ｍｏｎｓｔｅｒ

His heart skips a beat, like a damned teenager. It’s actually difficult, watching him do this, admiring him like some long-lost work of art. It’s fascinating, always, and downright baffling. Will would even venture to say narcissistic, but doesn’t on the grounds that he’s never had it to begin with.   The sentiment is short-lived when something cooler creeps, seeping like ocean air through his clothes and into his bones. It settles there, unshakable, and so Will makes no attempt to fight it. Besides, Lector had used the very word which described this. His chest tightens painfully. 

“Seems like you were able to survive our separation after all,” he mutters thoughtfully, focusing on the warmth between their fingers, “But living and living well aren’t the same thing, and you like to live well.” he’ll allow the closeness for now, finding himself particularly hungry for it as if just as much time had passed for him. There’s a vague crack of a smile that vanishes as quickly as it comes, as if he found his own joke to be very funny. He’ll just bask for now, in this.  

‘Seems we were fools of fortune after all,’ he thinks in curiousity; whether they had died or not was no longer relevant. Will lets a few moments pass beyond Hannibal’s last question, as if giving it careful consideration. He breaks the silence with what nearly resembled good-humored snickering.

     Survive? Yes, but that seemed.. out of the question. He’d survived Will rejecting him, though he hadn’t escaped unscathed. Likewise, Hannibal had also survived solitude in Hive City -- both this time and during his first stay, which had been far longer. It hadn’t been easy. He’d simply kept living, and it seemed to be in his nature to continue doing so. Even while he’d found many things to entertain himself with -- from hunting to enjoying life’s niceties -- it hadn’t quite been the same without Will.

     One had to question how fortunate he was to have such resilience. Will seemed to understand that well enough, as stated by his following comment. Hannibal simply gazed at him calmly, noting his hint of a smile, brief as it had been.

     His question, however, drew a glimmer of amusement to the doctor’s visage.

     “I had to ask.”

     Still holding the empath’s hand, his gaze remained focused on Will’s own, reflecting his interest. “I have a house in sector four. Perhaps you could come over.” His thumb gently smoothed over Will’s hand, partly testing their physical grounds. He had yet to fully discover what he could and couldn’t do. “I could treat your wounds.”

“There’s room to be selfish in hell.” Once he closed the distance between them, Will is fixated on Hannibal’s torso–he had the place memorized, where an exit wound should be. But Hannibal seemed fine; how, when his own injuries bared from their consummation were still so easily rattled? He reaches out, fingers splayed to ghost over the spot but never truly touching. 

“I…heard your voice, like a story being told in third person. I heard it for a long time.” he bites his lip, dark lashes downcast as his expression becomes more strained. His hand drops from Hannibal’s side, only to rise and collect the one which held his lure; as if he meant to hold it himself by capturing them both.

“You took the bait,” a clipped laugh, hushed, ”…I figured it was about time the tables were turned. Yet in doing so…” his voice trails off, and he meets Hannibal with a steady gaze, steel wrapped in blue velvet. In doing so, he’d been pulled under. Willingly, by a fish that was never meant to see the light of day by any terms but its own. 

     Will had heard his voice. While he hadn’t been fully conscious during his recovery period, he’d grasped ahold of.. some of what’d transpired. Then again, Lecter knew they still needed time to heal. Time to mend wounds, both new and old, as well as to understand how they would move forward. He could only hope to remain with Will, one way or another.

     Hannibal remained silent as he listened, gaze lowering to hover over their hands.. before he glanced back towards the other’s stare. A kind question — earnest, even. It nearly surprised Hannibal, in the best way possible.

     “Yes.”

     Of course.

     Even if they hadn’t crossed paths, he would have been okay. But he didn’t intend to leave Will’s question with such a shallow response. “I’m happy you’re here.” Gently, his other hand lifted to take hold of Will’s own, taking in the seemingly fragile warmth of their touch. It was precious -- something to be treasured. His dark gaze shifted from the empath’s visage to his injured cheek, then just below his right shoulder. 

     “I was lonely without you. I feared..” his hand moved away from the other’s, only to hover over the concealed knife wound, “..I wouldn’t see you again.” Even as Hannibal left his admission hanging, his hand returned to meet the other’s once more, as though he were seeking the reassurance of their touch. He had much to tell Will, and much to ask about -- but for now, there were simpler things to hear about.

     In a place like this, perhaps their curtains had no use anymore.      But Will knew better than to be so optimistic. It wasn’t in his nature to begin with–no, you just had to see what panned out and roll with the punches. And so he had, making his way inside to a more remote part of the building, somewhere on the third floor. He knew Hannibal to be tenacious, and Will would keep this promise. Unfortunately he’d run into a little bit of a scuffle; this was the feeding area, where the fish not meant as an attraction were bred and raised. Not exactly a place for tourists, but Will had done what was necessary to open the path for both of them.

