Lesgle takes a slightly more cautious swig, then nods. "Not bad. Don't finish that first one off, Bahorel, I might try to cultivate a taste for it myself. As penance for wicked thoughts."
He finds a perch--a pillow inexplicably placed on the floor--and prepares to discourse.
"Firstly: Hannibal Lecter, whom I cannot punch for fear of repercussions to other people. Secondly: Teja, whom...I don't in fact want to punch. But Bahorel. I've met the woman who shot Lecter. A handsome woman, dark, well-built, beautiful eyes." (Thank you, 19th-century, for your priorities.) "Hiding in her rooms here, because that piece of--" A generous drink of whatever-it-is, and then he reaches for Bahorel's bottle to exchange. "--She's not precisely trapped here, I take it, but on the other side of her door is very likely death. So here she stays, with Hannibal Lecter sliming around the kitchen and the grounds like a well-dressed witty snail."
Lesgle rubs his face. "You'll excuse my scattered presentation of the facts; you know I'm no lawyer."
no subject
He finds a perch--a pillow inexplicably placed on the floor--and prepares to discourse.
"Firstly: Hannibal Lecter, whom I cannot punch for fear of repercussions to other people. Secondly: Teja, whom...I don't in fact want to punch. But Bahorel. I've met the woman who shot Lecter. A handsome woman, dark, well-built, beautiful eyes." (Thank you, 19th-century, for your priorities.) "Hiding in her rooms here, because that piece of--" A generous drink of whatever-it-is, and then he reaches for Bahorel's bottle to exchange. "--She's not precisely trapped here, I take it, but on the other side of her door is very likely death. So here she stays, with Hannibal Lecter sliming around the kitchen and the grounds like a well-dressed witty snail."
Lesgle rubs his face. "You'll excuse my scattered presentation of the facts; you know I'm no lawyer."