Hannibal offered Trys a small, wry smile in response to her question. He took a little while to try and piece together the words of what, exactly, he'd done to get inside. The young Jedi had always picked up things from others and had to sort through his own head as a result, something he'd only gotten better at over the years in the Order. It was all mental, spiritual, space magic bullshit.
And it all came down to Hannibal fighting in his own head his entire life. How did someone explain how that worked?
"The box was made for you, not for me. I slipped through the cracks," he said, looking slightly off into space. The purified crystal had served as a kind of focus, just like it did for a lightsaber. Hannibal had used aspects of himself and his connection to the Living Force to allow him entry, showed that strange place it would find no footholds where there was nothing to grasp.
He trivialized its efforts, almost mocking in his defiance. It rained, he wore a cloak. It was dark, he wielded a lantern. He definitely wasn't sure he could explain how he did either of those, but whatever.
Hannibal sipped at his tea, the warmth comforting. "I found you somewhere in the middle. But once there I was subjected to some of the same rules you were. So, I gave something up." Something he actively relied on for much of his existence and had built up over time. He didn't know if it could be recovered like Trys' memories seemed to be, and he was very unsure if that would be good or not. But it was certainly jarring and unfamiliar.
Even so, he said the words almost casual and matter-of-fact, like surrendering a piece of himself was the most obvious choice in the galaxy so long as it helped someone else. His troubles were not for her, despite them partly showing up on his face, and he didn't want to burden her with the details.
The Jedi looked up, emeralds meeting blues across the table. Not that she'd be able to tell the difference nearly as well as those that knew Hannibal well, but with the walls gone that distant light behind his eyes always shone through. A pair of far away but brightly lit stars, vibrant and alive. Brilliant, luminous things only truly visible in the depths of strange and esoteric worlds in the center of a mind.
Hannibal smiled again, widely and this time with a very genuine kindness. Joy and sunlight, coloured by the familiar weights of melancholy and weariness, and a little hint of uncertainty.
"It was nothing as precious as your memories. I said I would help, so I did."
And it all came down to Hannibal fighting in his own head his entire life. How did someone explain how that worked?
"The box was made for you, not for me. I slipped through the cracks," he said, looking slightly off into space. The purified crystal had served as a kind of focus, just like it did for a lightsaber. Hannibal had used aspects of himself and his connection to the Living Force to allow him entry, showed that strange place it would find no footholds where there was nothing to grasp.
He trivialized its efforts, almost mocking in his defiance. It rained, he wore a cloak. It was dark, he wielded a lantern. He definitely wasn't sure he could explain how he did either of those, but whatever.
Hannibal sipped at his tea, the warmth comforting. "I found you somewhere in the middle. But once there I was subjected to some of the same rules you were. So, I gave something up." Something he actively relied on for much of his existence and had built up over time. He didn't know if it could be recovered like Trys' memories seemed to be, and he was very unsure if that would be good or not. But it was certainly jarring and unfamiliar.
Even so, he said the words almost casual and matter-of-fact, like surrendering a piece of himself was the most obvious choice in the galaxy so long as it helped someone else. His troubles were not for her, despite them partly showing up on his face, and he didn't want to burden her with the details.
The Jedi looked up, emeralds meeting blues across the table. Not that she'd be able to tell the difference nearly as well as those that knew Hannibal well, but with the walls gone that distant light behind his eyes always shone through. A pair of far away but brightly lit stars, vibrant and alive. Brilliant, luminous things only truly visible in the depths of strange and esoteric worlds in the center of a mind.
Hannibal smiled again, widely and this time with a very genuine kindness. Joy and sunlight, coloured by the familiar weights of melancholy and weariness, and a little hint of uncertainty.
"It was nothing as precious as your memories. I said I would help, so I did."
@Sreeya