     The room was relatively dark aside from the blue glow of the pools just below. Will sits on a platform, legs crossed with a rod perched up against the railing. Next to him he digs an apple from a small basket and promptly begins to carve its flesh with an inexpensive pocket knife. Neat slices dropped onto the now-closed lid of the basket. After the first bite, Will notes that these aren’t really in season, but continues to eat. Their vibrant red is reflected somewhat in the water, spreading languidly like spilled paint. The fish aren’t alone anymore, and yet in essence they are.  

     It was an unusual place to meet in -- though in concept, the setting fit Will. Hannibal did not have to search long to find the man, entering the chamber to find himself facing the other’s back. It seemed he intended to fish, though this was hardly a place of nature. The fish were held captive, kept alive by the power of others, though the same could be said for the people, as well. 

     The lights were soothingly dim. Hannibal stood still for a moment, simply taking in the sight of his companion -- as though allowing himself time to take in the moment, surreal as it was. Then, quietly, he approached.

     "I almost didn’t believe it.”

     As he gazed at Will, a soft smile came to Hannibal’s features. “The mere thought of you being taken here seemed too good to be true.” He paused, gaze never faltering from the other’s visage. “I suppose that’s selfish of me.”

That was enough for Ashley to wrack with guilty and regret. She hadn’t even talked about what really kept her up at night either. But Dr. Lector gently told her to press forward, and with a shaky nod and deep breath she did.

                “They searched for them but found nothing. Not a trace. We all just… began to assume they had died somehow. It was a large mountain. And a lot of us grew apart because of what happened. We all knew what we did. But Josh wanted us to go back.”

Exactly a year later on the night his sisters had disappeared. Ashley explained no one really wanted to go back, but they did it out of guilt for Josh. Everything had was normal, and then the group started to fight and split up to calm themselves. In the end it had been just her and Chris in the house, and how they had been lead on a wild ghost hunt. She explained how the “killer” knocked them out twice, and the different circumstances behind each time. But her life was threatened either way. Some pyscho had wanted to torture them, and they had done just that. 

     He nearly allowed himself to believe that that was the end to it — that it had finished in a sick prank, just as the fiasco had begun.

     Evidently that was not the case.

     Monsters.

     A pause ensued between the two of them as the doctor gazed at her, processing all she’d said. Then, letting out a quiet breath, he straightened slightly. “Such traumatic events would no doubt damage even stable-minded people. One can only imagine what effect such a loss would have upon someone already struggling. It would seem Josh was neglected after the death of his sisters.” Perhaps that was where Ashley’s friends had truly failed. Nevertheless, Hannibal understood he had much yet to learn of the situation.

     “What monsters were on the mountain, Ashley?”

Awful as it sounds, that’s nothing new. He’s nothing if not acclimated to the beck and call of havoc — his muscles know it better than anything else.

So it’s not exactly shock that registers when he’s wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time out of complete and utter boredom. Disbelief might be a better fit. As in, he’s having trouble processing the orchestral music that reminds him of an old folks home (or maybe just the imposed feeling he gets from thinking of the fates and their long, foreboding strings) along with the heavy stench of something he doesn’t care to place. One might think he’s walked into enough of these dark places — both literally and mentally — to stop while he’s ahead. His pace disobeys without apology, and he cranes his neck at an odd angle to get the full view that’s disturbed the corner of his eye.

Whether it’s the knives or the chains that make something click in his head, he couldn’t tell you. That said, it prompts a sigh of relief and an almost immediate ‘duh’ reaction from the demigod when he finally finds someone… well, slicing away at what he guesses has to be a far too serious Halloween project. Then again, most people get pretty serious for the holidays. He’s just never seen it like this up close. (Not a whole lot of time to celebrate when you’re trying to keep the world from shattering beneath your feet.)

“Uh… Props, man. Sorry to ruin the surprise.”

He can’t imagine how time consuming it’s got to be. But the prosthetics and the decorations waste no time in lifting his stomach some. Considering all he’s seen, that’s saying something. “How long did this take you? It’s got to be like, what, a week to set up?” 

     He’d been in need of prey, and it seemed a victim had simply entered his lair of their own volition.

     By the time Percy came into view, Hannibal had laid down the knife, smoothly standing to face him. A polite smile curled to his features as he regarded the young man. It seemed there was a misunderstanding between the both of them — a mistake that would undoubtedly become tragically fatal for the demigod.

     “Longer — though I’ve maintained this institution for over a year now.”

     The knife remained close by, gleaming ominously, though Hannibal was well aware of other weapons that could just as easily be put to use. He had no intention of rushing things. Quite the contrary, in fact; if he wished to enjoy this, he would take his time.

     “Unfortunately, this is private property.” He glanced about to regard his own work, viewing the ominous surroundings with the faintest spark of pride. Hannibal’s gaze returned swiftly to the young man’s. There was an undeniable sense of excitement thrumming within him, his senses keen to begin the hunt that would surely follow -- not that there would be much of a struggle. Regardless.. he was a patient man.

     And yet, when he shows up in the office without much of an invitation or appointment–the hood is up. His features are obscured in shadow, and his tone is more than accusing in an attempt to guard his anxiety. How well that works in the face of this person isn’t something he is willing to think about.

