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.

( notes for Mal, Damon, Abigail, Alana )

[Floods are fascinating things. They lead to abrupt changes in personality, cause vast departures of characters. They remove control from any given human, and Hannibal has never been fond of the idea of relinquishing control. He doesn't have to deal with that today, but he is all too happy to pretend - and pretend well - that he is.

When the feed begins, Hannibal sits at his desk, a smile on his face. Not his usual, neutrally pleasant look, but a real, wide smile. Look how happy he is to speak to everyone. He sells it well: Hannibal is a mimic at heart, and there have been more than enough posts to the network thus far to form his own caricature. So, he smiles, keeps his tone light. There are, after all, truces to be taken advantage of.]

Good afternoon.

I feel as thought I ought to make a gesture of goodwill. [He spreads his hands in a calculatedly helpless gesture.] There are not, however, many venues open to me. My talents are no longer considered safe ones. Were it in my power, I would prepare a dinner party for you all. Food is, after all, a great comfort. It fills and warms, it makes us feel safe and comforted. My palette has been called discriminating, but I do in fact excel at comfort food.

[That was for Abigail. He lets his smile turn a touch forlorn.]

But I am barred from kitchens, infirmary, even from the therapeutic efforts so many of us need.

[Thanks Charles.]

It seems as though all that's left to offer is my bared throat. [the smile has faded, and he looks sad, regretful. He feels none of this, but he sells it very, very well: he is the consummate actor.]

Please. If there is anything I may do to ease the suffering here, inform me. I will do whatever is necessary.

[It's veiled, thickly, but this is his bring it on, his come out come out wherever you are. He wants to know if the greater Barge consciousness has begun to forget if not forgive, to be consumed by more personal pains and fears. He wants to take advantage of whatever the flood has to offer.]

[When the video clicks on, Hannibal is sitting at his desk, in his office. His expression is that of slight regret, almost-sorrow. He's never over the top. Ironically, he is somewhat sad about this.]

It appears that Alice Morgan has vanished from the ship as well. I am sorry to be the one to announce it. [Which is really just a dig at Bond for not saying it himself fml]

[Private to Abigail]

[He doesn't flip a switch for her, because it is a legitimate regret - but he pushes it aside with ease. And does not smirk.]

Have dinner with me tonight.