Title: Viridescence (Or, the Life Cycle of a Native Man)
Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence
Tags: southern gothic au, new orleans, historical(ish), hallucinations and other forms of madness, probably too many nature metaphors, requisite cannibalism, will is vaguely suicidal, minor character death, winston is the only pure one here
Posting date: 16 November
In the bayou just outside 1919 New Orleans, Will Graham is grieving the death of his father and learning, far too quickly, that he must give up the isolation he has known his entire life in order to survive. On a trip into New Orleans to purchase chicory for his coffee, Will learns about the Axeman, a serial killer terrorizing the city, and meets Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a wealthy foreigner with an alligator smile. Against his better judgement, he allows the foreigner back to his cabin in the bayou.
What should terrify Will instead excites him, and, as a dangerous romance buds between them, Will learns that taking a life is much easier than letting one go.
The cabin on its stilts was a dark shadow within the heavy fog, backlit by the last remnants of daylight. If Will could capture and exist within a single moment for the rest of his life, he imagined it would be in the bayou twilight, when the heat was sweet, sticky, and languid, when the frogs and crickets began their songs, when the still water started to ripple with the hidden hunting of terrible, beautiful creatures.
Hannibal was quiet, carrying the jug of kerosene in one hand and his shoes in the other. Back where they had left the foreigner’s automobile, he had rolled up his trouser legs, while Will had stared intentionally out past the horizon.
With every step, Will believed he had made a terrible mistake bringing this man here. Alligators hunt at dusk, his father had told him.
“This is it,” Will murmured as they came up on the cabin. He turned to take the jug from Hannibal, saying, “Thank you for the help, Dr. Lecter. If you follow our trail back, you should find your automobile easily.”
Hannibal did not release the jug immediately, rather cocked his head slightly to the side and said, “You would not even offer me a cup of chicory coffee? That’s rather rude, isn’t it?”
Rude? Will paled slightly, glancing down at where his fingers lingered at the handle of the jug. No one but he and his father ever came to the cabin. Was it rude to bring a stranger here? Rude to—
Winston came running, his snuffling nose bypassing Will entirely to press against Hannibal, who released the jug to pat the dog’s head. “Who is this?”
“Well, Winston,” Hannibal said, scratching the mutt behind the ears, “you’re a much better host than Will, aren’t you?”
If bringing Hannibal this far was a mistake, allowing him inside the cabin would be a disaster. Will swallowed heavily, trying to think of some way to turn Hannibal away without telling him about his father’s corpse on the bed. He could not give Hannibal any reason to believe he might be the Axeman. Could not let the city seep into his life here. Could not let an alligator smell the blood on his hands.
