InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "I miss the old orgy room."

Erik (i_haunt) wrote in we_coexist,
@ 2015-01-22 19:24:00

Entry tags:

arya stark, erik, hannibal lecter, zz:status complete

Delicacy (Hannibal, Arya)
The girl he left in his kitchen was in pain. She suffered. She waited for him. The girl left in his kitchen was in pain. He was responsible for her. Erik drew his scattering thoughts back to Arie again and again. Above it all, she was a singular thread, iron and brutal and ugly, but nothing like the horrors left in the vacuum of Christine's absence.

His servants had relocated to basement storage the wheelchair that Hannibal once sent to his manor. On his way down to the storage room, Erik remembered to grab the phone. The doctor's number was still on speed dial - a courtesy and convenience built in for his servants (and his wife, his wife) when Erik was too ill to dial the number himself. When Hannibal's voice answered, Erik opened his mouth and said something - less than a handful of words. As soon as he dropped the handset on the last bit of furniture he passed, he forgot whatever it was he'd said. The door to the basement stairs closed behind him.

There were a few minutes lost to his memory. He could remember only the presence of old friends - the hand of rage on his shoulder, the breath of helplessness against the back of his neck, the claws of pain raking his chest. What had drawn him back? He looked at the handles of the wheelchair in both blood-speckled hands, knuckles stinging, then checked behind him. The basement door was destroyed, and the blood must have been his own.

A sound came to him, the siren bell, ringing. He walked with the wheelchair (the girl is hurting) to the door of his manor, straightening last night's rumpled shirt with one flattened hand. Hannibal. Yes, of course. Erik pressed the button that would allow the doctor entrance through the otherwise-inpenetrable security around his manor, then turned back toward the kitchen. Arie was waiting. She needed him.

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i_consume
2015-01-23 04:31 am UTC (link)

I need you.

Words spoken into the phone. Hannibal knew the voice and didn't need to be told. He didn't ask why he was being told this, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that the syllables had been uttered.

He looked at the man sitting opposite him. They'd both taken chairs in Lady Murasaki's flat, not speaking at first, but mimicking one another's movements without trying. Their posture had been the same, their mannerisms. The elder was a touch more refined and controlled in his behaviors, a thing that the younger hadn't thought at all possible. He had imagined himself at the height of control, and yet here was this elegance before him. Not quite as raw and feral. It was impressive. He'd been intrigued.

Moreso when they'd actually begun talking. Sharing experiences. This man was not the Anthony Hopkins he had seen at the cinema, but the story was no different. They shared a history, a dark past. But this man had lived things he never could. And he had lived things this man never would. He didn't know the love of the brilliant girl, River. He didn't know what it was like to be adored by Lestat - though should Lestat meet him...

They shared.

They were still sharing, honestly, when Erik's call came. But Hannibal politely interrupted his meeting with Hannibal and explained that a dear friend had need of him. The older version did not seem offended, he appreciated the need of good friends and the desire to help them.

He was anxious to see Erik and know what was going on, but also thinking about the Hannibal he had left in the flat. A flat that clearly now belonged to him, considering the City had placed him there. The way that he spoke, the things he had done.

Will Graham...

Hannibal was buzzed into the entrance to the mansion, and found Erik quickly. His friend did not look well. It wasn't sickness, or the man's physical heart, clearly. But there was some kind of ache. And a need.

I need you.

"Erik." Hannibal coaxed. "What is it that I can do for you?"

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i_haunt
2015-01-23 01:54 pm UTC (link)

Erik had his back to the entrance to the kitchen, and the girl was so small that she was easily hidden by Erik's body. When he turned toward the voice, he revealed both the wheelchair he'd brought up and the girl sitting at his kitchen counter, face pale, leg splinted. She really should not be up, but Erik respected the need for freedom and wouldn't tell her she was required to stay anywhere that hindered that freedom.

"This is Arie," he said to Hannibal without preamble. His knuckles were gently bleeding, still, and he left the wheelchair to go to the kitchen sink. "My former driver hit her last night."

It was easier when he could see Arie, see her and know that she was his responsibility. Most of him wanted nothing more than to bury himself in his music room and play until he wrung his heart dry. But this small girl kept him here. She was brave. She hadn't complained once, and she'd had much cause for it.

"Arie, Hannibal is better at tending bodies than I am." He said this over his shoulder, as he rinsed loose skin and blood from the backs of his hands. He was trying very hard to remember the poise he so easily wore most times. Even that felt stripped. To his shame, he could tell that Hannibal knew this much. Erik kept his back to the both of them as he dried his hands. He could not stand here forever, but maybe he could stand here long enough that he could find some dignity.

All the while, another part of his mind laughed at such a struggle. What was dignity, what was anything, when the woman who'd lit his life was utterly gone? The laughter escaped in a low and quiet exodus.

	fear_cuts 2015-01-26 06:41 pm UTC (link)
	"He said it was morphene," Arya said, annoyed and suddenly suspicious. If she'd been lied to... well, she was in no condition to do anything about it right now. "It made me fuzzy and tired. I think it was like milk of the poppy. Did he poison me?" Her hands tightened into fists. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)