Log Title: Zandar Visits Hannibal
Location: Southeast United States - North America
Date: September 01, 2016
Summary: Zandar offers Hannibal his companionship.
As logged by Hannibal - Thursday, September 01, 2016, 8:42 PM
Southeast United States - North America[]
Like the Northeastern US, this area extends from the Mississippi to the Atlantic and encompasses a variety of states, including those states most associated with the Old South. Once considered a backward region, the South has indeed risen again to become an area of culture and industry.
Zandar
Zandar arrives at the hotel printed on the card Hannibal had given him. He's alone, with neither siblings nor 'friend'. He enters the hotel, the front clerk taking very little notice of him, Zandar having so little presence to his arrival. He glances at the card and finds the appropriate door. Pushing his shock of, today, pink hair out of his eyes, he knocks on the door with what he hopes is loud enough rapping. He's both anticipating and nervous, meeting Hannibal on his own ground.
Hannibal answers the door in grey silk pajamas and a robe. Unlike most Cobra leaders, Hannibal generally eschews a large security detail, trusting on his own skill and strength to get himself out of any difficult situation. When Hannibal sees Zandar has visited him, he smiles. "Zandar!" he says, once again distinguishing himself with his ability to remember Zandar's name. "So good of you to come." Hannibal stands back and opens the door wider. "Come on!" he announces grandly.
Zandar is decidedly flattered that Hannibal hasn't forgotten his name and gives a modest smile. He takes in a quick glance at Hannibal and tries hard not to blush. He does that a lot. Blushing. Possessing none of Hannibal's grandeur, Zandar enters the hotel room, and looks around. He's stunned by the grand introduction. For him? Indeed, for him.
The hotel is nice, and this is the nicest room they have, but it's still not overly grand. Hannibal does have a small suite to himself, however, so he shows Zandar to the small living room and offers him a drink. The drapes are closed, but the room is cool and bright. "Have you had much flooding in the wetlands?" he asks. "I haven't been down there since I saw you last." He fixes a drink for himself while he waits for Zandar's answer.
Even this Dreadnok looks out of place here, bright pink hair, piercings, tattoos, leather gloves. He feels this intensely and takes a seat. He's grateful for the chance at small talk, "Yes," he says, watching Hannibal fix a drink, "More than usual. Zartan's tech makes it easy to traverse. Nothing we Dreadnoks can't handle," he says, definitively. Somehow, he expected something different in the way of accommodation for Hannibal, Son of Hamilcar. He reaches up to reflexively touch the fabric of his ratty pink scarf, "You've been missed," Zandar confesses with as much neutrality as he can muster, feeling his ears burn, "How have things been with you?"
"Good," Hannibal Reborn replies, going to the window to peer out into the darkness, and then turning back with a wicked smile. "I've been running North American military operations, which keeps me busy, but I'll always make time for a bit of unconventional warfare. How goes our weapons-distribution mission? I'm looking forward to all our efforts bearing fruit. I've analyzed this country's weaknesses and one of them is a cowardly aversion to violence on their own shores, regardless of how quickly they are to inflict it on other countries." He raises his glass and sips his drink, watching Zandar over the rim of his glass.
Zandar hesitates. He's supposed to be in charge as much as his siblings, but as it always seems to be, Zartan runs the show, with Zarana taking charge of financial affairs. Leaving him with, what, to do? He looks dour a moment, but answers honestly, "My brother and sister have seen fit to cut me out of the loop," he utters bitterly, "But how can I blame them? Zartan is a competent leader, and Zarana is best at our finances, so..." he adds, a little quietly, "Could I have a whiskey if you have any?"
"You have been in their shadows too long, Zandar! You should stand up for yourself - take your rightful place at their side! They are not better than you - you have a skillset of your own, just as they do." Hannibal makes Zandar a whiskey straight and hands it to him, freshening up his own beverage as he does. "You were doing a fine job before they returned. They should respect your contributions." He smiles, and his eyes remain locked on Zandar, assessing his reactions.
