I know I shouldn't, but I do. @etsterling-blog - Tumblr Blog

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glorious-godofchaos-blog

Reblog if you're willing to do VERY violent gore RPs

reginalds-deactivated20210314

callmeselina-deactivated2015042

She mirrored his expression, lips curving into a grin as she crossed her arms. Selina could consider. It all depended.

"Mm. Fair enough — got a name for me?"

etsterling-blog

Her questions are not very well worded but this time he refrains from calling her up on it, he knows what she means,

'Edgar Sterling.'

He replies,

'And do you? Or am I to think one up for you?'

#callmeselina

specialinvestigatorgraham-deact

Will sighed quietly, frowning a bit. “I don’t… remember," he admitted. He had too much going on in his head to pull out what he wanted. He looked away. There was nothing else for him to say, and he just had to brace himself for whatever the other man had to say next.

etsterling-blog

He sighs, giving William's forearm a light, reassuring squeeze. He's not sure what he can say and he's not sure how anything is supposed to help so, instead, he refills their glasses in a hesitant silence. He feels pity for William, though he says nothing of it, he's sure that William had had enough pity to last him a few lifetimes over.

'What about the dogs? How are they?'

#specialinvestigatorgraham

yourunclelecter

Count Lecter arched his brow in slight surprise. The fact was Mr. Sterling hadn’t forgotten his wallet. The older man had carefully made sure that the key for their encounter would slip out of his back pocket and onto his hand. But he had obviously made a mistake. He hadn’t actually bothered to open the small leathered thing. Robert’s wish had been to meet a member of Jack Crawford’s team. And after many days waltzing through the lobby of the FBI’s headquarters he had caught a glimpse of Sterling along with his name. He was confident he was a member of the team responsible for throwing Will Graham in jail…Little did he know that he too was interested in the brunette inmate.

He sighed and eyed the lawyer from head to toe, furrowing his brow slightly and offering a small smile. "…If you absolutely insist. And my name is Robert. Robert Lecter." The title that came with the name often made him seem posh, pretentious…Americans didn’t enjoy men who introduced themselves as “Counts" or “Sirs". Although this man, like himself, carried an accent. European. Perhaps this meeting wouldn’t be completely unpleasant after all.

etsterling-blog

'A pleasure to meet you. No doubt a relation of Doctor Lecter, I can't imagine it's a common name.'

His accent is all English, almost Oxford, despite his having been there only once and Lecter's is decidedly Eastern, much like the other. He's suspicious of Hannibal and, in turn, of this man, though he's unsure why. He doesn't know of their relation and he will, eventually, ask, but for now he settles on looking at him, wondering why this Robert Lecter would have come out so far to a place he was clearly uncomfortable being.

'How are you related to Doctor Lecter, then? He is a very intelligent man. No doubt, though, you have heard of his current misfortunes with patients and the like?'

Dead or imprisoned. And in such a short space of time. It would appear that Hannibal Lecter was getting sloppy with his care-giving.

#yourunclelecter

etsterling-blog

Help me help him. || the-alana-bloom

the-alana-bloom-archive-deactiv

Alana was just in the middle of getting dressed as she listened to her coffee pot brew. The aroma of fresh coffee filled her house as she fumbled to find her top.

Suddenly, Alana heard a rap at the door. She pulled her top over her head, clumsily, and then ran to get the door. There was a man there, he was very professional looking and he also seemed like he was on a mission. “Pleasure," she said with a smile as she extened her arm to her new best friend- Will’s lawyer, and introduced herself “My name’s Alana Bloom, Dr. Alana Bloom." she corrected herself, “Come on in." she told him, as she lead him to the kitchen.

"Coffee?" she offered.

etsterling-blog

He knows who she is already, how could he not? He had, after all, turned up at her house. He enters as he's invited and he finds himself led to the kitchen where his jacket is draped over the back of a chair,

'Tea, if you have any.'

He answers. Coffee, he's found, is a very American concept, the overdose of caffeine in the morning to keep one's senses sharp is lost on Edgar and he prefers to naturally come to his senses, and he's already done that with a cup of earl grey.

'I apologise for the early call, Miss Bloom, but I thought I'd catch you before work, as not to inconvenience you.'

