Hannibal Lecter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ostentiferous) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2014-09-27 09:46 pm
ostentiferous) wrote in maskormenacelogs2014-09-27 09:46 pm
[Mostly open] Makin' my way down town
WHO: Hannibal Lecter and you
WHERE: Around Heropa.
WHEN: Late September.
WHAT: Catch all log or various things. Finding food and adventuring around. Also bait shop stuff.
WARNINGS: None yet but probably mentions of violence and/or swearing.
A. Around Heropa in general. Could be anywhere.
[It was strange, really, because Hannibal couldn't really claim to have nothing much to do given his current situation and all the damage control he was trying to keep on top of but somehow he still found himself with a lot of free time. Perhaps it was because he was currently in the process of transferring jobs and therefore, he had a gap of time he wasn't used to. Usually he'd of cooked but sadly, his kitchen was often occupied and while he loved an audience while he cooked, sometimes it was nicer to have it more personal.
That and what he cooked? Well, it wasn't something he wanted to be seen cooking.
With all that free time and little to do, he mostly just explored the city. He tried out the new restaurants, trying to find the perfect one for the days he couldn't quite claim the kitchen. Though most failed in his standards, he did enjoy to having somewhere to sit and just watch people. Perhaps pick out future dinner guests, either as the food or the company. He wasn't picky.
Occasionally he did venture out to the streets or around the town but generally, there wasn't much to do here. It was a quiet area that didn't exactly tailor to his specific wants and needs. But then, he didn't intend to be stuck here.]
B. Shopping
[Something was very wrong here.
Hannibal stopped, just across from the produce isle, a look of dismay on his face as he circled around the fruit to get to the vegetable section, pausing just in front of the tomatoes. Something here was definitely not edible. Carefully rooting through the display, he slowly pulled free a clearly dying tomato, gently pulling back the skin so he could see the darkening insides. Not a healthy look. He didn't exactly appreciate the idea of mixing the fresher ones on the top with the withering ones below. With a look of dismay, he shoved it away from the others, not wanting someone to accidentally end up with it.
It was remarkable, really, he'd been able to smell that from outside of the store. In fact, he could pick out the ripest and freshest fruits and vegetables solely through his smell without really having to come near the section if he wanted to. He was sure of it. This wasn't an entirely unusual ability for him to have, a keen sense of smell, but it had enhanced drastically. It was much more on key now.
Moving away from the tomatoes, he picked up a firm apple and gave it a small sniff, checking for bruises and cuts before putting it into his basket. He may not be able to cook like he used to but wasn't about to compromise on the quality.
He continued doing this, a bit like he was hunting, picking out only certain ones and discarding the ones he didn't feel worthy.]
closed to Will Graham
[So this was where Will Graham worked.
Hmm. Well.
Hannibal wouldn't lie, he'd preferred Will's old job. A keen mind like that was wasted in a shop like this, doing bland needless work when he could be achieving greater. And yes, while it may have left Will a little more unstable than Will might of appreciated, he would argue that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It kept him alert and perhaps even accelerated things between them to a more interesting level. This on the other hand? He supposed every man had their likes and interests. And he couldn't really criticise Will for liking something.
Shame that something had to be so tacky. So many 'unique' hats. And oh look, there were slogans on shirts too. With a curious frown, Hannibal kept his hands nearly behind his back as he leaned in to inspect the charming 'bass man' t-shirt, waiting for Will to appear from wherever he happened to be. He had hoped to ask him to dinner, if he had the time. Hannibal had a few topics he was eager to discuss.
And even if Will didn't have the time, well, at least he'd seen Will's new day job up close and in person. And he always knew where to find a novelty fishing t-shirt should the cause ever come up.]
WHERE: Around Heropa.
WHEN: Late September.
WHAT: Catch all log or various things. Finding food and adventuring around. Also bait shop stuff.
WARNINGS: None yet but probably mentions of violence and/or swearing.
A. Around Heropa in general. Could be anywhere.
[It was strange, really, because Hannibal couldn't really claim to have nothing much to do given his current situation and all the damage control he was trying to keep on top of but somehow he still found himself with a lot of free time. Perhaps it was because he was currently in the process of transferring jobs and therefore, he had a gap of time he wasn't used to. Usually he'd of cooked but sadly, his kitchen was often occupied and while he loved an audience while he cooked, sometimes it was nicer to have it more personal.
That and what he cooked? Well, it wasn't something he wanted to be seen cooking.
With all that free time and little to do, he mostly just explored the city. He tried out the new restaurants, trying to find the perfect one for the days he couldn't quite claim the kitchen. Though most failed in his standards, he did enjoy to having somewhere to sit and just watch people. Perhaps pick out future dinner guests, either as the food or the company. He wasn't picky.
Occasionally he did venture out to the streets or around the town but generally, there wasn't much to do here. It was a quiet area that didn't exactly tailor to his specific wants and needs. But then, he didn't intend to be stuck here.]
B. Shopping
[Something was very wrong here.
Hannibal stopped, just across from the produce isle, a look of dismay on his face as he circled around the fruit to get to the vegetable section, pausing just in front of the tomatoes. Something here was definitely not edible. Carefully rooting through the display, he slowly pulled free a clearly dying tomato, gently pulling back the skin so he could see the darkening insides. Not a healthy look. He didn't exactly appreciate the idea of mixing the fresher ones on the top with the withering ones below. With a look of dismay, he shoved it away from the others, not wanting someone to accidentally end up with it.
