❧ Entry No.1

[avoirfaim]

[ Hannibal does not make himself known on the network right away. He instead explores, reading what he can and figuring out exactly where he is. Wonderland. He's not above believing in what was once thought impossible, so long all the evidence fits. God works in mysterious, cruel ways after all, and Hannibal takes it in stride. He takes a day to officially announce his arrival. Making a move on the board without knowing what game you’re playing is be naive at best, but more likely just plain stupid. His device is comfortable enough in his hand, like the familiar shape of his ipad, and he’s already scrolled through, until he found he understood the situation well enough. Only then, after learning what he could and checking his person suit in the mirror does he show himself. It’s a video, and Hannibal is the model of concerned professionalism. ]

Good evening, my name is Doctor Hannibal Lecter, and it seems that I’m what you might call a new arrival. I’ve combed through the archives and believe that I have a good understanding of the situation at hand. While I do find it terribly rude that I have been torn from my home without the courtesy of an invitation, one can hardly expect such a formality from any higher power.

[ Not that he considers himself to be lesser in any way, but it’s curious, and he keeps the thought to himself, as he does so many others. He then pauses for a moment with his tongue to the roof of his mouth, choosing his words, before continuing. ]

It seems that I’m not alone in being pulled from my world into this one, so I find myself somewhat obligated by my profession to provide you all with a warning. There is a man here now, another new arrival, by the name of Will Graham. While I do consider him to be a friend and a good man, he has a history of mental instability and is currently on trial for multiple murders. I would suggest exercising caution in his presence and referring to me should you have any questions or concerns.

[Do you see that waters of being genuinely concerned in his eyes? Good. ]

Comments

[avoirfaim]

[ I'll blame whoever's responsible. That sounds a whole lot like I'll blame you, and the text behind the lines glows bright red. He can taste Will's disdain and he wants to suck it out like poison from a wound--an irony he's aware of, as a snake delivering venom. He sucks the back of his teeth instead, gaze focused and intent on Will as if he'll slip away if he is distracted for even a moment.

Knowing Will, he just might. ]

I should have, I'm sorry. You can trust me above all others, Will.

[glumshoe]

Yes. You've seen to that.

[ Will has no choice but to straddle the line spanning all possible truths: that Hannibal has alienated his friends and colleagues into abandonment, that he's intentionally sent a wave of fear of Will through their new setting, and that Hannibal has made himself alone the keeper of his darkest impulses long before Will had seen the inside of a cell. He knew just where to mine, then struck Will deep and true, and out of the vein bubbled the pain and fury until what he really wanted came up a rich red, almost black in the absence of light.

Hannibal can choose whatever version suits his mask. Through its slits Will is compelled to stay where he is, to figure out the shade of red looking back out at him and be fearless in divining his answer. Hannibal the psychiatrist feeds on the slivers of heart he offers up. Hannibal the killer gluts himself on the attention as he pulls Will's focus to him, using bodies as signposts. Hannibal the friend offers his help and trust when Will has neither and in doing so dominates Will's time and attention. He is a glutton, a dangerous, but common quality in a chef. ]

But I don't. [ It sounds painful to say, and on a level perhaps it is. He makes a step toward the door, still oriented toward Hannibal, a fearful worshipper toward its angered god. ] And I can't be - intimate with you when I can't trust you.

[ You can't but starve a glutton. ]

[avoirfaim]

[ The expression Hannibal wears like a second skin stays firm, reacting with locked jaw and the concerned discontent of a grieving companion. Yet, in the hollows of his eyes there is a glimmer that only the sharpest would see. Pride glistens in the red of his eyes, the color of drying blood mixing with the soil, destined to bring new life in death.

He knows Will can see it, can feel his own pride in spite of the mask he must wear, just as he can hear the dishonesty and the desperate attempt to pull the strings of the puppeteer. Their strings are tied and they can both feel each tug until either the string snaps of one falls into the other. Hannibal is the stronger man by far, with muscles like wire and a grip like a vice.

His eyes never leave Wills, even as he backs towards the door. Hannibal doesn't move from his spot, leaning against the side of a chair, hands entwined in front of him. He doesn't need to lunge, and so he won't. He will merely play the martyr, who sacrificed their intimacy for the greater good. ]

We all must have somebody to trust, Will. We are social creatures within our deepest natures, and isolating yourself will only drive you further into your own madness. You know as well as I that true intimacy isn't trust but the bond of empathy.

[ You are always intimate, Will Graham, and Hannibal will claim your intimacy for himself. ]

[glumshoe]

[ Hannibal's interest veers only into the sharpest: in minds, in natures, in weaponry. It was Will's misfortune to possess qualities from all three, to be pliable toward having them coaxed into the forefront and have Will exist as a triality, perfectly balanced because Hannibal willed it so, with careful hands serving as whetstones. Pride comes before a fall, and the grounds that Hannibal desecrate with blood will be the same that turn fertile with life he could not predict.

From a moment of Will's desperation, Hannibal has already steeled the strings against failure. Hot with shame, frigid with bitterness, Will is punished for his lack of foresight and feels his limbs dance to instruction no matter how he pulls against them. They bind and cut, and all that snaps so far is Will himself, disengaging from a confrontation he was not ready for and can't afford to take further loss on.

Withdrawing to the door handle is a controlled descent. What part of Will's shivering, bright eyed boy mask is an act isn't known to him; for authenticity it's better he doesn't. He pulls the tattered shreds of defiance to clothe it, sharpened, warped black claws slipping through gaps in the fabric. Will would make a show of warning him against it as a last act of the exchange, if Hannibal would perform heeding. ]

Intimacy with a murderer - [ He almost balks on the word, thick through the ghost of alleged shrouding it. ] - from anyone can be forcibly taken. It doesn't entitle you to my trust for the sole reason that you are the only one that reaches for it.

It does, however, behoove you to be careful what you take. Unorthodox methods or not.