed on the bed and arms folded over his chest, sitting quietly in thought. It is, now, a waiting game.]

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[The gun cocks; her ears twitch. She knows by now what that sound means, knows just as well that it would do nothing to her. Knows that Chris is brave and also very stupid for aiming it at her. That she could kill him instantly.]

[That the fact she is considering it means she's too close to things she shouldn't be close to. It's a victory for Slevin, and really, she has nothing to do but concede.]

[She doesn't say a word to either of them for a moment, just looks up at Slevin as he regains his breath. She still thinks he deserves it.]

[But when she turns, her eyes are gray again and she's pulled back entirely within herself. She gives Chris a thin-lipped smile.]

I'd prefer if you just took him. I need to clean up this . . . mess.

[She waves vaguely at the room, keeping both of them in her line of sight. No point responding to Slevin at all, really. Of course he's not armed. She doesn't particularly care.]

[Put your toy down, little boy. Smile, smile. The worst part is Chris is in the right. Damn him for it.]

[Chris instinctively knows that a gun won't do a damn thing to Mal except perhaps call her back into the situation at hand: here is a warden, pointing a gun at her, for a reason. That has to count for something. Slowly, he lowers the weapon, his expression fixed and hard. He wants to scream and rage at her laying hands on Slevin, will even concede that Hannibal deserves all he gets, but at the same time he's remaining conscious of the fact that of the three still living people, someone has to be the sane one today.

He hates drawing the short straws.

Gun lowered, his eyes never leave Mal even as he addresses Slevin behind her]

You heard the lady. C'mon, Slevin, let's go. Leave the gun.

[Slevin glares at her; he is angry. He wants to hit her back, even knowing she could snap his neck before the blow landed, even knowing his own warden has a gun leveled at them both whether he would use it or not. But the anger is contained, visibly so - so visibly - his eyes dark and burning, his bloody hands trembling with temper where he reaches up to rub his throat as he slips out from in front of her.

Hannibal is not the gory mess he'd left the assassin in so many months ago in the showers; his eyes are gone, and Slevin has left ribs broken, a collarbone, but he did not open him the way Hannibal did. The killing shot was clean, swift, and singular. The gun powder can still be smelled in the room.

Slevin steps around it, glancing at it only long enough to rekindle the bloody satisfaction in his gut, but he doesn't move for the weapons. Instead, he looks at Mal, spits] He deserved it. [and moves for the door.

He slips past Chris, careful not to overbalance him or come remotely close to touching him, and he stops obediently once he's in the hallway.]

I'll go. I won't try anything, but can I clean up first?

[Chris is angry too: has been about this situation since he was left unconscious in the infirmary only to have his inmate murdered under him by a psychopath who never seems to get what he deserves. While a part of him is sickened by the blood, another part is...oddly proud of Slevin. Even though he knows this is not the way for him to graduate and that revenge killings don't serve as anything except a bandaid.

He stares once back at Mal and Hannibal, before turning around and grasping Lassie's harness, using her help to carefully guide him out the door]

That'd be nice.

If we use my shower, it's only one level down to Zero.

Fucking christ, Slevin.

[Slevin would laugh if he knew - it's such a hypocritical stance to take. Hannibal is getting what he deserves, but others who have hurt so many more people - others that are Slevin's true target, back home, away from here - are to be excused. Slevin hasn't forgotten. He won't forget.

He turns to go, shoulders tense, at least until Chris swears at him. Then he rounds like a striking snake, puffing up to his full height, eyes snapping with the violence he held in check while Mal held him pinned to the wall and, apparently, helpless.]

Don't you fucking Christ Slevin me. At least I put him out of his goddamn misery. At least I left him some goddamn dignity!

[Alarmed, Lassie sticks close to her master when Slevin turns on Chris. Chris, in comparison, only presses into one of his own eyes with the heel of his hand, grimacing]

Not. What I meant.

Fucking...

Shit.

I'm not worried about goddamn Hannibal just yet. [Fuck that guy, he wants to say]

What was the mistake you said you'd made?

