These Words Are My Heartbeats

I would like to start a 100 words Drabble challenge. Send me a short prompt and and pairing and you get a 100 (or near as I can manage) word drabble.

I would like to start a 100 words Drabble challenge. Send me a short prompt and and pairing and you get a 100 (or near as I can manage) word drabble.

I would like to start a 100 words Drabble challenge. Send me a short prompt and and pairing and you get a 100 (or near as I can manage) word drabble.

The Rain Shapes You

“Outside. I told you to leave that outside.” Tristan’s voice could barely be heard of the rain pounding down on their tent but Galahad heard him just fine. “It is never going to dry out there and I’ll need my cloak.” He grumbled back continuing to draw it across the tent flaps. “Our bedrolls are going to get wet from it dripping.” Tristan gestured with a scrap of meat leather in his hand. “How could you possibly tell that water from the water that was already on the ground?” Galahad angrily stripping off his braces and throwing them down, striking the leathers and furs with a less than satisfying thud. “Come here.”

“What?” He snapped back at the older knight.

Not a man used to repeating himself, Tristan just reached over and tugged the younger man down beside him. Ignoring Galahad’s struggles and grumping, just holding him tightly until all his steam was gone.

Just as he spoke again the rain had started to slow. “You weren’t counting on camping with a harpy were you?”A small smile on Galahad’s face as he could feel the rumble of laughter coming from Tristan.

Doctor Hannibal Lecter was found guilty. And it hurt as his world crumbled. But not as much as finding the pieces left behind.

A skillet.

If someone had told him that a frying pan would one day make him cry he’d have thought they were crazy. But here he is. Curled in the corner of his kitchen, back pressed against his cabinets. Copper skillet just in front of his feet. It wasn’t his. Nothing like the bargain bin, dented yard sale pots and pans he had.

No. This was Hannibal’s. He vaguely remembers when the other man had brought it. When he was recovering from his encephalitis. Hannibal didn’t trust that he would feed himself. It must have gotten left behind.

Wool socks.

In the corner under his coat rack, covered in dog hair and dust a pair of argyle blue wool socks were nestled. Getting his house cleaned up because the realtor told him she couldn’t sell it in its disarray. He remembers thinking Hannibal would have thought she was rude.

Hannibal hadn’t left these behind. Will took them. Well, they were given to him in a roundabout way. Showing up at Hannibal’s house after a sleepwalking episode, the doctor had warned him in front of a fire and fed him while his snow damp clothes washed and dried. But Will never returned the socks.

Plum and black paisley tie.

This one took him some time. He knew he’d never bought it but he couldn’t place exactly who it belonged to. Laying in his bed, half asleep when he remembered that Hannibal had taken it off after Buster left a muddy paw print on it. Will had promised to clean it and return it. But that never happened.

Sage green ceramic dish with a succulent.

“You need to brighten up in here. And succulents are perfect for someone who is busy. They don’t require so much attention.”

Those has been Hannibal’s exact words. Will had huffed a laugh and put the little plant in his kitchen window. And immediately immersed himself into everything cactus related. The poor thing had barely survived.

One ebony and gold cuff link.

Will is truly unaware of how this was left in his house. But abandoned it was. Without its mate. The irony there…

After its discovery it quickly found its way into his ‘pocket stuff’. The things he picks up daily and, almost without thought, and carries with him on his daily journeys.

Eventually all of these things find themselves in a box. A special box. Wooden with leather straps. Like a miniature steamer trunk.