(no subject)

[cook_the_rude]

Dr. Hannibal Lecter is sitting at a small table near the fireplace, drawing something with a neatly aligned row of different pencils.

He's drawing a procession of hooded figures with bare backs and chests, stumbling about as they are flagellating themselves and each other. There are men and women in that unholy conga line, tall and short, light and dark; and underneath the hoods, one might believe to catch a glimpse of familiar faces from this place.

Perhaps even one's own.

Comments

[the_cupbearer]

"Interesting idea," says Ganymede, head cocked as he studies the picture; he's yet to recognize his own face in it, but the depictions are certainly...attention-catching.

"You're quite precise with that, Hannibal."

[cook_the_rude]

"Thank you," Hannibal says. "It's what people do here, after all."

[the_cupbearer]

"What, beat each other?" he asks with a laugh. "Only in your dreams or my bedroom. Is a wish, or a suggestion?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Metaphorically," Hannibal says, chuckling. "They are all locked in a painful dance of their own making."

Two of the figures might be Eric, and Sunshine. And those others might be Will, Beverly and Alana.

[the_cupbearer]

"Aren't we all, it's called life," he says. "Sometimes painful, sometimes joyous, most often both."

The more he studies the picture, the more Ganymede eyes Hannibal. "They all know you. For better or worse, hm?"

[cook_the_rude]

"They all know me," Hannibal says, "but none of them in the sense you do."

Not even Alana; not even Will.

[the_cupbearer]

"Somehow I did get that impression the last time we were together," Ganymede replies. "You don't preset yourself as a very sexual being. Sensual, yes, but that's another ballgame, as they say."

[cook_the_rude]

"I slept with Alana," Hannibal says, "but that was rather vanilla, and she didn't know about me; I let Will see me, but I didn't sleep with him."

[the_cupbearer]

"Did you like it with Alana?" Ganymede asks, brow lifted. "I'm curious."

[cook_the_rude]

"The way I'd like a decent meal in a hotel restaurant," Hannibal says.

He's sure Ganymede will understand exactly what he means.

[buh_bye]

"Having fun?" asked Death who was suddenly standing nearby watching Hannibal.

[cook_the_rude]

"I enjoy drawing," Hannibal answers, neutrally. "Good evening, Mr. Death."

[buh_bye]

"Good evening Dr. Lecter," said Death, "Is this a cometary on the way humans tend treat themselves and others?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Very much so," Dr. Lecter says. "They will never stop."

[buh_bye]

"I see many familiar faces," said Death with a smile, "Will you make an appearance in this drawing?"

Oh, Death has a strange since of humor.

[cook_the_rude]

"I doubt it," Dr. Lecter says. "I can't tell where I'd be, in this."

[collects_strays]

"It's not exactly subtle, is it."

Graham isn't looking at the sketch. He's standing near the table, but facing away, toward the fireplace.

[cook_the_rude]

"Hello, Will," Lecter says, looking up from his drawing. "No, it isn't. Neither is the Wound Man, or a dozen other subjects. This is a variation on the subject of suffering and penitence."

[collects_strays]

"The Wound Man led Miriam Lass to you," Graham points out. "Like a dorsal fin cutting through water."

He may be trying to step around subjects like 'suffering' and 'penitence.'

[cook_the_rude]

"And what sharks are circling this one, in your opinion?" Lecter asks.

[collects_strays]

He hesitates, but looks back down to the table.

"It's disconnected. Little regard for the suffering that's inflicted, except to document it."

Graham looks away again. "It's different from what I last saw you sketching."

[cook_the_rude]

"Achilles grieving?" Lecter says.

[collects_strays]

He nods, without looking back.

[cook_the_rude]

"I do draw different things, occasionally," Lecter says. "And it's been almost a year since I was trapped here; the grief and the sense of betrayal is no longer quite as sharp."

[collects_strays]

He gets a slight smile, which doesn't fade as he answers -

"It doesn't look dull."