It was remarkable, really, he'd been able to smell that from outside of the store. In fact, he could pick out the ripest and freshest fruits and vegetables solely through his smell without really having to come near the section if he wanted to. He was sure of it. This wasn't an entirely unusual ability for him to have, a keen sense of smell, but it had enhanced drastically. It was much more on key now.
Moving away from the tomatoes, he picked up a firm apple and gave it a small sniff, checking for bruises and cuts before putting it into his basket. He may not be able to cook like he used to but wasn't about to compromise on the quality.
He continued doing this, a bit like he was hunting, picking out only certain ones and discarding the ones he didn't feel worthy.]
closed to Will Graham
[So this was where Will Graham worked.
Hmm. Well.
Hannibal wouldn't lie, he'd preferred Will's old job. A keen mind like that was wasted in a shop like this, doing bland needless work when he could be achieving greater. And yes, while it may have left Will a little more unstable than Will might of appreciated, he would argue that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It kept him alert and perhaps even accelerated things between them to a more interesting level. This on the other hand? He supposed every man had their likes and interests. And he couldn't really criticise Will for liking something.
Shame that something had to be so tacky. So many 'unique' hats. And oh look, there were slogans on shirts too. With a curious frown, Hannibal kept his hands nearly behind his back as he leaned in to inspect the charming 'bass man' t-shirt, waiting for Will to appear from wherever he happened to be. He had hoped to ask him to dinner, if he had the time. Hannibal had a few topics he was eager to discuss.
And even if Will didn't have the time, well, at least he'd seen Will's new day job up close and in person. And he always knew where to find a novelty fishing t-shirt should the cause ever come up.]
no subject
not because she feels unsafe near hannibal, though that is up in the air still, but because she doesn't want him to see the contents of her grocery basket. look, she knows how much thought and effort hannibal puts into his food and she was the grateful recipient of many a gourmet meal and lessons during her time with him. her basket of frozen buffalo chicken nuggets, swiss miss hot chocolate packets, and cat food is decidedly not gourmet. its cheap college student that only cooks for herself and her cat kind of food.
but there are very few people abigail feels comfortable with and she feels an intrinsic pull toward hannibal, only hesitating a moment before veering away from the pints of blueberries to approach hannibal with a small smile, twisting the basket behind her back as if he won't be able to just peek over her shoulder with the height he has on her. maybe the smile will dissuade him. ]
Hi Dr Lecter. [ they're in public so she defers to his title instead of his name. ]
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Something he could have liked to be warned about. But how did he even begin to get Abigail to open up?
He turned his head, a pleasant smile on his face, a very specific look he saved for the likes of Abigail. Or, on occasion, Will. The genuine feeling behind it could easily be debated but at this moment in time, he doubted it would be. Abigail was clearly alone and still sought his company. Always a good thing.]
Abigail, how wonderful to see you here. [His eyes are indeed on where her basket should be, curious why she was hiding it. Oh, hopefully he taught her better than to have microwave food or whatever else she was clearly ashamed of.] It's been a while, hasn't it?
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who knows.
the basket stays behind her. he taught her better, but at two in the morning when she can't sleep... abigail is trash, basically. ]
Are you having a dinner party?
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[Ah yes, Hannibal and texting. A terrible combination. It's so time consuming to text in correct grammar and only on the one page. Everything he wrote turned into an essay. Definitely no cute emotes or chat speak.
The idea of texting with Abigail? Strange. But he'd do it if he had too.
With a frown, he tilted his head, still trying to work out just what she was hiding. It was difficult to smell some foods, especially powdered or microwavable ones. They were never quite what they should be.] Unfortunately not but I hope to do so soon. I have a few ideas for a menu actually. It's more finding the space to accommodate. My current place of residence is somewhat small. And occupied.
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That would hinder cooking, wouldn't it? At the very least the preparation. [ 'cause, you know, everything is people. she manages to look impassive at the idea, more curious that anything, as if imagining how he pulls it off without anyone noticing. without freddie's tattlecrime: heropa noticing. her head cants, long hair spilling over her scarf, away from her disfigured ear. she feels no instinct to hide it with hannibal, all things considered. her lips twist up in a smile as an idea sparks in her mind. ]
You could use my house. I doubt Dr Chilton would mind very much. [ actually, she's sure he will mind and she refuses to give one iota of a fuck. she's not allowed to replace his fancy wine with cheap wine, this is better anyway. and abigail needs to be useful. useful equals alive, a notion she still hasn't been able to get past and may never be able to quash. ] I have two other roommates, but they're not always around and they're around my age so they'd probably leave if I asked them to.
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The preparation is everything, it's the key to all the best dinners. You need time, space and the freedom to control the kitchen. Without those things, it does get in the way a little. [Yes, everything should of been people. But lately, everything was just normal. Normal job, normal food, normal life. It wouldn't be long before Hannibal took to the hunt, he already had several targets in mind for future potential dinners. It wouldn't be easy but he had greater assets now. He knew he could pull it off if he had too.]
I shouldn't imagine that would be very ideal for Frederick. [Though the prospect of coming over and cooking ambiguous meat did seem fun. Was it wrong taunt Chilton, knowing how little of a threat he was in the first place? Perhaps. But it was fun.] Perhaps one day? We could have dinner together, I can cook for us. We haven't have dinner together in a while, I have missed the company.