Zandar regards what Hannibal has to say with dubious acceptance. He takes a sip of his whiskey, just a sip. It burns his mouth. Sharp contrast to Zarana, who downs her whiskey in one gulp. He holds his drink almost delicately, politely, "It's always been like that with Zarana and me. She was always the louder one. I never had to be. She got noticed. I didn't. But Zartan," he looks like he's ready to spit, "pushing his way into things and pushing me away," his expression is dark, and for a moment even Hannibal is forgotten. He takes another sip of whiskey, eyeing Hannibal in his own way as he comes back to himself.
Hannibal watches Zandar with calculated interest, but when Zandar looks up, his smile has returned. "Be patient, Zandar," he counsels. "You'll get your time in the sun." Hannibal grins, intentionally referencing Zartan's strange condition. "In the meantime, if Zartan won't respect your abilities, I will. I want you travel and check on some of the shipment arrivals. It's not that I don't trust your Dreadnok distribution line, but I'd like the arrivals confirmed by someone I trust."
"Done!" Zandar announces. Half the enthusiasm is in hearing that Hannibal actually trusts in his abilities. Not even his own twin does that. In shadow of her, Zandar throws back the whiskey and drinks it as she would, coughing all the while, "It's--ah--I'll get started to--*cough*--morrow. Could I have another whiskey?" Zandar smiles sheepishly, yet triumphant at the same time. For a long moment he doesn't speak, looking about the hotel room again.
"Hannibal... I've been wondering..." the pink haired Dreadnok swallows and presses on, "Don't you ever get lonely? I've never seen you with a group like the Dreadnoks, or..." he hesitates a little, "A companion of any kind. You're Hannibal, the son of Hamilcar. It's not right to be totally alone."
Hannibal smiles and gets Zandar another drink, watching the Dreadnok as he does so and taking his time before answering. "There are not many men like me," he answers at last, handing Zandar a second whiskey. "Perhaps Serpentor and I would have gotten along - or Serpentra, if she'd stayed." Hannibal goes back and makes himself a second drink. "It's hard to find common ground when you're a reborn military commander from Carthage," he laughs pleasantly, without a trace of self-pity.
Zandar drinks some more of his whiskey, suppressing the cough that threatens. He considers what Hannibal says thoughtfully, though a faint but bitter look crosses his face at the mention of a woman, even if she was Serpentra. This look is replaced by a defeated expression, one that gives way to a slight but forced smile. He raises his glass in toast of something and downs his drink. More coughing. He smiles again, this time in earnest, "I can't even find common ground with my own twin sister anymore." And there is pity in this.
Zandar ventures up courage, then bottles it down, then it buoys up again, aided a little by drink, "Would you like a companion?" he asks hopefully.
Hannibal has enough decency to at least feign surprise. He raises his perfect eyebrows and takes another moment to sip his drink before replying. "What sort of companionship are you offering?" he asks playfully, as if enjoying the opportunity to make Zandar squirm. Mischief sparkles in his dark eyes, and his looks interested, at least, in what Zandar intends to offer. He sets down his drink beside him and leans backward against the wall, half-smiling.
And Zandar does squirm. In fact, he's beginning to tremble a little and sets down his now empty glass, outpacing Hannibal in the drinking department, "It's--Can I have one last whiskey?" he asks first, looking for liquid courage, but continues all the same. The words rush and tumble from him, at the same time bitten back, "Spending time together... honing our skills... recounting our conquests... emotional... and physical affection..." here he stops, completely overcome and looks completely stunned that the words that were thoughts for so long had crossed his lips. He drops his gaze, looks at his hands.
