Circle 5: Gluttonous - CONTRIBUTORS
‘Aye, that the measure overflows its bounds, / Held me in brighter days.’
The sinners, removed from they’re feasts in life, are punished by hail, snow and continued discolored water, three-headed Cerberus barking over them and rending them apart.
Regarding Ravage: “Gluttonous is a circle that I am extremely familiar with ;) - over-indulging in food, drink and addictions eh? Perfectly placed between lust and greed, calling it a sin certainly explains the guilt :/I’m aiming to illustrate Hannibal’s excessive, delicious, decadence in this.”
Regarding Ravage: “A Last Supper of another kind.“
Early morning is a good time for a stroll. The sounds of humanity are muted then, a back drop so faint that if you listen carefully it is possible to hear the earth talking, or at least that is what Hannibal Lecter’s grandmother used to say.
Just as she once did he walks in dark places before the rising of the sun.
Today stones shifts under his feet and the sea laps lazily over sand. It is calm now, in a few hours children will rush down from the dunes straight into the warm, welcoming water.
Last night was another story. The sea made itself heard, debris strewn the length of the beach lies in testament. Mostly it is drift wood, sea weed, the occasional dead bird and human rubbish cast adrift from other shores.
Ahead of him is a dark lump of a thing, it could easily be a sea mammal but Hannibal has an idea of what else it could be, but he is not in a rush. He bends down, settles onto his haunches and carefully examines a small cluster of stones. There is one, it is thin, flat and circular in shape, it should skim quite nicely. Three times it bounces before it is taken by the sea, good enough, thinks Hannibal, although room for improvement. He tries again, this time he manages five.
There will be Hannibal ;)
Example work: Six hours warning
Six hours. Six whole hours. He glances at the clock on the mantelpiece and regrets it instantly. Better to exist outside of time, to hang in limbo. The only thing more excruciating than the waiting is the stark realisation of just how much it is affecting him to be alone. In the beginning it was difficult, now it is close to intolerable. He doesn’t know how much longer he can wait.
He breathes out a long and pained sigh as he returns to pacing before the fireplace, barely glancing at the glowing coals of the fire even as the logs crackle and spit out sparks in his direction. The book he had been reading this morning sits forgotten on an armchair, his sketchbook and charcoals freshly abandoned on the coffee table. Outside, the wind blows flurries of snow that eddy and swirl against the frosted windows. Six hours.
Regarding Ravage: “Raging against the austerity and restraint of his youth, Hannibal expresses his freedom through the sin of gluttony. A feast of fine food, a feast of blood, a feast of sensation. Inspired by the sin of overindulgence and the hellish torments that await the gluttonous within the Inferno, this story will delve into the life of Hannibal in high society during a season of plenty.”
Example work: Forgemaster
Char froze. He knew the butterfly must be laughing at him, but he was fixed to the spot. Because he knew, intellectually, that the forgemaster would be strong. Seeing the powerful muscles flex under golden skin was an entirely different kind of knowledge. His lower back was a beautiful curve, leading to plush buttocks and strong thighs. Heavy upper arm musculature rounded out the utterly inviting physique. His skin was marked with deep blue runes and swirls, across his back and ass and thighs. Char was entranced. He moved closer, the waterfall drowning the sound of his feet on the tiles, feeling like an utter creeper but also utterly unable to help himself. One Eye was scrubbing at his hands, and his shoulder blades flexed under his skin. As Char came closer, he could make our the fine tracery of scars that mapped the god’s back. They looked like… whip marks. A tiny, horrified gasp escaped him, and One Eye turned and found him there.
Regarding Ravage: “I’m best at writing funny things, or lighthearted, at least, so this was quite a challenge for me. It ended up being lighthearted anyway, so at least I’m consistent! I really enjoyed working with all these creative people, and exploring a world I’ve never explored before.”
Example work: Trapped in a Rainstorm in Central Baltimore
Falling didn’t feel like flying. Will didn’t feel weightless; rather, he became aware of the weight of their bodies only when they had already lost the ground beneath their feet. It didn’t feel like peace. Didn’t taste of freedom. It was the sickening sensation of Earth losing its axis. His stomach lurched, and his heart skipped a beat in shock. It certainly did not ‘feel like forever’. It lasted two seconds, and then it was over, and gravity had reclaimed them.
The water was akin to a thousand pinpricks and drove iciness beneath Will’s skin. The impact pushed the last bit of air out of his lungs; it cost him every ounce of willpower left in him not to breathe in. The brackish taste of the Atlantic infiltrated his body anyway, uninvited, entering his mouth and nose and ears. There was nothing but darkness all around him. Darkness and the muffled roar of waves. His wounds burned from the saltwater. After mere seconds his fingers grew numb. His fingers, which held fabric and skin in their grip. How easy it would be, to let go, to let him sink and then follow after him. Death by drowning was always described as a peaceful thing, once you surrendered to it. No!… No?
Something spurred Will on, his grip tightening all on its own. He must not let go, must never let go. He had to swim, had to survive. He felt the weight of antlers breaking through his skull, and yet he didn’t feel weighed down by them. Instinct took over; there was no use fighting it. Will Graham was weak and hurt and overwhelmed by his wish to die. The beast within, however, did not accept the fate put onto it by force. It had waited too long to finally taste blood again. Now its mouth was filled with it, even though the blood was its own.
Regarding Ravage: “It’s going to be Il Mostro!era Hannibal. Like, Hannibal, still traumatised by Mischa’s death, right on the cusp of becoming Il Mostro. He loses himself in Florence with all it has to offer - food, culture, architecture, music, art, EVERYTHING, and slowly becomes who he is now. And he starts committing his first art murders, and they nearly get him caught right at the beginning, because he is still so caught up in FEELING it. And so he slowly grows better and better at the entire thing, reigns in his instincts while keeping the hunger for life itself on max.I interpret “gluttony” not only food-wise, but just related to experiences as a whole. Life is a feast for the senses for Hannibal, and I hope to show that!”
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