#cervusdiaboli

[terr1fy]

HANNIBAL LECTER:  WE CAN HELP EACH OTHER.

candlelight caught the rim of genevieve’s crystalline glass,    casting fractured crimson across the table where they sat across from one another.  her posture,  rigid as the centuries old marble statue at the entrance of her lounge,  showed her distrust for both the man opposite her,  and their current conversation.  she barely knew hannibal,  but she’d heard stories.  he was the type of vampire she didn’t enjoy having inside of her poppy house.    ‘help,’    she repeated,  voice a melodic chime,  her french lilt elongating the word.  genevieve finally turned her gaze toward him,  her lilac eyes unblinking,  searching the refined mask of hannibal’s features for the hunger that always lurked beneath his manners.  allowing a polite smile to touch her lips,  genevieve leaned in just enough for the scent of his expensive cologne to reach her.    ‘a generous offer,  docteur,  but i do not enjoy the term feeling so transactional,  in this moment,’    she traced the delicate lace at her wrist with one sharp nail.    ‘you offer a partnership,  no?  well,  i suspect you are looking for something far more fulfilling on your side of things.  je suis de sole,  but i fail to see how this help you speak of will benefit me,' @cervusdiaboli.

[canisdiaboli]

i don't like seeing you struggle this way.

those words are make him feel colder than the concrete walls that surround him. hannibal is looking upon him with a saddened expression, a ploy that will can see right through and they both know it. it’s all so condescending. will’s top lip curls, baring canines much in the same manner as the strays that he so deeply related to in this moment. he felt like a lost dog taken in my animal control, except there was no family that would be looking for him or retrieving him from his cell. he was damned and it was hannibal to blame for it all.

will feverishly rubs at his face, glistening with sweat and flush with fever. a scoff turns into a chuckle, slightly maniacal in nature. shock. " you… you don’t like to see me 'struggle'? that’s what this visit is? " he abruptly stands from the wooden bench and approaches the cell bars grabbing onto them with a white knuckle grip. he hears the faint click of an officer turning the safety off but he doesn’t back off. for a man who so adamantly despises eye contact he’s yet to break it with the doctor in front of him. " i’m struggling to understand why you’re here — again. " eyes flicker down to hannibal’s groin area the back up. " or do you just get off to seeing your patients behind bars, doctor lecter. "

[canisdiaboli]

@cervusdiaboli liked for a lyric starter !!

" it feels so fucking numb. it hits my head and i feel so numb. "

[terr1fy]

HANNIBAL LECTER: MAN'S A MASTER OF DECEIT.

he didn't sit ; he loomed. even when his body was failing him. in the natural light of hannibal's office, john looked like the sick man he was. pale skin, milky eyes, tremor plagued hands held tight in his lap to keep them from being seen. he glanced out the window, overcast sun only washing him out more as he spoke. 'i think of deceit more as a parlor trick, doctor lecter. a . . . veil used by those who are afraid to look at their own reflections, maybe,' hands clasped tighter behind his back, knuckles turning white with the effort. 'i've never been fond of lying. a man who spends his life wearing a mask is just a slave to the image he's created,' when he finally looked back at hannibal, it seemed as if john had used all of his energy for this conversation. still, he didn't move away from the window. 'liars aren't a master of anything,' @cervusdiaboli.

[terr1fy]

HANNIBAL LECTER: INSIDE ONE MUSE'S OFFICE.

the air in the office was thick. clarice stood by the heavy oak desk, her fingers tracing the edge of hannibal's sketches. it was, of course, precise, beautiful and devastatingly sharp. she could feel his presence behind her before she even heard him move, and the hair on her arms stood up as he grew ever closer. heat radiated from him ; for some reason, clarice thought he would be cold, exactly like the sterile, academic chill of his office. when she felt his hand on her, she reluctantly related the contact to a live wire, though she didn't flinch. instead, she let out a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding. the boundaries of the law, the bureau, and her own rigid sense of self were blurring into the shadows of the room. she turned slowly to face him, bright eyes searching his dark, inscrutable ones. 'you're standin' very close, doctor,' she murmured, her voice steady despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs. but she didn't move away. if anything, she leaned into the small space remaining between them. 'figured you were a man who valued his personal space,' @cervusdiaboli.

[canisdiaboli-a]

they said you needed to talk to me? -> @cervusdiaboli

yes, he did summon hannibal lecter here but it was not due to any need of an impromptu therapy session. instead it was so that he could look this man in the eyes, stare him down with such a silent rage just clawing at the back of his throat. he could use a good scream. but like he told alana, he’s afraid that if he started he would never stop; not even when his throat has gone raw and vocal chords damaged. he would scream with the hope that dr. lecter could hear his agony. ( that would probably only serve to bring the psychiatrist pleasure, though. )

will’s dull eyes lift from the cold metal of the small cage he’s been placed in, falling on that serpentine smile and eyes that projected such a perfect innocence. i’m going to kill him. " doctor lecter. " his voice is low, a mumble. as if attempting to lure the other man in closer to the cage. will tilts his head to the side while eyes look hannibal up and down. he scoffs. " new suit? you intend to look your best as you see me off to the electric chair? "

[terr1fy]

HANNIBAL LECTER: TAKEN. CLARICE HAS A SMALL INJURY AND HANNIBAL WIPES AWAY SOME OF THE BLOOD, THEN LICKS IT OFF HIS HAND.

the air in the room suddenly felt thin ; the scent of copper sharp, even metallic between them. where once she thought she might [ull away, clarice did not, even if her body wanted her to. hannibal's thumb pressed against the nick of her skin - movement steady, nearly clinical - and it was a geature of a man who seemed to appreciate the finer details of a . . . not a woman. not even a human, in this instance, but a specimen. she waited for him to reach for a handkerchief to wipe his skin clean of her blood, but the motion never came.

instead, hannibal brings the tainted thumb to his lips, pressing the bloodied pad to his tongue. the sight of him tasting it ; her - so casual, yet so predatory - sends a cold spike through clarice's saintly composure. her pulse thuds hard against her ribs ; a trapped bird desperately pleading for its freedom from its golden cage. for a moment, the weight of the badge in her pocket felt like a toy, a piece of tin that offered no protection against someone who wanted to consume her. 'you're makin' a habit of oversteppin', doctor,' clarice's voice was steadier than her hands, which were retroactively shoved into her pockets. as much as she wanted to clean the rest of the blood from her face, all she could do was watch him, wondering if the lamb had finally stopped screaming - or if it was simply holding its breath, waiting for hannibl's next move. @cervusdiaboli.

[terr1fy]

@cervusdiaboli.