Hannibal's half-smile grows across his handsome face, and he does look pleased. "Excellent," he says, picking up Zandar's glass and whisking it (no pun intended) over to Hannibal's little bar to fix him a final drink. Hannibal continues to drink his own. "I think that's something with which we can work. I could use a companion and training partner - as for the rest, we'll see what develops." The mischievous sparkle dances in his eyes as he continues to tease Zandar with half-promises and maybes.
Zandar would have spit out his drink had he had one at that very moment, "You will?" he asks with stunned surprise, as he takes the third drink and drinks some of it with a still-trembling hand, "That's great--that's amazing!" Zandar smiles wide, openly pleased, "You don't need to worry about anyone finding out about us, if you're worried about that. Hardly anyone notices me," Zandar beams like a schoolboy being allowed access to the WHOLE CANDY STORE to himself, "I've wanted to ask you for so long," the Dreadnok manages to murmur, almost speechless.
Hannibal grins at Zandar's promise. "I am Hannibal Barca Reborn. I do as I wish, with whom I wish. If I choose to take you as a lover," he says, cutting to the chase, "it will be because I choose it, and anyone who objects can face me in the field of battle should they wish to bring me insult." Danger flares in his dark eyes, and for a moment he looks a bit like less like a blue jeans model and more like the powerful commander from whom he was cloned.
And it's laid bare (no pun intended), Zandar turns many shades of red to actually hear it aloud, and spoken with such confidence and certainty. He looks up at this, as if absorbing some of that confidence for himself. It shows in his demeanor even if he doesn't notice it himself. The Dreadnok looks upon the ancient conqueror reborn, feels awesome fear and appreciation for this sudden commander from Antiquity, and those words, spoken so earnestly, practically make the inebriated Zandar stop breathing, "Hannibal Barca..." is all he can whisper in the sight of him.
Hannibal smiles darkly, walking over and placing one long-fingered hand on the side of Zandar's face. "You are a warrior and an assassin. You are a dangerous man who should be feared, not ignored. I will train you to fight and kill as I do, and you will show me your ways of stealth and camouflage. Together we will become unstoppable." He traces the line of Zandar's jaw, and then steps back with a smile, staring down at his adoring subject.
Zandar looks up, eyes wide, agreeable to the whole proposal, "Then my siblings will respect me. They all will," but they are taken swiftly from his mind as Hannibal places his hand to his face, traces his jaw with a finger, and Zandar, feeling every moment of that touch, "We will," he says, determination within his voice and eyes. He doesn't dare make a move, so he remains stock still as that finger leaves his skin, "Call for me at any time, for any reason," Zandar tells Hannibal, and means it.
Hannibal looks pleased as Zandar swears his allegiance to him. Excellent. "Very well. I'm sending you to New York for the weekend. While you are there, I want you to take command of the local Dreadnoks, and oversee their contacts with the other gangs of the city. I want weapons deployed equally amongst the gangs, but more importantly, I want you in your interactions with those gangs to seek out their complaints and weaknesses - things we can use against them, and levers we can possess to point them against each other when it is time to use them as tools to burn down the city." He takes a sip of his drink, piercing gaze on Zandar.
"It'll be done, Hannibal," Zandar looks deadly serious as he takes note of his instructions and responsibilities. He's yearned for this kind of power for as long as his siblings have had it. And now *Hannibal* -- he smiles a secretive smile. Neither of his siblings has *his* influence, or him, for that matter. He studies Hannibal with less furtive glances now. He longs for many things; to touch that hair, the exquisite face, to kiss it, to know that body beneath the silken bedclothes and robe... He takes on a faraway expression. And he stands. He tentatively reaches for Hannibal, unsure of his own intentions, "It will be done." he reasserts.
Hannibal takes a teasing step back, and somehow effortlessly guides Zandar to the door with a look that seems to promise more while committing to nothing. "Excellent. Be on your way now, and I will meet you in New York." Hannibal leans close enough that Zandar can feel his hot, fragrant breath... and then shuts the door, leaving Zandar to travel home alone and then set off on his newest mission.