Happy hour!

[cook_the_rude]

[[meta: #tamed the reporter #hannibal is now post- 'trou normand']]

Dr. Hannibal Lecter steps up to the bar, receives a napkin, smiles, sheds his jacket and tie, rolls up his sleeves and dons an apron, takes stock of what's in reach behind the bar, and writes his list of specials:

Austro-Hungarian Happy Hour
Wines
Refosk (Slovenia)
Tokaj (Hungary)
Green Veltliner (Austria)
Schiava Gentile (Alto Adige)

Beer
Original Pilsner (Czech Republic)
Original Budweiser Budvar (Czech Republic)

Then, he stands ready to take your order.

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

"You are clinging to that metaphor very desperately, are you?" Hannibal says.

"Autor, really, can't you see what you are doing to yourself here?"

[herr_bookman]

"That's a good question," Autor says, staring at the bottle. "I think... I think I'm letting myself be abused."

He furrows his brow, lost for a moment, and then nods curtly. "Good night, Dr. Lecter."

The boy carefully sets the spring water down on the bar and flies away, looping up over the rafters.

[cook_the_rude]

Dr. Lecter heavers a deep sigh, looking very worried, before turning to the next customer.