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[ and if hannibal is happy with her, wanting her company, that means she's safe. safety is key. finally, she swings her basket around in front of her, smile turning sheepish. ] Probably better than what I can make.
[ well, she could make something better, but she has neither the reason nor the energy to do so when it's just her. frozen buffalo chicken nuggets are fine for her little sleep deprived body. ]
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The same damn smile he gave Hannibal Lecter back home, back before he had to call him to Wolf Trap because of an ear in his sink. He's pleased to see him, even if he's not so pleased that he didn't have forewarning enough to tuck all the suggestive shirts away.]
Hello, Doctor Lecter. [The smile only grows, and not at all because Will's so pleased he's here and he can finally throttle him with his bare hands. No. It's that old Will Graham back in action, the one who trusts Hannibal Lecter and doesn't feel the need to stand on the same pretenses most might with their psychiatrists. The hats get a quick glance as he walks to the counter to put the folder down, but he's not going to verbalize it. Yes, he knows his shop is full of terribly tacky clothing. He sees them daily, sells them, deals with reactions ranging from extreme approval to outrage.] Just doing some bookkeeping. Somehow messed up the numbers and managed to leap several thousand dollars in profit this month—think I need a break. More I look at it, the more I won't see it.
[The pencil gets placed in the middle, everything still open. The numbers for one thing he owns completely on display to Lecter's eye, a literal open book. A lot of trust there, and room for Lecter to move, to insert himself further and offer help. Get the answer right, even. One of those easy mistakes that Will can't see because he made it and has been staring at it too long, who better to do a little corrective eye surgery?]
What brings you by?
[The tone suggests he's glad, even if there might be a reason that he's not prepared to hear, doesn't want to deal with. Glad enough that he removes the tacky hat and puts it on a hook. No need for that sight to be shoved in Lecter's face more than necessary. So thoughtful.]
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He turned from the truly excitingly awful fishing gearing, Hannibal greeted Will with a similar smile, if not a little more reserved.]
Will, it's good to see you. [His eyes fell on the folder Will had left open, curious inspecting the numbers. Given that he'd managed his own business for a long time now, he knew just how tricky it could to get it all right the first time. Not that he'd ever made a mistake, of course. The fact it was instantly hidden away to conceal the mistake was pleasant, it was like a reassurance of just how comfortable Will must of felt with him.] If you ever need a fresh set of eyes, I'd be happy to help. I don't really have much to do at the moment, I've never been one to handle free time well, I like to busy in some ways and sadly I feel that's unfortunately lacking lately. If it's any assurance, I understand how tricky bookkeeping can be.
[Until his new job started, he was a little in limbo when it came to things to do. Perhaps that's why he really chose to seek Will out. Most of the things he wanted to discuss could have waited really.]
I was going to ask if you'd like to accompany me to dinner this evening, if you had any free time? No hard feelings if you're busy, of course. I just felt there were some issues that could use discussing and it's always considerably easier to do that when you have a good food in front of you.
[It wasn't anything too serious, a few little things at most he wanted to stamp out. Though, personally, part of him felt like staging an intervention over the tacky fishing shop. It did feel a little like a midlife crisis move. Retreating into the familiar to hide from the harshness of reality.]
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Will laid out the suggestion and Lecter easily supplied an offer, had Will's eyebrows shooting up a little and his lips pushing out as if he hadn't thought of that at all. Like he had no idea he was standing around with someone who had multiple degrees, an educated doctor who did his own secretarial work, someone who wouldn't have any trouble with the basic math behind it. The basic math wherein Will's handwriting ended up messy, betraying him, where he read a 1 as a 7 and hadn't been able to find the spot that held the problem. He seems more taken by the offer of bookkeeping aid than the idea of going to dinner, not a bit of that taking effort on his end.]
I can go to dinner. [No strain at all, no problem, no skin off his back, no offense at the idea of dinner between the two of them. Someone else might add a I'd like to go to dinner but it's present enough in his voice. No asking what there is to discuss, either. If Lecter thinks it can wait, then Will can follow that lead. Extended trust and fondness, amplified when he turns so that Lecter's not in his line of sight, turns his back however briefly as he goes for the folder, pulling out a few clipped sheets to set next to the ones giving him grief. Friendship easily reciprocated, friends didn't have trouble turning their backs on each other, had no fear.] I'm not busy at all. I could close up right now. [It's all said so idly, sliding the sheets and pencil over, relaxed, nothing in him tense more than usual. An invitation for Lecter to come back to his side, open, wanting his help with a simple mistake anyone could make, nothing to be embarrassed by, fully relaxed. A cry for companionship, even.] This was last month...and this is this month—you can see what I mean. The hike is impossible. Not with the seasons like they are.
[Will saw this place as a sort of retirement, hiding in the streams as opposed to going back out into the field in any way. It was nice. It was comfortable. It was what he'd never been able to do back home but had been dropped in his lap here. He was as aware of that as he was aware of his own height, weight, eye color, hair color—and it was really just as obvious as his body in a mirror to the right pair of eyes.
He had put so much effort into the stupid shop, fixed it up, had everything on record that needed to be be and more. He wanted it, might have fought for it tooth and nail, but in the end...if certain murders started cropping back up, if it was made evident Will could come in useful...he could have two jobs, Goddamnit. One for pleasure more than business.]
