🍴 ( 010 ) Video

[youwill]

Once, there were three fisherman. Friends and sometimes rivals, all. At the end of a long day, they came together with their catch to judge who had done the best, and found that all three of them had only caught fugu. They jested some halfhearted arguments as to the sizes, but all three knew that to make a proper meal of their catches could be deadly. None of the fishermen were willing to confess to their fear, so they went home to prepare their stew. As knowledgeable fishermen, they knew which parts were most poisonous. They removed the liver and the ovaries, and when the stew was done it smelled delicious.

But when it came time to taste, no one stepped forward. "Let us find someone else to test it," said the wisest of them. "We will bring some to the beggar in town. We will be seen doing a kindness, and in turn, he will do us one." the fishermen all nodded their agreement, and packed a bowl for the beggar. All together, they went to find the beggar. The old man was surprised but grateful, and seemed to enjoy the stew immensely. When nothing had happened to him, the fishermen delightedly returned home to partake of their meal.

The next day, the beggar saw them on their way to the water to begin their day again. He was delighted to see that they were in good health - for he had hidden the stew, and only pretended to eat when the fisherman asked how it was. He knew better than to trust a stranger.

[Hannibal pauses and gives the ghost of a smile.]

Some men are wise, and some men only believe they are so.

Fugu is the Japanese word for pufferfish. They are considered delicacies there, and rightfully so. Fugu sashimi and milt are quite excquisite. A good fugu chef will not serve the liver, as that is where the potent neurotoxin is at its most powerful: but the flesh surrounding the liver is tender, and much less poisonous. It will likely not kill a man, but good fugu will leave the lips and tongue tingling.

[The smile fills out.]

A reminder, of how close one has brushed death.


[Private to Mal]

I suppose you fared well during the latest odyssey?

[Private to Damon]

Forgive me for not saying it sooner, but your actions with Maladicta upon your arrival were inspired.

[Spam for Abigail]

[He does not bother knocking, when he reaches her door. Instead he stands outside it, carefully taping three things to her door. It is, as is his wont, artful. The first page, trimmed to have rounded edges, has German lyrics, beautifully written out. It looks calligraphic. It is taped at an angle, and, overlapping at the corner, is another page, similarly trimmed, similarly written. It is the English translation of the song.

Between the pages, he very carefully tapes a rosehip, with its many shades, red and purple and black.

When he finishes, he admires the lay out for a moment before turning to go.]

[Spam for Alana]

[He carries a manilla folder gently, so as not to smudge any of the lines within. He walks with a little smile on his face, though he doesn't offer it to anyone he passes. This smile is not for them, and neither is what he holds. When he reaches Alana's cabin door, he pauses to make certain the trip did not blur any of his carefully drawn lines, and knocks.]

Comments

[deadly_ned]

The pits in cherries, apricots, peaches and plums all contain cyanide.

So do apple seeds.

private;

[untilmydarknessgoes]

Eh well, you know. Nothing worse than a self-loathing, insecure vampire who's too high and mighty to feed like the rest of us.

Got a brother just like her. Worse hair, but equally self-righteous.

spam;

[praesidium]

[As per usual, Winston is the first to react to the knock at her door. He's up out of his dog bed beside her desk and over at the door, trying to smell who it is through the door. He makes hardly any noise, only soft whines and woofs as Alana finishes what she's writing in her notebook. She has been seeing patients after all and she keeps herself organized. Closing the note book, she places it inside her desk, locking it and tucking the key away in its spot before rising and crossing the room.]

[Winston steps back as she gets to the door. Alana only opens it just wide enough to see who is there at first. She wasn't wearing a smile when she answered and she's certainly not about to now. She opens the door a little wider and Winston slips out to investigate, sniffing at Hannibal's pantleg before sitting politely and looking up at him expectantly.]

Hannibal. What brings you here?

[She frankly doesn't want to know.]

spam

[versusnurture]

[When she opens her door, she almost walks out without seeing it. Walking out the door is habit, part of the beginning of every day.]

[When she catches sight of it, though, the tableau laid out before her . . .]

[She doesn't retch. Not this time. Not anymore. She presses one hand to the scarred whiteness of her throat, closes her eyes, and leans against the door frame. Then she peels the rosehip off the door and crushes it in her hand, letting the petals spread and fall to the hallway floor, to be scattered by the progress of people.]

[She leaves the poems up. She doesn't care, she tells herself. It doesn't matter.]

[Then she goes and finds him in the dining hall. This is a safe place. Ben will be able to find her here if things go wrong. But that's not what she's thinking about first and foremost. No, first comes the fact that this used to be Hannibal's domain, and it's been taken from him.]

[She wants to spit in his face. Instead, she slides into the seat across from him and stares, unblinking.]

You wanted to talk to me?

private

[deshabille]

I think that depends on your definition of 'well'.

[unmakeme]

It amazes me the lengths some cultures will go to to pretend they're not playing Russian roulette.

late tags are so late x

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

A strange story.

[Everyone was a dick, no one won, no one lost, no one died. He's almost not sure what the point was.]

Have you ever tried it yourself? The Fugu, I mean...

[video ; private]

[walkingmeltdown]

Speak for yourself, when you're singing these praises. Personally I always found it a completely overrated dish, and more about the price tag than the palate. The height of popularity for some things really is just about this illusion of exclusivity.

[His arms are folded at chest level but what can be made of his face is clearly set in a smirk. The implications being that 1) he had the opportunity and resources to sample fugu multiple times and 2) he wasn't at all impressed.]