Balls!

[cook_the_rude]

Dr. Hannibal Lecter was sitting by the fireplace reading something on his iPad when his show touched something underneath the chair as he shifted position. He bent forwards, and drew out a cream-coloured juggling ball.

He looked at it in what seems to be exasperated consternation for a while.

Now, he gets up, makes his way past the notice board again, and approaches the bar.

"A glass of Atlantean," he orders, an odd little hitch in his voice that sounds almost French.

A napkin comes up, with a big question mark on it.

"Mais oui!" he says. "Merde alors!"

He gets a small glass of Atlantean and carries it back to his seat with increasingly weaving and uncertain footsteps.

He sits down, turns off his iPad, inhales deeply, and then downs the entire glass in one go.

He gives a deep sigh, then falls asleep instantly.

So, now there is one Dr. Hannibal Lecter fast asleep near the fireplace, snoring very slightly, otherwise dead to the world, the code-locked iPad by his elbow. Whatever anyone does to him now, he will not react.



[[meta: as jill suggested here, hannibal whammied is a danger to his own secrecy, he knows that, and he knocked himself out all the way. i just couldn't resist. if your charrie feels inclined to try and unlock the iPad, paint a moustache on 'nibl's face, or carry him off to the infirmary because he's unconscious in the middle of the bar, please ping me at AIM sootymun. thanks!]]

Comments

[road_to_calvary]

He picks up the glass, and gives it a brief sniff. And then his head rears backwards from the scent of such strong alcohol. It feels like his nasal hair has been burnt away.

He would not have thought it of the man, but he knows better than most that you cannot judge by outward appearance.

'A moment, monsieur,' he murmurs, though he is sure he will not be heard. He retreats to the bar, and discreetly asks if Lecter keeps a room here. A key is presented at once; he thanks Bar, and returns to the fireplace.

'Forgive me,' he says, quietly. 'But one should not be left here at the mercy of any miscreant.'

He slides one hand under the sleeping man's knees, and the other under one arm to grasp around his back. Then he lifts him, with no more trouble than if he were a child, and walks with him to the stairs. The blanket stays in place, and he keeps an eye on his face, expecting the movement to cause some reaction. He has not encountered any alcohol that could debilitate a man to that degree.

[cook_the_rude]

Doctor Lecter's head falls back, his mouth opens, and his snore becomes louder.

Otherwise, he's exactly as alert and animate as a sack full of chopped wood lugged upstairs to the stove.

[road_to_calvary]

Valjean is faintly surprised, but no matter. He simply walks the stairs until he finds the right floor, then traipses the corridor until he finds his room. His hold on the doctor does not waver or weaken; when he has to free a hand to use the key, he simply puts him on his feet, and holds him up with one arm.

The room inside is not precisely what he expected. He thought every space up here was a bedroom, but this is clearly some kind of office. He would have preferred to put the man on a bed, but it cannot be helped. He deposits him carefully in an armchair instead, with a cushion propping his head up so his neck may not suffer from falling into an awkward angle.

That done, he loosens Lecter's tie and removes his shoes, setting them neatly by the chair. When he rises to leave, he glances around; there are two prints of Paris on the wall, and it confirms to him what the man has said about his time spent there. But then he realises that he recognises the views; this is Paris as he knows it, not the Paris of the doctor's time. He cannot believe it would not have changed in all the intervening years.

He steps closer, and looks. One picture shows the Palais de Justice and Notre Dame. How very apt.

He shakes his head after a moment or three, and makes himself turn away. The door is silent as it closes behind him.

[cook_the_rude]

Dr. Lecter sleeps on.-