[He doesn't calm down, but Chris just ignores him. Is not threatened, which a part of Slevin's thoughts registers, the prideful part of him says he needs to rectify, but it's not the part that is, apparently, in control right now.

He grinds his teeth together, voice still tight and now harsh with the bruise already formed and still darkening.]

I don't want to talk about it here. Maybe it wasn't a mistake after all.

[It's a hiss of a statement, petulant and spiteful. He is meant to still be angry, so he is.]

[Slevin is acting irrationally, and a part of Chris is sick of it. Like Hannibal or hate him - and yeah, he definitely hates him - Chris' main priority is getting Slevin to graduate. Letting him run around murder people seems counterproductive, even if the other person started it first]

When you're ready to think with your head and not your raging revenge boner, we can talk. I'm not getting in some kind of stupid pissing contest with you out in the hall where she can hear.

Right now, the plan is: Shower, then Zero.

Fine.

[He turns to continue down the hallway, rubbing at his palm with the fingers of his opposite hand, watching the blood flake off. It's a stall tactic. He makes it as far as the elevator, punching the button with his elbow, and then glares across at Chris again.

Irrational is more appropriate, he thinks, than calm. So he does that.]

Don't do me any favors. All I need is a sink and I'll go somewhere you don't have to look at me anymore. [The blood is on his hands and face, some of it on his hoodie; peel the one off, wash the others, he can look like nothing ever happened except for Mal's contributions.]

[Chris takes the glare with indifference, more in disbelief over the idea that Slevin is angry with him for some stupid reason than interested in rising to the level of toddler rage on display here. He waits for the elevator, scratching Lassie behind her ears]

Whatever you say, man.

[He resists making digs, A) because he's pissed, and B) because in part he's really worried about this new side of Slevin he's seeing. The guy is all twisted up like a broken Slinky]

[That, Slevin has learned, is the useful side of anger: it doesn't have to be rational. It allows for all kinds of words and actions to be thrown at all kinds of people for all kinds of reasons, rational and not. Slevin is very familiar with anger. This is not his normal temper.

He ignores Chris after that, still tense and brooding, willing to lash out at any target that presents itself merely for being in range, but containing it while Chris, miraculously, refuses to give him something to fight against; by the time they reach the inmate showers, by the time Slevin has washed his hands and face and pulled his hoodie off over his head, leaving him in a t-shirt and remarkably clean cargo pants - if this were the real world, he could have walked away undetected - he seems calmer, anyway. Enough that he's willing to look at him again, to speak with him, though the anger is still there, still visible.]

How long are you thinking?

[Still wholly in two minds about the situation - hating Hannibal and understanding the desire for revenge vs. what's best for keeping the peace on the Barge - Chris sits outside the door to the showers, playing with his dog and waiting for Slevin to wrap it up. There's something bigger in play here he can't yet see, but in the meantime he knows he has to do the job in front of him.

He glances up as Slevin exits, and uses the wall to climb to his feet with care]

Couple of days. Until you get your shit sorted out.

Get it out of your system?

[Slevin looks no more prepared to play ball than he was on level 2, but he's still being cooperative. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to escape to. He did what he intended to do and there is no escaping the consequences.

Zero won't be the worst of it anyway. Not here. He nods, then laughs.

Until he gets his shit sorted out. Like that's even his decision to make.]

Get what out of my system?

Being pissed off at Hannibal? No. [His anger flares again, and then... fades. There's the confusion again, subtle around the edges. Dissatisfied.] He'll come back, just like we did. In a week it won't mean anything.

Yep. That's how revenge goes, on the Barge.

Also it's because he's a legitimate psychopath who doesn't let anything anyone does affect him. No matter what you do to him, it's never going to be enough. Enough to stop him or enough to make you feel better.

It's bullshit.

[He walks into the elevator as it arrives, playing with his communicator]

What were you looking for?

I could affect him. If I had enough time to do it. Not here.

[He says this stubbornly, still distracted, mind running in the opposite direction from his mouth, apparently too preoccupied to control his tone like he normally does. He's frustrated, limited, trapped here. Angry at the constraints the surroundings put on him, the fact that Mal will always come looking before he can get the job done right.