#thealanabloom

amalignantnarcissist-deactivate

Causality [Closed]

On nights like this with formidable heat and seething energy like this city’s, it begged the question why a young woman had been trailing a man with with appeared to be a dry cleaner’s bag to the untrained eye. To tourists, the galleries of Baltimore or the esteemed opera house should have been the start to a long awaited ‘holiday’ - which it was, and should have been - but Alice, you see, was an opportunist. That resonated with a number of fields, some strictly academic, and other more recreational.

The latter’s field seemed to be getting broader day by day. Without the drag of London, you’d be surprised how many friends you can acquire and hobbies you can make as the lowly, lost tourist. These projects…investigations…the event horizon; the webs weaved…all very exciting. But that wasn’t her point of interest tonight. In fact the only thing that should be concerning her - if not the body-shaped bag, the potential murderer, or the fact that she was on the run - was the state her heels were going to be in once she’d finished trudging after the man out of the city and into the woods. Then again she hadn’t paid for them. At present and perched behind a tree, she held out her phone to capture a few shots and even video his progress. His face was visible: Almond shaped eyes. Floppy hair, like a yuppie or a dog. Attractive if you liked the homicidal type.

Pity. No La Traviata tonight. Tonight was Reconnaissance. Research. Homework, homework, homework. When the hit of the shovel became monotonous, Alice retraced her steps, making sure to count each stride for future reference; mapping out co-ordinates to unearth the departed. She planned on leaving tracks out of the woods…see if it made him sweat, whomever she may find him out to be.

etsterling-blog

It's the last one, he tells himself every time, the soft syllables a comfort to his rattled mind the last. This was his first here, in America, and it had been all wrong, this boy had been all wrong--sure he had the same, floppy hair, the same long limbs, but it was wrong. As soon as he'd opened his mouth and that dreadful accent had some pouring from chapped lips--another wrong--he had known that the boy's fate would be dire.

He wonders, for a moment, as he's disposing of the pathetic, little thing, if the woman filming him knows how much of a shine her jewelry--for, it being shiny, he assumes it a bracelet of some kind--gives off in the night. He doesn't worry about her, about her seeing him, about what she's doing, she's quiet and there's no screech of sirens. She wants something. He's finished with his work rather quickly, well practised in the art of hiding bodies, and he's not yet sure if it's safer here for him or back home in London, a busy city has many murders and disappearances, but a place like this? He doesn't know.

When done he leaves, following the tracks out that she's made--he finds it quite interesting she thought he wouldn't notice her, a pretty lady following him though town for the past two hours? Tsk.

It's not hard to catch up.

'What is it you want?'

He calls to her back, stopping his walking and brushing the dried dirt from his shirt.

#amalignantnarcissist

ohterribilita

It was an annoyance, though not unexpected, that the man he greeted recognized him. Despite his best intentions, his face was plastered all over the media alongside Will’s. The way Hannibal had told the story of how they had gone to Minnesota- Will coming to his office, deranged and sweating, Will with a gun, Hannibal the caring friend, taking the younger man to the Hobbs house with a mixture of a desire to help and fear- made a perfect front page feature. He had even been contacted by editors who wanted him to write a book, no matter the outcome of the trial.

"Yes. Will Graham is my patient." He replied, looking for all the world as if a heavy weight was resting on his shoulders. His hands hovered over the glass container holding his lunch. He speared a piece of meat on a fork, lifted it a few inches, then put it down with a sigh.

"May I ask who you are?" He added, “Too many reporters around, these days. You understand."

etsterling-blog

Edgar watches the man through half-squinted eyes, blamed possibly on the sun, watching as each word and movement seems to be carefully planned. Perhaps Hannibal Lecter isn't normal, perhaps he's playing normal, he wonders what the man is like when he's alone, when there's nobody to act for.

'Edgar Sterling. I'm William's lawyer.'

He wonders how Hannibal will react, there was a weight on the other man's shoulders but as of yet Edgar could not tell if it was worry or weariness. Does a psychiatrist ever care for their patients beyond the cheque at the end of the month?

'I've been looking through his acquaintances, colleagues, friends, though of those he has very few, but I had yet to come across you.'

