You can't create a monster, then whine when it stomps on a few buildings. - Yeardley Smith
"It's your own fault, Hannibal. And you know it!"
"Now, BA..."
"No! You indulged him for years, just 'cause he was in the nuthouse. Now he's out, but you keep doing it."
"He has a point, Hannibal." Face glanced up from his newspaper, frowning.
"You got nothing to talk about, Face. You're just as bad."
"Now wait a minute -"
"You guys gotta stop it. Before somebody really gets hurt."
"He just gets a little -"
"Out of control! And it ain't just 'a little'. He keeps telling us he's sane now - so there's no reason to go along with all this bullshit any more!"
BA stomped out of the room, leaving the two men to stare at each other.
"You think he's right?"
Hannibal sighed. "You tell me. You're the one who got dumped off that truck."
"That could've happened to anyone. Any time."
"Any time before, Face. He should've known better than to act like it could fly."
"Well, he thinks everything can fly."
"No, he used to think everything can fly." Hannibal stubbed out his cigar. "BA's right, Face. It's one thing to be on the jazz. It's another to do things just because he wants to 'play'. Especially when someone gets hurt because of it."
"It was just a sprain -"
"That could've been a break. That could've been a leg - or a neck - instead of your wrist."
Face swallowed. That was true. He'd only just been able to control how he landed. Just.
Hannibal stood, staring at the floor. "Alright. He's coming over this afternoon. I'll have a talk with him. He's going to have to adjust his behavior. And so are we. That's all there is to it."
Watching Hannibal practically stalk out of the room, Face shook his head. Saying things had to change was one thing. Actually breaking habits forged over years was something entirely different.