He pulls a hand down his face, scrubs it back up through his hair, and answers:]

Bullshit. I was looking for bullshit. [He lets it be a concession, not a blowoff. He lets it be one he's not happy about.] People like that can just get away with whatever they fucking want, and no one touches them. Even here. There aren't even any police here to protect them, and they're still sitting high and fucking mighty on the top of the shit heap.

Hannibal has been straight up murdered by people three times. He gets away with it because he doesn't let it affect him. You can't sit the guy down and force him to acknowledge your pain. His brain doesn't work like that.

You're basically screaming at a wall, with him. One day maybe, he'll have this great epiphany over how horrible the shit he's done is. But that's probably a long way off and it might not ever come.

You're going to spend all this time trying to break him because he deserves it but you're just going to end up hurting yourself and he'll walk away clean. You can't screw with this guy. He's not built for it.

Everyone can be screwed with.

[Slevin's jaw tightens for a moment, his eyes going hard. He is not a man accustomed to being told no, to acknowledging the rules other people set. He does not recognize others as untouchable.

He sighs.] I did say not here.

If we were both back where we came from, it would be different. But this place seems like it's designed to make everything futile.

What have I been saying all along, Slev?

[Chris glances to his inmate, not exactly sympathetic - he's still pissed - but understanding, in part]

This place is going to rip away every crutch you have until you have no choice except to battle your problems with just your brain. Murdering Hannibal won't do a fucking thing. Not even make you temporarily feel better.

You have to find another way. It's all internal.

[Slevin looks back at him, not expecting sympathy, not wanting it; Chris has every right to be pissed. Slevin is holding onto it as well, letting it steep into his voice when he sneers back at his warden:]

This is me using my brain. This is all logic, this is what I was trained to do. Someone pushes you, you can fall down or you can push back.

When your uncle took your legs, how pants-pissing terrified were you? How scared are you still, when you wake up in the morning and there's no one around to see?

Yeah, except the push-back doesn't work on him, and it doesn't work on the Barge. It's not going to stop him from being a shit-eating bag of dicks and it's not even going to stop him from turning around and pushing you. You ever think there are different kinds of logic?

[He fades off at the question, a sort of glassiness fading over his eyes. Next to him, his hand digs tight into Lassie's fur]

Killing my uncle won't make me less afraid. If he were here on this Barge, all it would do was make me keep confronting him with no end in sight as he kept getting resurrected and I kept ignoring why I was really afraid.

You're not afraid of Hannibal.

You don't get it. It's not for him. This wasn't for him. I mean, if it will make him think twice for a moment about touching anyone else, good, I'll rot in Zero and consider it time well spent. But I don't expect it.

[He wouldn't say he takes no pleasure in the subtle signs he picks up from Chris long before he even opens his mouth; it's only that the pleasure is not in the reaction from his warden. It's in being right.

But not being happy about it doesn't keep him from scoffing. Hook, line...] Then what am I afraid of?

Well, then you can write logic out the window. If it wasn't for him, then it wasn't logic. Because logic would dictate at least that you'd get something out of it for your trouble.

Afraid's probably not the right word for it.

Then what is it? What kind of logic should I use? What should I use instead?

Come on, d'Amico. Don't stop there. I called you.

Barge logic. It operates on a different level than regular, real-world logic. In the real world you can kill some asshole and never let them get to you again. On the Barge you kill someone and next week you have to sit with them at the breakfast table and you're in a worse position than before. Killing someone here isn't a way to get power or control or strength back.

You're afraid of what it would mean if you didn't kill him. That's literally all you know how to do in order to deal with your problems. You're a badass assassin, I'll give you that, but you're also a one-trick pony. If killing someone isn't going to work for your logic, what the fuck are you going to do next?

That doesn't make any sense. I'm not staying here forever. Why would I switch systems from real world logic to Barge logic just to get out of here? How is that the point?

[The rest, though, drops him silent. He glances away at the wall of the elevator, draws his lower lip in between his teeth like he needs to think at all.

They're at their stop before he answers, quietly. Grudgingly. Poisonously.]

I did say I'd made a mistake.

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