#shcsalrightnow

[savantisms-blog]

starter for @shcsallrightnow

Of all the things a father figure should be encouraging his charge to do, sneaking out of a court mandated mental health facility was probably not one of them. Still, not only had she already been caught sneaking out once--and they truly didn’t do much to stop her from doing it again--but Will would rather he knew what she was sneaking off to do. Thus, they were going on a picnic. He wanted to take her fishing, but his shoulder was bothering him and the weather wasn’t right. It had been cold and rainy for several days straight, setting a gloomy mood.

He waited in his car on the road, not far from the facility. She’d have to make her way through a line of trees to get to him, but at least she’d be able to disappear and he wouldn’t be seen. Jack would flay him alive for this.

They were going to visit a state park not too far away, so she could at least get back to the facility in a timely fashion. The picnic areas were covered, so they’d be safe from the misty rain. In the back, he’d packed his camp stove for them to heat up coffee and soup on. 

There was also an additional passenger, who simply couldn’t keep himself in the back seat. It was Winston. Will tore his eyes away from the spot in the trees Abigail would come from to argue with the poor pup, trying to encourage him to get into the backseat.

“Look, she can’t fit up here with you in the seat! You’re too big, you’re not a lap dog.”

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

Alana blames Will and Hannibal in equal measure post Mizumono for the death of Abigail. It had started with a resentment she felt when Will shirked all her attempts to reach out to him, going as far as to apologize for what she feels she was wrong in doing when she accused him of being a murderer. Over time, it becomes apparent to her that he is unsafe, is, in fact, a murderer and that he is responsible in large part for Abigail’s death. While she gives herself enormous part to not saving Abigail Hobbs and blames herself strongly for not knowing exactly what was happening/for not being able to know what Hannibal was, she recognizes Hannibal and Will both strongly idealized Abigail and it led to her demise, ultimately. She hates Will for this, and tries hard as she can to keep her burning resentment out of her therapy sessions with Hannibal. She, herself, is not dealing well with her grief, if at all. Abigail Hobbs felt like a daughter to her. She’d strongly encouraged her to try to go on with her life after the crimes with her father and helped Abigail fill out college applications, going as far as to extend her own recommendations. After her death, when she’d arrived back home from the hospital finally, Alana discovered a letter from NYU in her mailbox congratulating Abigail Hobbs on her acceptance. Alana carved Abigail’s name into a stone in her yard and buried beneath it a scarf she’d intended to give her plus the Flannery O’Connor Anthology she’d first read her. She frequently plants flowers by the little memorial and tells Abigail about her day. Unfortunately, having been in an induced coma following severe head trauma in an attempt to relieve the brain swelling after her defenestration, Alana didn’t get to attend the girl’s funeral. She still feels actively like she’s lost a child, but continues to feel it isn’t her place to be vocal about it.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

Now that you know the truth about Hannibal, do you wish you had let Matthew Brown finish him off?

The question makes her muscles twitch defiantly. She feels its answer like acid on her tongue and it burns all the worse for that, so she drowns its taste with a long swallow of vicious whiskey that bites as it goes down. This leaves her of two minds, and she can feel the halves of her own selves as they bicker– the selfless one, the selfish one. Within us each, she thinks, two natures.

“On one hand– if that young man had killed him, I– would only agree to it in question of preventing Abigail’s death, of freezing the timeline cold to lead her away from her fate. She would’ve been found and taken into proper care, without Hannibal there,” she doesn’t bring up Will’s borderline disembowelment, her own defenestration, Crawford’s gushing throat slit. She thinks those things do not deserve observance as Abigail’s life does. These are not things she will pay penance for. These ills have been recovered from, and yet a beloved young woman is dead.

She thinks she had deserved the broken spine. Will had deserved his torso smile as it is now, a reminded of Abigail Hobbs and his hesitation to act. Jack had deserved the sickening crescent that decorates his neck. No, deserves is not the right word. These are excusable things, she thinks. Their healed injuries, patched. Abigail did not deserve to lose her life.

“On the other hand– death is too kind to Hannibal. He has always believed death to be peace. A limitless expanse of nothingness to create harmonious balance. Death is peace. And he is much more deserving of incarceration. It’s a hollow suffering, boredom. Undignified, your relevance, your usefulness leaking from your pores, noxious and rancid into the air. It’s acidic, being forgotten. The way the elderly become acrid over time,” she pours another shallow glass, fingers the rim hesitantly, “I would have let him die if it would mean Abby had lived. For her life, I would’ve traded his.”