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[That was true really, what was the point of having a good meal if it was a solo act, only to be appreciated by himself? Often he preferred to be the one being appreciated for his skills but he could give him credit where he had too. Some of these places had competent staff and a rather good wine selection. If he hadn't known any better nor own any better, he might have thought they were awfully good. The curse of having refined tastes.
Hannibal took the offer as it was, coming to stand beside Will to have a look at his poor bookkeeping. This was the kind of thing he'd missed back home, now that Will knew and only ever greeted him with an air of disdain, mistrust at every corner. Back then, they were capable of being together as something almost akin to friends. Like now. The trust was a pleasant bonus of this little misadventure, he finally had a chance to reclaim what he had. And who knew? Maybe he'd have a chance to earn this back.
Leaning over the counter, Hannibal pulled one of the sheets slightly over to be his direct eyeline, frowning as he tried to make out Will's handwriting. Well, he could definitely see the problem here. How could anyone read this without getting a little confused? Perhaps it was best if Will was to type up his calculations in future.]
I believe I see the problem. [Hannibal set his finger below a certain calculation where a one had been taken for a seven, ruining the whole entirety of a sum and wildly overblowing one of the sales. It was simple to correct though.] If you corrected the sum and then removed the excess, you can at least estimate where you should be. Then you can use that as a starting point to double check the rest.
[There was something satisfying in knowing that he could help Will. It wasn't usually the motive and yet it often felt good to know he was doing him a service. Swiftly totalling up the projections himself, he frowned slightly with a curious look. Will actually wasn't doing too bad, sales wise. Impressive for a niche store. Disappointing for those who preferred his old career, however.]
Would you like to be total it up for you? I can imagine staring at pages of numbers all day has made them blur into one. Fresh eyes always help to make more sense of things. [Hannibal held out his hand for a pencil, a good natured smile on his face. Yes, how friendly of him. Wasn't he just the best?]
throws brackets out window
Chilton had mentioned that Hannibal floated next to him, and he could see it now, he ccould see it so, so clearly. Only this time, in this universe where he didn't know on his own, it was much easier to encourage it, to float alongside, to be that former, blind self and do so without any question about motivations. Lecter came close and leaned in, and Will bridged the gap to follow without hesitation, disgust, or fear. Alarming how easily he took to Lecter's lead, but then again—this one? Legitimately right underneath his nose.
He squinted, his eyebrows knit together, his lips formed a thin line. He saw it, he understood it, he found it a completely absurd mistake to have made. The offer of doing the rest for him, the subtle reminder that he could imagine Will's problem and solve it for him—this had been there all along, too, hadn't it? The helping hand continually extended, the one who got him, the one who provided safe harbor for everything, big or small.
Will paused at the physically presented helping hand, something he would blame on the idea that a grown man with his skills and knowledge should be able to do this on his own. That it was sort of silly for him to pass it off, that he wasn't a teenager having difficulties in algebra. To assert independence. To be the dog barking about how he could totally get himself out from underneath the porch when and if he wanted to, snapping at the helpful human trying to pull him out of what seemed to be a sticky situation requiring assistance.
Ah.
Pencil went from one hand to the other and ended up placed in Lecter's with a pitiful excuse for a smile. Pitiful wasn't too off the mark for how he wanted to be seen.
"Go ahead." Permission and deference all in one as he moved to stuff the prior month's paperwork back where it belonged. "Honestly, it used to feel like the numbers blurred together no matter what I did back when I first started." A hand rubbing his forehead gave away how much of a headache that had been, implied just what the problem turned out to be. "I'm back on point now...but there are days where I have to remind myself that I'm not sick, otherwise all the numbers go back to how they used to be."
Honestly, you're a completely awful person and seep into almost every part of my daily life.
Will wouldn't say that. Will wouldn't ever imply that. That's far too much of a compliment, isn't it.
throws out a spell check too because zombie brain. It'll be back!
Shame too, Will was the kind of man he would of liked to invest money in. Not necessarily to improve, just alter slightly.
The trouble that Hannibal had for the most part, if he was honest, was that Will on a whole tended to distract him. The concept of friends, of a man like Will who had to accommodate in his life, was so foreign and yet oddly enough, he wanted it with Will. He sought his company and ventured into even the worst places just to see him. Like this place, for example.
His intent hadn't been to fix any problems today, his intentions had simply been dinner. But if he was given a problem he could solve and the time to do it in, did it make him a bad person to offer? And really, it was no criticism to Will that Hannibal just had a keen sight for problem solving. That's why he was in the job he was in. Or at least that's how he viewed it. He saw himself as that sort of man. The kind who helped those who were worthy and who needed it. Admittedly that was a select few but Hannibal's advise was only ever reserved for certain people who would benefit from it and usually for the people who Hannibal would benefit from.
Much like Will. So yes, he could be magnanimous and do his book keeping.
Taking a hold of the pencil, there was a smile there, unassuming and friendly. Nothing untoward or dangerous. Simply a friend trying to help a friend. Or that was the impression he wanted Will to get. Looking over the numbers once more, Hannibal started to redo the math that had gone wrong, his handwriting neat and fine, every number perfectly drawn so there was no confusion. Just to ensure the confusion ended.
Looking at Will, he paused mid-writing with the faintest frown on his face, curious about that last sentence. "Do you sometimes feel like you are still sick then? Have you had that checked? While it's probably nothing, you wouldn't really want to relapse into anything."
Yes, what a shame that would be.
what do vegan zombies eat? graaaaaains
And smile the entire time, too.
