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[Hannibal is seated at his desk, the camera balanced against something there: he is dressed in a tux, legs crossed, a glass of champagne in his hand. He sips it gracefully.]
Consider the ortolan.
[He smiles faintly, as if it's a joke he knows no one will realize.]
( warning for inhumane practices toward animals in cooking )
[Spam for Ned]
[Shortly after his post, Hannibal heads for the pub sans champagne but still wearing his tux, and knocks at the door. He's already begun the set up, but there is one thing he still requires.]
[Open Gallery Spam on the Deck]
[Hannibal has been hard at work. With little to do between death tolls and less to occupy himself, he has been drawing. Mal was kind enough to supply him with tools enough for his art, though his pencils are never quite sharp enough without a scalpel to do the job. When he has finished, there is only one thing to do with his art.
Setting up takes time, but he goes as quickly as he can manage: Mal requested presentation dividers, which makes it feel just professional enough to satisfy Hannibal. The sketches and portraits are spaced out on the deck, providing plenty of room to walk around and observe. There is a small table near the pub entrance with glasses of champagne, and a very serious pie maker making certain that nobody does anything untoward to the champagne.
Hannibal himself can be found wandering through the little corridors he's made, observing his art on occasion but mostly observing those who have come to look.
It's opening night.]
(Hannibal is paraphrasing from Brendan Kiley's The Urban Hunt.)
Consider the ortolan.
[He smiles faintly, as if it's a joke he knows no one will realize.]
( warning for inhumane practices toward animals in cooking )
[Spam for Ned]
[Shortly after his post, Hannibal heads for the pub sans champagne but still wearing his tux, and knocks at the door. He's already begun the set up, but there is one thing he still requires.]
[Open Gallery Spam on the Deck]
[Hannibal has been hard at work. With little to do between death tolls and less to occupy himself, he has been drawing. Mal was kind enough to supply him with tools enough for his art, though his pencils are never quite sharp enough without a scalpel to do the job. When he has finished, there is only one thing to do with his art.
Setting up takes time, but he goes as quickly as he can manage: Mal requested presentation dividers, which makes it feel just professional enough to satisfy Hannibal. The sketches and portraits are spaced out on the deck, providing plenty of room to walk around and observe. There is a small table near the pub entrance with glasses of champagne, and a very serious pie maker making certain that nobody does anything untoward to the champagne.
Hannibal himself can be found wandering through the little corridors he's made, observing his art on occasion but mostly observing those who have come to look.
It's opening night.]
(Hannibal is paraphrasing from Brendan Kiley's The Urban Hunt.)
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