Dr. Hannibal Lecter (
cook_the_rude) wrote in
milliways_bar2014-08-28 03:30 pm
Entry tags:
Cannibal at breakfast
Very early in the morning, when it's barely dawn, Dr. Hannibal Lecter comes down for breakfast, barefoot, wearing slacks and a sweater.
He has cleaned himself up from the night before, all the blood is gone from view, and the cuts on his face and hands have been treated, some of them stitched up, and all of them covered by small, very discreet sticking plasters. Still, he seems very far from his usual suave and collected self still.
He is sitting at a table by the window, with coffee, orange juice, croissants and eggs, peering out into the darkness that is only very slowly turning a soft blue-grey, with sunrise still about an hour away.
[[OOC: Warning for massive spoilers for Hannibal S2E13 Mizumono in both the linked EP and all possible threads on this one, as well as blood, violence and psychological manipulation throughout. This EP exists to give a chance to people who missed last night's.]]
He has cleaned himself up from the night before, all the blood is gone from view, and the cuts on his face and hands have been treated, some of them stitched up, and all of them covered by small, very discreet sticking plasters. Still, he seems very far from his usual suave and collected self still.
He is sitting at a table by the window, with coffee, orange juice, croissants and eggs, peering out into the darkness that is only very slowly turning a soft blue-grey, with sunrise still about an hour away.
[[OOC: Warning for massive spoilers for Hannibal S2E13 Mizumono in both the linked EP and all possible threads on this one, as well as blood, violence and psychological manipulation throughout. This EP exists to give a chance to people who missed last night's.]]

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"It's forgetting if I actually want some myself," he says. He pets the cat's ears.
There is a deep cut in the palm of one hand; the other injuries are more superficial in comparison.
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A rat arrives with a plate of smoked salmon, and some toast.
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And it's less nerve-wracking for the rat.
"I am sorry for your loss. Is there anything to be done?"
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Arranging the next slice of salmon on a piece of toast and daubing on a little creamed horseradish, he adds, "Nothing, at the moment. The door has stopped working for me, too."
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And Bill Compton.
He watches Hannibal Lector come down. He watches him get settled with breakfast. He watches him sit there.
He can smell every tiny cut and the scent of hurt flesh is a beautiful thing indeed.
Dressed in his dark blue track suit and flip flops he lounges in a chair.
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"Mmm, that smells lovely. "
He's smiling.
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"I'm talking about the scent of your broken skin. It's - "
He takes a breath.
" Mouthwatering. "
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"That's a pity," he says. "It would be good if you were supplanted by something slightly more intelligent and less crude."
He looks at the stitched and bandaged gash in his palm.
"Your Pavlovian reaction notwithstanding, you're not getting any."
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"That really is the best insult you can come up with, isn't it?" he remarks.
"Crude, rude, blah."
Then he smiles again. "And it's hardly Pavlovian. Look, no fangs."
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He picks a scab. Fresh blood well up.
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The boy is hesitant, now, remembering the Knight's words about Dr. Lecter's cruelty. He wants to be able to make up his own mind about him, but he also doesn't want to disappoint Lohengrin. Autor hovers near the stairs, watching the good doctor intently.
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Pause.
"Would you like some orange juice or tea?"
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He would, very much, but he shakes his head. "Dr. Lecter," he starts, unsure of how to begin. He stares at his shoes. "I don't know... if I'm supposed to be around you. Sir."
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The boy fidgets a bit, laying his expertly bandaged hand on the banister. He opens his mouth to speak, but once he does, the floodgates burst. "Well," he says, adjusting his glasses and ordering his thoughts, "someone told me of your cruelty, sir, and I... I believe them, because I know them to be trustworthy, sir, and so it makes me wonder, sir, if I should be around you even though I told them that I can't discount your skills at the piano. Sir."
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The boy hesitates, but then nods. "Yes, sir," he says softly. "Someone I'd trust with my life."
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