Better to be a distraction than a victim, one dead and buried. Or dead and so mutilated that burial would be a sham. Or dead and never to be found. He kept an eye on the fixed sum, taking in the neat handwriting that hardly matched his own. Nothing about them matched very well, did it? To the eye that didn't know, exactly, what it was looking for. The new figure was totaled in front of him and other addition started playing behind his eyes, that hand running down to pull out a pair of keys from his front shirt pocket.
"I go back when I'm supposed to. There's a schedule for it." Said as he flicked off the light in the back room, made his way around to lock up the rooms of live bait. This was Will's new routine, that much was easy to see. "Been following just as I've been supposed to. It's not really common now but it's not something they don't have experience with, encephalitis." Even the word sounded wrong coming from him, like he was yet to accept it for what it was. "It's been a while...don't think I'd relapse so much as get something worse."
Judging by Will's face, nose wrinkled as he wandered through an aisles of offensive shirts he was more than used to? It would be a true shame, one he didn't want to think about. One he jumped away from, not unlike a fish realizing the bite in its mouth was the thing tugging it closer.
"Am I dressed okay for where you've got in mind?"
Not that he had anything on him in Heropa immediately, but if he needed to, he could afford a for-show something or other.
no subject
Simple things, human needs are easier to comprehend, so here she is all the same, passing distant and thoughtful through the aisles with a basket tucked into the crook of her arm, the stink of death washed away with the end of the workday but her stride still implying it via the asymmetrical sway of concealed carry. Still, whatever that might imply, she was not quite stiff and Spartan in her motions, not quite interrogative in her examination of a tomato she picks up to turn over in her hand. Such a simple object, so innocuous, and therefore so utterly surreal: she spends a few moments longer than she needs to looking it over, not because she's being rigorous but because she doesn't know why she's here at all. The serenity on her face as she tilts her head, gently tossing her hair back out of her face, belies the guilt. She should be trying harder to get home, to understand and to use that understanding, not fussing over produce. She drifts, vegetable to vegetable, but the weight in the pit of her stomach doesn't disperse.
It puts a bit of a damper on her faint pleasure at having the time and opportunity to prepare and eat fresh foods, really. It's also sufficiently distracting that for the space of a few seconds, she doesn't notice she's standing in Hannibal's way. The realisation nearly makes her jump, as though she was worlds away and the shock of coming back to this one is disproportionate to the trigger that brought her.]
Sorry. [A smile, apologetic but distant as she steps out of the way.] Didn't notice you there.
no subject
The only logical assumption he could was perhaps a relative? But even then, he didn't recall her having any siblings. Not wanting to seem rude nor to accidentally make any foolish assumptions, Hannibal tried his best to keep his face neutral yet somewhat obliging. He didn't want to seem rude nor scare her off.
After all, he had to bait answers out of her. He had to understand this strange occurrence.]
It's perfectly fine, I was in no hurry. [There's a slight smile as he takes a step back, gesturing for her to continue.] It's a strange mentally taxing task, shopping. You wouldn't think it but trying to get your value for money when it comes to fresh food is awfully complicated. It's hard to tell what's going to end up being a dud. It takes a little time to check, it shouldn't be rushed.
no subject
You hit it with strange. It's been a while since I've had the time.
[It sounds pathetic, and she has the decency to look as though she knows it. She also has the foresight to spare the stranger a curious glance, in no faint way loaded -- curious, inquiring, searching, all of it half-obvious, the habit of the investigator. There's no spark of recognition. Bedelia du Maurier she is not, nor anything quite like her, but the absent woman and Scully perhaps share in some way a watchfulness.]
You know, you spend enough time treating food as something you do between everything else and it stops being as real as the alternative.
[There are necessities, and then there are passions, and while she wouldn't quite describe her work with Mulder as the latter it's certainly as absorbing as one. All-encompassing. Airline tickets. Packed bags, check-in, airport security, flights, hotel rooms, investigations, autopsies, chases in the dark, brushes with the great inscrutable Something; sometimes she falls to her knees and swears, swears God is talking to her and what is grocery shopping next to that? Not something she has any time for. Falling into motel room beds after take-out pizza, running off the guilt the next day, café salads and yogurt cups, bee pollen and multivitamins, delivery Chinese and poring over case files, medical journals, Breakfast at Tiffany's; this, this is surreal. The rest of that was just life.
Scully's gaze breaks and she drops the object of her attention into the waiting bag, and then into her basket.]
I'm still working on economy.
[She says 'economy' like she thinks he meant it: finding art in the everyday.]
no subject
I used to have a similar problem when I was working in the ER. Food became less a pleasure and more a thing I just had to do. I like to think I soon reclaimed that when life calmed down a little.
[Now it was more a passion. His surgical knowledge had all gone into cooking and he found it vastly easier to make the time when he only did sessions a day, not working twelve hours non-stop. Life was less stressful now but by no means easier. He was busy in a whole new kind of way, a way that he had better control over. Here and even at home, the time he had was entirely his own and he was the one that dictated his free time. Though he did rather miss the consistency he had back home.
This place was definitely stranger than he liked.]
If it's any consolation, I don't think you're the only one in that boat here.
[There was a lot of confused people loitering around the food aisles today. But only one of them looked like Bedelia Du Maurier. And that was enough to hold his attention.]
no subject
You know, I'm not sure that is any consolation.
[A quick, wry smile.]
