We've been open for a couple weeks now and we wanna get this plot a-rollin'! Therefore, we are doing a Great Becoming meet-n-greet, or an RP Social. Group Mixer?
Anyway! Starting SATURDAY JULY 19 AT 5PM EST we're going to have a nice getting to know you session in the group chat where everyone can meet and talk and get threads going and generally break the ice.
Don't worry though, we're not doing any of that first day of school stand up say your name whatever, it's honestly an excuse to get everyone together!
-*- If you do not have the web address for the chat or the password please send an ask to the main blog so we may provide it for you! -*-
There are millions of people in the world with dark curly hair and strong posture. Millions more who are five eleven and wear glasses and at a closer glance Jim could see the man in line for coffee four people ahead of him was not Sherlock Holmes.
Just a glance in the man's direction had sent his adrenaline and panic spiking for a moment, not because he was afraid of Sherlock, but of what Sherlock could potentially ruin.
The not-Sherlock-man was, however, still incredibly familiar to him and it took two grande macchiatos and one frappucino with an extra shot of espresso and no whip for him to realize who he was looking at.
He hadn't kept up with Freddie Lounds' little online articles about Will Graham since that nasty business a few months ago with Hannibal Lecter, but he was certain.
No mistaking that nervous little flutter as he looked around at the crowded place, the itch in his fingers to get somewhere more peaceful and the dog hair still on the jacket that hadn't been washed since he arrived in London.
The next question was, why was Will Graham in London in the first place?
Will's coffee order was simple where his mind was complex and Jim quickly ordered his own, not wanting to be seen by too many in public as it were.
His overly sugared latte was placed on the counter in time with Will's and both names were called, both stepped forward and in the delicate ballet of restaurant-coffee-retrieval etiquette, Jim purposefully missed a step and grabbed the wrong cup, appearing to be engrossed in his phone and stepped out the door, knowing Will Graham would notice and undoubtedly follow him for the rejuvenating drink caught in The Spider's grasp.
Thank you for the incredibly beautiful things you make... I very much appreciate seeing it on my dash. You make some very inspiring stuff. :) Love your blog. LotR is the best. I hope you have a very nice day! <3
awww this is so sweet, thank YOU, angel <3 I hope you have a very nice day too :3
Bedelia has lived in this world for fourteen years. Don't look so startled; there are more things in heaven and on earth, Horatio, and even beyond. There is such a thing as an universe next door.
Although whether it's a hell of a good one or not, she can hardly say. One brother, one sister; one sister, one brother; the one of them forever seems destined to survive.
There's the reason she hasn't revealed herself to him. As much as they've loved each other, the loving has been at a distance. Distance has been their friend, as much as their enemy. You can't be let down when your expectations are limited to a mind palace.
But he is as drawn to her as she is to him, and someday...
That poor girl, Abigail. She must have meant a great deal to him.
Michaela Lecter smiles at another of Hannibal's jokes, and eats veal.
she survived
Mischa does not remember Castle Lecter as it was before the soldiers came. To her, the soldiers have always been here; to her, the castle has always been dark and small and dingy.
The only glimpses of previous glory are in her brother's stories, in the black swans that come every spring, and in the eggplants that are grown in the vegetable garden. One thing that has not changed is her love of aubergine - that brilliantly dark purple color that makes her feel happy. Like autumn, and sunshine.
But boys do not like aubergine, Hannibal tells her. Boys are not supposed to like aubergine, and Mischa must be a boy, or they will be separated.
She listens. She remembers. When their uncle finds them, she is a girl again; and he and Lady Murasaki indulge her in as much color as she wants; and her teenage years are a blazon of color, every one she can find.
Hannibal protects her. Hannibal has always protected her. When he goes on his bloody rampage, he leaves her out of it, and Lady Murasaki forbids her to ever see him again. She lives with her uncle and his wife in Japan for several years. And then she doesn't.
She is too much like her brother, it seems. But at first, she is less subtle; so she runs, changes her name and adds a mouche, changes her nose, her face, her name.
But she is not so unlike Hannibal again that she does not recognize him.
He knows. She knows. But neither of them know.
And that - that is the map of the labyrinth between them.
a girl to a woman
Give me the fucking fruit, some Persephone said. Bedelia has always known what Hannibal was. She has been haunted by his ghosts, plagued by his sadness. She has been fascinated by the person suit he wears - and it is a person suit, as much as he denies it.
Some people would be scared by staring into the psyche of a serial killer. But Bedelia has always known that the abyss was staring at her, and she has never done anything but stare straight back. She has different standards for company than most people she meets. But then she always has.
(The first ghost she ever met was the ghost of her brother. A child of six - and she had to choose between loving him, and loving her father.
She chose her father, of course. What child wouldn't? But because of that, the choices she's made have always been different than other people's choices. She's always been fascinated and curious about darkness, and how it touched the people around her.
Her father killed her brother when he was twenty-three. Bedelia was born when he was thirty-one. She still knows her own crimes. She chose to forgive her father. She chose to ignore her brother, crying out for revenge with his wringed neck and disemboweled stomach. She chose to ignore the screams coming from her meat, the blood seeping out onto the tablecloth, the extra perception given her by some fluke of God or nature.
Bedelia's always been an abettor, not a murderer. And besides - the ghost that haunts Hannibal is more interesting than most.)