Edgar sounds somewhat accusatory, though he doesn't mean it.

'Where have you been hiding?'

#ohterribilita

etsterling-blog

Poor little bird. || continuingsurvival

continuingsurvival

Huh. Well, that was interesting.

She was given the chance to speak; no immediate questions were forced upon her, no accusations or offers to help her through telling her story to the world. The ball was in her court, something that hadn’t been since she woke up.

Swallowing down words, Abigail lifts her fingers to brush against the scar on her neck and decides to try a different route with Edgar. To start off this new conversation with something that she has yet to ask a stranger.

"Do you think this marks me as the victim daughter or the monster daughter?"

etsterling-blog

'The scar? Both.'

He replies simply, as if he doesn't even have to think about it and, truth be told, he doesn't. He's worked cases similar from London to America and back again, there are murderers and serial killers aplenty that assault their own families, many more than people are aware of.

'You were almost killed by your own father--there you have sympathy factor, your pity. But you weren't--that's your cause for revenge, for emotional turmoil, breakdown, anger. Many people will think many different things but if the day ever comes that your morality or actions are in question you can bet that your being a victim will be forgotten.'

Edgar answers, explaining himself, he doesn't think that a simple both would be satisfactory.

#continuingsurvival

etsterling-blog

It brings out your eyes. || mrwilliamgraham

mrwilliamgraham

Will instantly felt intimidated and the more he tried to figure out exactly what was intimidating him, the more he felt the annoying emotion. He hated being out of control, and he sure as hell felt it, sat here, with Edgar standing above him.

He chewed on the inside of his lip, mostly out of nerves but also to keep his mouth shut. He was trying to behave. So that meant no pissing the man off, no matter how much disdain he had for the man.

"I understand completely." He finally said after wrestling with his emotions, having an inner battle and argument about how ridiculous this was. Accepting his help but like accepting who he was, but Will also knew that without Edgar’s help, he’d without a doubt face a lifetime in this place. So, he bit back his pride and gave in.

etsterling-blog

'Good.'

He's smiling now and he's settled down into his chair, eyes on William across the table. He leans in, elbows on it and chin atop closed hands, still just looking at him. He's just looking, just trying to imagine William actually doing the crimes he accused of, actually planning and committing them, and while he can imagine it he can't imagine it being true.

'With most people I know they're guilty, but, William, I don't think you are. I don't believe for a second that you killed those people. Unfortunately, what I think doesn't hold up in court without proof, so what we're doing is going on reasonable doubt.'

Edgar explains slowly, still not moving form his observant position. No words can explain how much he believes himself, believes in, and pities, Will.

'That means we have to find an assumption, a witness, something, anything that will cast "reasonable doubt" on their investigation. We'll work backwards. What do you remember about the day you took off with Abigail Hobbs? Was she with you the entire time? Was anybody else around you?'

#mrwilliamgraham

Should Eddie be suspicious of Hannibal?

"Une pétition est un poème et un poème est une pétition."

#points for whoever knows where the quote is from

really fucking unquality starters and replies rn I am so sorry.

#ooc

+ daughterhobbs

He knew the Hobbs family, once upon a time he had known Garrett Hobbs, they had hunted the American woods together and he had enjoyed the man's company and the man's appreciation for life. They had been young then. He saw Garrett once a year at the most, and he saw, to his delight, the young Abigail growing before his eyes.

It has been more than seven years since he's seen either of them and, well, he won't be seeing Garrett anymore. The news had not been much of a shock to him, Garrett had always been a peculiar man, and this had only served to prove his theory, after all, who cared that much about a deer?

Abigail had been a child when he'd seen her last and frankly she hasn't changed much. He stands in the lobby of this hospital, all shining floors, green leaves and polished wood, and he frowns ever so slightly, watching her through the window. He watches her come towards him and he wonders for a moment if she'll look at him, if she'll even recognise him. A nurse grabs her attention and another grabs his, there's minimal conversation--he's not a fan of nurses--and then Abigail is gone.

Led to her room he fiddles with the coat slung over his arm, and standing in the door he's awkward, nervous.

'Abigail. Do you remember me?'

#daughterhobbs