Hannibal Lecter
14 May 2014 @ 10:40 am
[Spam | Day 1]

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[Public | Day 5]

[When the camera comes on, the first thing visible is a long dinner table, with a veritable feast laid out on it. It looks very fine, the kind of thing you'd find in a Michelin class restaurant, from an award winning chef. Hannibal may have won no awards, but his presentation is certainly top notch.]

Hello.

[He wears a very pleasant smile, standing behind the seat at the head of the table. His hands rest on the chair's back. To his left sits Alana. Hannibal inclines his head to the viewers.]

There is little either of us can contribute to fixing the Barge. [They could bring back supplies, but really - they had a much better way to spend their time.] We can however offer a repast to those who have worked so tirelessly, in one manner or another.

[Wardens, inmates, those working to fix the Barge and those working to escape it. It doesn't matter who comes, just this once, so long as their table manners are impeccable. Hannibal takes a glass of wine from the table, and lifts it in a toast.]

I've attached the address. Please, join us at your leisure - but I would not advise you to dawdle. Only the first course is served cold.
 
 
Hannibal Lecter
21 February 2014 @ 12:39 pm
Excuse me.

[The man on screen is dapper as fuck, a faint crease in his brow marking his confusion. The suit he wears is a touch dated, plainer than most of the plaid numbers he usually prefers: this is a plain, grey, though considerably well tailored number that looks like it would be better suited to the last century.

Or to a particular breach in Oxford. If you look closely, there is a black nose peeking out over his shoulder, from under the collar of his jacket. It's fitted very particularly, so that Boudica can hide there unnoticed. It helps that the mink is not overly large.]


Ask now, [she whispers into his ear. Hannibal glances toward his shoulder, then back to the camera.]

This will sound very strange, I am certain. Please bear with me; I only wish to understand the state of things.

[Unseen, Boudica digs her claws into his back in her impatience; Hannibal makes no outward reaction.]

Where are your daemons?