Too many people with lives to get back to or lives they don't know they're missing.
[And which is hers? The first, of course the first; her tattoo is hidden by the sleeve of her coat but that doesn't mean she isn't obvious about it. Habits incongruous and anachronistic. A particular wariness, and a particular weariness. Dana Scully is not always as rigid as her job has demanded her to be; at times she wears her heart on her sleeve. Lately, here, she seems to be doing that more often than not, but in fairness lately she finds her heart more troubled than usual. The inevitable result of current circumstances.
She takes a quick glance around the shop, or the parts of it visible from her current location, not unsettled but rather attempting to ground herself in space and time. The mood dispels, and she fixes her attention back on the stranger, smile warmer now.]
I didn't stick around long enough for the ER but I remember my internship. You think that once you move on to working with people who are already dead it'll slow down, but sometimes I think they can be just as demanding. Maybe someday.
[Maybe someday balance, that is, and a Normal Life, or something like it -- God, she can't really imagine what that would be like, alternately craves and is repelled by the idea -- but for now, it isn't on the table, so to speak. Maybe it doesn't bother her as much as it should, the mild embarrassment aside.]
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[What a world to be in where you were too busy to cook yourself a decent dinner or even find the time to buy something that wasn't cheap, poorly made and crammed with far too many flavours. It was life, he supposed, that everyone had different standards of what was and wasn't acceptable.]
I think everyone, regardless of how insignificant it may seem, had things they wanted to get back too. None of us exactly had warning that we were coming here. And it's hard to unwind like this in a strange city.
[Hannibal understood that at least, missing out on something in his life back home. It just wasn't work so much as life. His little games and plans were all running still and he had little closure about them outside of what Abigail told him or Freddie hinted at.
It was jarring still, if he was honest, to hear someone who looked and sounded so similar to his own therapist talking about how she worked with dead people. He knew now that this wasn't the same person, it really couldn't be, but some concepts threw even Hannibal Lecter. Responding to the somewhat warmer smile, Hannibal tried his best to look as friendly as possible in return, not wanting to get lost in his own musings.]
Oh, a fellow doctor? I assume, based on your comments, that you preform more autopsies than keyhole surgeries these days?
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[A huff of amusement, though there are too many bitter memories tied to that idea for it to be laughable, as such. She still remembers too clearly all the times she's found herself kneeling on a cold floor, trying with no more than the pressure of her hands and her faith to stopper gunshot wounds, to keep life from leaking out of a fragile frame all too near to letting go of it. It's awful. Thrilling, certainly, but awful.]
I wanted to save lives. There are hundreds of talented doctors working in hospitals and ICUs; I considered myself best suited elsewhere.
[Also less bored, but that doesn't bear saying. Cardiology wouldn't have been boring, treating patients wouldn't have been dull, no, but it didn't carry quite the same thrill of personal danger, or the same thrill of rebellion that the FBI ultimately had. That much colours her tone ever so faintly, but all the same, she isn't for the moment inclined to discuss this particular motivation, the need, the desire to live a life contrary to that laid out for her by the people -- particularly the men -- in her life.]
Sounds like you did too.
[The edge of a hopeless wistfulness; Scully knows herself too well to believe, regardless of how she might want to, that she's suited for a normal life.]
B
Either way, it's clear he doesn't know what he's doing. He's well aware of that himself, in fact. It's time to ask for help. Spotting a rather well-to-do looking human inspecting his food. That looks like someone who knows what he's doing. Drift clears his throat, approaching cautiously. ]
Um. Excuse me! Hi, yes. Hello, sorry to interrupt. I was uh. I was wondering... what is that you're looking at?
[ He points to the tomatoes. ]
Are they good?
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He looked up when the man nearby spoke to him, a slight frown on his face at first before he realised what he was being asked. So far here, he'd met so many unusual creatures, it wasn't a shock that some might not understand food. Or how it worked and what was best. Needless to say, Hannibal wasn't the kind of man to ignore such a polite request.]
The tomatoes? [Hannibal held up the one he was inspecting, with accommodating smile on his face.] Depends on your taste and how you like them done but this batch isn't the worst I've come across. The ones on the bottom seem to be the leftovers from the day before so I'd suggest taking them from the top if you want them as fresh as possible.
[He offered the one he had in his hands to the stranger.] It's worth a try, most people I know enjoy tomatoes in some shape or form.
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So must humans like tomatoes. People. I mean. People like them. Hmm. Well, it looks very-
[ He searches for something that sounds knowledgeable. ]
Very red.
[ Oh he could kick himself. ]
Sorry for being forward but- are they eaten just like this? Do you cook them?
[ He looks very apologetic for the questioning at the very least. ]
I'm a bit new to this.
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[Hannibal found that nothing was more important in life than making connections. Even little connections like this. Every seed he plants that he's a good man can help him later, especially given how the people from his home are starting to talk. Besides, he was by no means a rude man if he could help it.]
They can be cooked in a lot of ways or eaten raw. It really does depend. What kind of food are you looking to cook? Perhaps that would be a good place to start. Do you have anything you want to make? That way, I can tell you how best to do them.
[If only he still had his own kitchen, entirely to himself. He would have loved to show off his cooking skills with tomatoes. They were so usable.]
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[ What is he looking to cook? He hasn't graduated to cooking yet. He couldn't even have prepared a meal back home unless it came liquid in a cube. His gaze darts around nervously before he gives up. ]
To be perfectly frank? I have no idea. I have no idea what I'm doing.
