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Amy’s words had escaped her again. She tapped her pen against her pad, trying to conjure up something that wasn’t ‘mercenaries’ for the fiftieth time. It was just so broad, and it never quite seemed to fit. Yes, of course the team were mercenaries, but they somehow also weren’t. The term was at once too broad and too narrow, and she needed a better description. She shaded in the top line of the page while she thought, then huffed out a sigh.
“Trouble?” Hannibal asked, glancing over from his contemplation of the park across the street.
She shook her head and sighed again, shrugging at herself, “a woman makes a career out of words and she can’t even think of one.”
Hannibal smiled, “need some help?” He turned, sitting back on the windowsill and crossing his arms.
She looked thoughtfully at him, “what is it you’d say you do?”
“I’m an actor,” Hannibal said simply.
She paused, taken by surprise and chastising herself for being surprised by anything Hannibal said any more.
“Also a stunt-man,” Hannibal said with a shrug, “but that’s more of a side thing.”
“A side thing… to the-”
“Acting.”
She nodded silently, looking from her blank pad back to Hannibal. “Acting.”
Hannibal smiled at her again.
“Don’t you mostly wear rubber suits and…” Amy didn’t want to suggest it wasn’t acting, really, especially since Hannibal apparently considered it acting. But… was it really?
Hannibal watched her expectantly.
Amy tapped her pen against her pad, sucking her bottom lip, “I suppose people don’t usually think of that when they think of ‘acting’.”
“Well,” Hannibal made an ‘it is what it is’ gesture, “that’s because they don’t understand what it takes to be a creature.”
She shuffled upright from her slump on the couch, unconsciously readying her pen for notes, “and what does it take?”
Hannibal broke into a broad grin and came to sit beside her. He sat back at an angle as if they were about to begin an interview for morning television. “See a lot of people will just play a monster,” he said with a little frown of contempt, “you can dress up anyone in a costume and tell them to stomp around waving his arms, but to be a creature…” he cast her a pointed look, “that takes skill. A living, breathing, thinking animal. You have to ask yourself why? What does the creature want? When you preform a scene,” he shifted, leaning in, “you have to ask yourself: ‘what is the creature trying to accomplish?’”
She nodded, “you give the creature motivation.”
“Exactly! That’s what makes the Aquamaniac so popular,” Hannibal said with satisfaction, “he’s not just a mindless monster. He thinks.”
Amy had seen two of the Aquamaniac movies, and she thought ‘popular’ might have been overstating things slightly. They did make money, but the budgets were so low they’d make money selling out a single theatre. She’d always kind of assumed Hannibal had chosen the monster movies partly for fun, partly as a practicality. A few days on a set, in full costume, never in the same place too long. She should have known it was useless to assume anything about the team, and any other time Hannibal talked so animatedly about something was generally the precursor to an explosion.
“Why did you choose acting?” She asked.
“Oh I always wanted to be an actor,” Hannibal replied, “ever since I was a kid.”
Amy didn’t know much about Hannibal’s childhood, and she readily admitted she was terminally nosy, or if she wanted to put spin on it, a born journalist. “Did you do a lot of acting back then?”
“A little, few school productions, a couple of community theatre gigs,” Hannibal smiled wistfully, “nothing really serious.”
“But then you joined the army,” Amy said.
“Drafted.” Hannibal replied.
The revelation shot through Amy like a dart. Of all of them, she’d expected Hannibal to have been the one to have signed up gleefully. “You were drafted?”
Hannibal nodded. “Korea. I was devastated,” he said, “I had everything planned out, you know? Then suddenly... I’d never even heard of Korea. Most people I knew hadn’t. Mom was inconsolable.”
“So what happened?”
“Well…” Hannibal shrugged. “You know, my father, he owned a walnut farm. He was older than my mom by a decade and he hardly ever talked. Mom could talk her reflection to sleep, but dad…” he shook his head, “only ever said what absolutely had to be said. I know he hated the idea of me being an actor,” he paused, smiling wryly, “he was old fashioned that way.”
“Was he pleased when you were drafted?”
Hannibal shook his head, “I remember sitting that night at the table, on my own, just looking at that draft letter.” He paused, gazing into the middle distance, “and dad came over and laid his hand on my shoulder, and he said ‘Hollywood will still be there waiting for you when you get back’.” He paused again, “that was one of the longest sentences I think he ever said.”
Amy watched him in silence for a moment, then smiled gently, “that must have meant a lot to you.”
“It meant everything to me.” Hannibal said softly. He lifted his gaze back to Amy, “then when I started with the army, something clicked. Like I’d finally found my calling.”
“Would you go back to the army, if everything got cleared up?”
Hannibal gave a quiet sigh, “no.”
“Because you wouldn’t want to, or because you can’t forgive them?” She asked carefully.
“Both.” Hannibal said, shrugging, “neither.” He frowned at the far wall thoughtfully, then shrugged again, “you know most people wouldn’t pass their driving test if they had to take it again? You get into bad habits. The army demands certain things, it has a certain way of doing things, and I don’t think I’d fit back into that mould again.” He paused, “even if I could forgive them.”
Amy thought that, perhaps, this was the most serious discussion she’d ever had with Hannibal. She lay her pen against her pad, “I’m sorry.”
“Their loss,” Hannibal replied with a smile.
She couldn’t see the others being too keen to join the army again, but, as far as she knew, it hadn’t been such a central part of their lives. She decided not to push any further in that direction, picking up her pen again. She had no desire to stir any painful memories over what had been an idle question.
“Walnuts?” She said.
Hannibal grinned, “milking them was a real bastard.”
She laughed, “So is this a fall-back, or just a return to plan A?”
Hannibal chuckled, “all part of the plan, kid. All part of the plan.”