[sorry Clarke, his meals are where parts of himself are actually allowed. it's where it's safe for him to be more primal; he enjoys the feel of flesh running along his fingertips. to be in his kitchen is to be graced, few are blessed with it.

there's a distinct (albeit brief) sparkle behind his eyes as Clarke speaks. nothing engages Hannibal much more than the talk of art, and for her to have even some experience on the topic opens parts of him that she likely hasn't been able to see until now. they have only been rough and tumble, a blood diamond in the making.]

The impressionist. He finished his paintings outside in one sitting, did you know that? Very impressive work.

[he could go on and on and on with little facts about artists, something that she will likely catch on.]

Portraits are more intimate. [a cocked brow,] It was your art of the flowers on the flier, no? I kept it. You have a good eye.

[should they make their way into his living room at some point (or if she stealthily creeps around his home later) some of his work is laid out on the desk there.]