I don't even know what this stuff is.
[ He gestures to his basket. Yeah. ]
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[Hannibal is just going to stare at him for a moment, trying to process it. How did anyone not know what food is? It was essential, it was important! It was Hannibal's one true passion and the idea that someone didn't even know what a tomato was kind of stumped him.
With a raise of his eyebrow, Hannibal debated what was best to do with this situation.]
Have you considered purchasing a cook book to get a better idea of what food is?
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[ Not from this galaxy yeah... ]
A cook book? Oh uh. [ Do humans really have that many varieties of food that they need books about it? That's crazy. ]
To be honest the thought hadn't crossed my mind.
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[He had a feeling that no, he meant it on a planetary scale but he was fishing for answers for the most part.]
If you were to get a cook book, you'd get a better idea of what food you need, how much you need of it and what it can be used for. I wouldn't advise flying blind and buying random things. They might not go too well together.
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[ he glances again down at his basket. ]
Oh uh. Yeah, that's sound advice. I suppose I'd have to visit a library then, unless you think they sell them here?
[ He pauses, seeming to remember something. ]
Oh! Please forgive me. My name is Drift. Sorry, I shouldn't be giving a stranger the third degree without an actual greeting.
B
Eating dying plants, on the other hand, was something he'd yet to appreciate. Apparently humans were supposed to eat plant-matter, however, so here he was picking through the fruit and vegetable section again, trying to decide on something that appears edible to him.
He's not having a lot of luck. Picking up an onion, he gives it a sniff, makes a face, and puts it back. He notices another man doing the same thing, only he puts the chosen vegetables and fruits away in his basket. He can't help but ask. ]
Do you honestly eat these things?
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Of course. I find it's essential to most courses. It'd very rare I cook any kind of dinner without vegetables included. And fruit is handy for desserts or make drinks. Both really have endless uses.
[With an amused look on his face, he picked up an onion himself and tested the feel and the smell of it before putting it back and hunting for another. Like with meat or bread, he would only settle for what met his standards. Even if it was just for an accompaniment.]
Why? Are you not fond?
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I... don't have much experience with them.
[He purses his lips, and chooses his words carefully.] I was brought up on a very restrictive liquid diet.
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[Seriously, don't just take a big bite out of the onion, that's all he can really advise because that would be considerably less pleasant than frying a sliced section of it or cooking them alongside some mince. With a curious look, Hannibal wasn't entirely sure what to suggest. But the idea of a restrictive liquid diet just struck him as an awful fate to be inflicted with.]
So you haven't properly cooked before?
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[He may or may not have taken bites out of a raw onions and potatoes and other vegetable items that really aren't especially palatable whole and raw.
He glances at his basket full of meat, then back up at Hannibal at his question.]
I don't eat my meat raw.
[Which is to say that he heats it in a pan until it's hot. Cooking.]
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[Just cooking and eating meat. Alone. All by itself. How -- primal. He wasn't objecting, of course, some people didn't quite match his palate but he did find it an entirely baffling how few people in this place seemed not to know the first thing about cooking.
Didn't they teach this at school any more?]
Good, that would be extremely inadvisable. And unpleasant.
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[He turns the onion this way and that, then places it back on the pile before looking over the entire array of vegetables in the department.
Don't feel too bad about the state of education, Hannibal. Rampage didn't go to school!]
...Do you have any suggestions?
[He's not going to mention that he totally ate his meat raw at first, until he realized his guts disagreed with it. Apparently healing factors don't help with indigestion.]
A.
The food people throw away is much better and in big amounts. A waste, many would say, but Toboe thanks them for it. There are also times people simply give Toboe food if he whines and begs, usually around restaurants.
Today hadn’t been one of those times, however, so the wolf pup had to raid the dumpster behind the restaurant. Lucky for him, he doesn’t smell bad – well, he smells like a wolf, and wolves might smell a bit bad, yeah – and he isn’t dirty either. Nor he had to fight cats for the food.
After he ate some, he grabbed the rest for later, and left the back-alley. Toboe also decides to use his illusion to look human once he is out. Instead of a red wolf there is a 14 years old boy holding scraps of food he took from the restaurant’s trash and that’s when he bumps into the other man. At first Toboe gasps, but he is quick to apologize ]
Ah! Sorry!! I didn’t mean to.
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No, no, it's entirely okay. I should have been looking as well.
[Pulling back, Hannibal raised an eyebrow, detecting the scent of food, strangely mixed and probably a little beyond it's uses. And yet. With a frown, he tilted his head, looking at the scraps the younger man seemed to be stealing from what? The bins out back? That explained why he came from nowhere, must of been in the back alley. Speaking as someone who had just eaten dinner there, he couldn't claim he found the food that good. Nor that high of standard. So it eat it after it's date and discarded? He couldn't even begin to imagine.]
I trust I didn't hurt you?
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But he smiles back, even if so awkwardly, hoping it won't be the topic of the conversation to follow. ]
I'm alright.
[ and friendly like a puppy, Toboe, of course, offers Hannibal a bright big smile ] I'm Toboe! [ and of course, introduces himself to the stranger because meeting new people is great! ]
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At the introduction, Hannibal offered a good natured look of amusement, holding out his hand so they could do this properly. He wasn't used to introductions that missed off the handshake.]