     Looking up from his desk, his russet gaze hovered over the other’s concealed visage. “Of course.” A pause for contemplation followed while the doctor attempted to take in the other’s scent. It would be stronger if he were to move closer, though Lecter hardly moved a muscle. Rude as the young man’s entrance may have been, he couldn’t deny a keen sense of curiosity. “May I ask how you got in?” With deceptive calmness, he lowered the pen he’d previously been using, idly reaching to straighten a nearby pencil -- left beside a scalpel.

     Nevertheless, such precautions did not seem entirely necessary. This mysterious stranger had already alluded to his intentions. Hostile as his appearance may have been.. it merely displayed defensiveness within his nature.

It was the memories of the lodge in the woods that kept her awake at night. The panic that seeps in when she remembers being chased and tied against her will. The sound of metal whirring as a blade spins and comes toward her, and the smell of blood as she hears her friend howl as he died. It was fake, but it did nothing to tarnish or deaden her memory. Worst of all, she saw the face of the wendigo in the darkness. Creeping around corners and nooks and crannies were no light could go. It had been so terrible she was even afraid to sleep with the lights off. She was so tired. She needed help.

Her search had led her to an office with handsome furnishings and welcoming smells. She rings the doorbell, and waits till a man opens the door.

            “Are you Dr. Lector? I heard… I heard you took therapy patients. I-I’m sorry I’ve never done this before..”

     “No need to apologize. You’re in luck, I happen to be quite free at the moment. Please, come in.”

     Stepping aside, he held the door open for her, quietly taking in the teen’s appearance. One could only wonder what trauma she may have experienced -- if she’d endured any at all, though Lecter’s gut instinct tended to be right more often than not. He had commonly found himself faced with unique clients. Perhaps she too would prove to be entertaining.

You are going to break your promise. I understand.

You’re lonely too.

It will stop your breath, how cruel I can be.

I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable.

I am your servant.

I crawl at your feet; for before your love, your kisses, I am debased.

For you alone I will be weak.

I belong here, and you will not deny me.

I say these things, and the world listens.

I do not tolerate a world emptied of you. I have tried.

In the dark, I have pored over the loss of you like pale gold.

I will not let her speak because I love her, and when you love someone, you do not make them tell war stories.

I moved the earth and the water for you.

You will always run away with her.

You will always lose her.

You will always be a fool.

You will always be dead, in a city of ice, snow falling into your ear.

You have already done all of this and will do it again.

No one should be judged for loving more than they ought, only for loving not enough.

We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying.

What we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the color, just the shape.

There need never be any rules between us.

Let us be greedy together; let us hoard.

Do not leave me, swear that you will never leave me.

I am selfish. I am cruel. My mate cannot be less than I.

Sleep with fists closed and shoot straight.

I can’t abide a poor liar.

You look like a winter’s night. I could sleep inside the cold of you.

Oh, quit that. Blushing is for virgins and Christians.

Scold me; deny me. Tell me you want what you want and damn me forever. But don’t leave me.

Bad luck relies on absolutely perfect timing.

In his own country, Death can be kind.

What is the world but a boxing ring where fools and devils put up their fists?

Men die. It’s practically what they’re for.

I am no one; I am nothing.

Nothing in me was not made by you.

A revelation is always the end of something. It might even be cause for grief.

Just tell yourself a story that’ll satisfy you and pretend he told it.

Forever isn’t bright; it isn’t like that. Forever is cold and hard and final.

I savor bitterness - it is born of experience. It is the privilege of one who has truly lived.

If you want to kill yourself, do not use us as your knife.

What did I do wrong? Was I boring? Did I ignore you?

Don’t you dare speak to me like that.

I have worn nothing but blood and death for years.

I have fought all your battles for you, just as you asked me.

I have learned not to cry when I strangle a man.

I have learned to watch everything die.

I am not a little girl anymore, dazzled by your magic. It is my magic, now, too.

Are we not devils?

No one is now what they were before the war.

I have not seen you without your skin on.

Close up your head; your brain is getting loose.

We obsess. It’s in our nature.

I’ve a devil of a habit for being right.

In war you must always choose sides.

If you try to be a bridge laid down between them, they will tear you in half.

We are all dead. All equal. Broken and aimless and believing we are alive.

My old bones will follow yours soon enough.

It is better to be strong and cruel than to be fair.

I will see him with his skin off before I agree to fall in love.

After love, no one is what they were before.

I have survived, but I have not been spared.

In the space of one heartbeat to another I loved you and I was lost to you.

Frighten me, make me cry, only come back.

It’s not so bad, my darling. Being dead. It’s like being alive, only colder.

You’ll think it’s love, while he dines on your heart.

You will be so beautiful when you are old.

I cannot keep you and I cannot let you go.

You will live as you live in any world…with difficulty, and grief.

I look at you and it is like my throat being cut.

She said you’d come and I swore to eat your heart.

I still want to kiss you.

My heart is being cut in two. I cannot bear it.

What happens to anything beautiful?