It's a pleasure, Toboe. Shame we couldn't of met in a more graceful manner. I'm Doctor Hannibal Lecter.
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It's still a good meeting. [ he says with a chuckle ] Are you a doctor of what?
[ oh and he does have another question! Hannibal will soon find out Toboe has a lot of questions, like an excited puppy learning new tricks ]
Are you an imPort, too? [ it's not like Toboe can hide the tattoo on his wrist, not to mention that same tattoo has given him a lot of perks he clearly appreciates - like petting from children - and he usually asks people he meets. Just to have an idea of what to ask next, probably ]
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[He's not getting into too many details. He didn't like to overshare. Moving his hand away, he slipped it back into his pocket and watched he excitable young man with a calm expression. Inquisitive minds were hard work to satisfy, that was for sure.]
I am, yes. I take you are as well? Though you're awfully young, if you don't mind me saying. I haven't come across many younger than there teens.
[And here he was thinking Abigail was too young to be here.]
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Toboe is quick to nod, rising his arm to show the tattoo that says "Registered". But at the next comment, the pup smiles awkwardly. He isn't... young. Well, he is, but he isn't a teenager per se.
However, Toboe isn't sure if he should actually say anything about that. While Toboe decided he wouldn't hide anymore, he also can't start a conversation with "oh by the way, I'm actually a wolf" ]
Aha- I'm not sure if I'm a teen or not. But I have met people with all sorts of ages.
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[He's seriously not going into a full lecture about it because he had a funny feeling it'd take a very long time indeed to run through every little detail. And to make sure this young man understood it all. He kept his answers as short as he could but he wouldn't exactly deter questions, he didn't mind clarifying when needed.]
It strikes me as unusual, I suppose. I'm not used to seeing young people in this kind of situation. Usually the government doesn't meddle until you're old enough to pay taxes.
[It's bad enough dragging people of all ages here but giving them powers too? Not overly responsible.] Their classifications for who is and isn't a wise import does confuse me at the best of times though. I doubt I'll ever understand the logic.
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And satisfied with the answer, Toboe nods ]
I heard they weren't the ones that decided to bring us here. The machine - the Porter - did. But they also don't understand the machine at all [ makes sense why they wouldn't. It's a machine
wolf logic] so they can't say for sure why we were the ones to be brought here.hope you don't mind a latecomer! prose ok? i'll do brackets if you prefer!
He's become carefully accustomed to the constant hubbub of traffic forever passing by, some cars travelling along the roads and some passing by overhead, but he still hasn't quite become accustomed to crowds. Crowds make him silently anxious. Whenever he has to pass through a particularly crowded area in the street or in the shopping mall, his palms become sweaty and his pulse races just a little faster than normal. Always seems calm to the onlooker, though, with his effortlessly intimidating stride and the hard look on his weathered, world-weary face. Life back at home has long since toughened and hardened Joel in ruthless and cold ways, right down to his composure, doesn't matter how much fear may actually be brimming beneath the surface.
That doesn't mean fear doesn't have a way of rearing its ugly head, of course.
He is walking down the street now, heading towards the coffee shop down on the corner. Without warning, a sudden explosion of a car backfiring sounds off into the air, loud and sharp and startling. It doesn't immediately register in Joel's mind that it's just a car backfiring: all that registers in Joel's mind at that very moment is the sound of an explosion, and everything in Joel's mind suddenly narrows right down to a panicked instinct to survive, throwing muscle memory and all sense of present time into a jarring flashback of life back at home.
He doesn't even think about it as he swipes his arm out to shove the tall, striking man walking by roughly to the side to duck for cover.
Never too late! And yes, totally cool!
Though he had to admit, it made walking to a coffee shop at the very least more interesting than it had been. He hadn't been paying much attention to the car if he was honest, his mind was more on an unfortunate encounter he'd had yesterday. And while his mind went through the alternatives and new ideas as to what he could do, he didn't really look up much until he heard the car backfiring. And while he was pretty sure that's just what it was, it was hard to be certain from the man's reaction.
Needless to say, it was hard to think when a tell broad man was suddenly yanking him to safety from whatever the danger was. With a confused expression, he found himself ducking down more out of the force than the desperate need to be safe. The danger didn't really seem to be much of a concern given that no one around them was reacting in such a manner but it was somewhat awkward to point that out.
Clearing his throat ever so slightly, he turned to the strange man, a little out of his depths as to how to react. Should be be grateful or annoyed? Was this rude or heroic? Or just plainly dumb. It was so hard to judge that he didn't really have time to settle on an emotion before he reacted.
"I think it was a backfire. I don't think we needed cover for it," Hannibal informed him tentatively, a frown on his face. "A nice gesture nonetheless."
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And that's when he realises there's a man not only talking to him but ducked down with him. Joel hadn't even meant to make the man duck down with him - it was to shove him out of the way so Joel could get to somewhere safe.
Now the immediate threat of what Joel perceived to be danger has passed, a prickly and irritated anger sweeps in over the top of the panic. It's the same kind of anger he always feels after being startled, where most who have never been through the traumas Joel has been through would likely shrug off the fright with a laugh.
He reluctantly releases his hold on his pistol and adjusts his shirt, tugging it over his waistband to conceal it, and he pushes himself up to stand tall. "Wasn't tryin'a be nice," Joel replies, his thick Texan accent deep and gruff. And then a vague gesture in the direction of where the backfiring noise had come from. "Thought it was a gunshot, is all."