the return of the revenge of just rp it.

[musedactyl]

how to play.

1. Drop a comment with one or more of your muses. It can be empty if you want me to make a scenario, or you can toss one at me. Prompts are boss. (a word, song, lyric, picture, phrase, a meme prompt, anything). Specify if there's something you do or don't want, otherwise I could throw anything at you: AUs, shippiness, awfulness. You've been warned, son.
1b. If you want to continue a verse we started in another thread somewhere, specify it in the comment or subject line. I'd be down for revisiting any of those.

2. In the subject line, you can specify any of my muses you might want to play with (including OCs, who have their own list), or you can ask me to pick someone. No muses are off-limits except for those that have no icon uploaded on the list. Otherwise, I'll pick or randomize someone.
2b. Muses I would really love to play right now, in case you are having a hard time choosing: Hawke, Hannibal Lecter, Selina Kyle, Fox Mulder, Cigarette Smoking Man, Serafina, Pepper Potts, Lois Lane, Jacen Solo.

3. just rp with me. if something jives really well, maybe we can continue it in another one of these later, sort of like a super casual verse. if it doesn't, it doesn't.

Comments

[entrees]

[ he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and begins rolling up his sleeves past his elbows with deliberate movements, holding that eye contact as long as she will grant it, reading the turmoil there. ] Mr. Dimmond knew that I had stolen Dr. Fell's identity, but did not understand my purposes for doing so. Instead of inquiring, he came here to make some arrangement that would allow us to continue as we were, if he stood to benefit in some way.

You had every chance to observe him as well as I did. Tell me. Do you believe this man expected harm to befall him when he came to dine with us tonight, enough to encourage him to inform someone of his intended whereabouts before his arrival?

Or you do think his arrogance caused him to believe he was in control of this situation, to keep quiet, out of some misplaced belief that the potential profit would outweigh any potential immorality in collaborating with whatever led us to assume the Fell name?

[relevee]

[ the tension in her hands is evident in her hold on the glass, that tightness in her knuckles palpable until she turns back to pour herself another drink. the liquid splashing into the glass is a strangely soothing sound and this time her hand doesn't shake. there's a methodicalness to him now, a calm as he performs the act of rolling up his sleeves. a part of her wants to call it a detachment but she knows he's never been more present than he is in this moment that he shares with her, one she doubts he's shared with very many other people besides - except will graham.

she picks up the glass again but doesn't drink from it, the hollow sound of her heels and the whisper of fabric against skin tracking her movement for him even if she can still feel his gaze on her. ]

He would have tried to blackmail you. To blackmail us.

[ a foolish attempt at gaining the upper hand, like wandering into the den when the lion is hungry and believing that he would re-emerge unscathed.

she sets the glass down. crosses the room to where he stands and idly reaches in to smooth over the rolled sleeve of his shirt across his arm. she does not look at him immediately, only lets her gaze trail upward after speaking again. ]

What would you have me do?

[entrees]

[ /fires myself from early morning tags where i don't even get the episode timeline remotely right whatsoever shhh that never happened i've got this now

hannibal looks down at her for an inscrutable moment at the contact, studying her face, before he once again withdraws his handkerchief and raises it to her cheek, pausing for a moment to allow her to remember that she's still stained with dimmond's blood. he waits for her silent agreement before he wipes it away, the motions surer and firmer than the last occasion he had to do the same. the blood has been there long enough to leave a slight stain beneath, upon the skin, but that will take more careful attention on her behalf to remove entirely.

an appropriate precursor then, to answering her question. he pockets the handkerchief, as he grants her a response. ]

At the end of the hall, you will find baking soda, white vinegar, and peroxide amid the supplies in the closet. [ he gestures to the trail of blood with a slight motion of his elbow ] They will serve for the floor.

[ whether her question implied that she was truly volunteering her assistance, or whether she had been hoping he would instruct her to stay out of the way, he wasn't quite certain that she was ready to assist in any task that involved the body directly. this would serve a two-fold purpose, in granting her a sense of lateral cooperation with the disposal of dimmond's body, and in relieving hannibal of what was to him the distasteful task of treating the blooded floors. the full, rich scents of flesh and organs held their own latent appeal to him and his particular appetites, but his heightened sense of smell made working with the acrid strong-odored cleaning chemicals into an unpleasant necessity, as he saw it. ] And I will see to our would-be extortionist.

[relevee]

[ she doesn't flinch. doesn't let herself shrink and wither as he lifts the handkerchief to apply it to her cheek. it calls back to another time when he'd done similarly for her - but then his touch had been gentle, almost soothing, his application of the water on her skin almost something of a baptism. she'd closed her eyes under it the first time; now she keeps them open, waiting until he drops his hand away from her face.

she won't be able to do this in her dress. that's the first thought that crosses her mind - trying to picture doing it in what she's wearing and heels. she considers that for a beat and then nods quietly, turning on her heel. her hands reach behind her back to find the zipper on her dress and lower it slowly as she walks - again, calling back to another time when he'd done it for her, but then she hadn't had a body to concern herself with the last time, long before she even had to wonder if anthony dimmond would be a problem.

what would you have me do, bedelia?

she's in a robe, in bare feet by the time she returns with what's required, gingerly stepping around the path of blood leading to the exit - but she stays out of his way, beginning at the spot of origin in order to start cleaning. in her mind, that will be the hardest to get up first, the place where the blood has started to dry and cake against the floor. her hair is beginning to spring free from its set curls, falling in front of her face as she kneels to begin. ]

[entrees]

[ by the time she returns, the body has been moved, a testament to Hannibal's deceptive strength. It's the sounds that echo down the hallway which announce his part in this grim work, and in the relative quiet of the foyer, those noises, distant at first to her ears, would loom louder, magnify as they become the only audible point of focus: the metallic clink of tools, both medical and culinary, the peeling, wet sounds of the body giving way beneath them. Without being able to see what he's doing to prompt each such gruesome note, the imagination is left to fill in the blanks. He has left the door to the room where he works open, knowing that her task will place her where she cannot help but listen.

The blood is stubborn, but as she works her way closer to the door, she would be able to see that before removing Anthony Dimmond from the place of his final moments, Hannibal has latched the doors.

She would get the quiet, certain sense that this was not merely to keep someone without from interrupting their work. Any doubt she had of this would likely be removed by the way he has carefully set the suitcase she had had in hand when he returned up on the table, in the very center of it.

He feels no need to confront her about this. The quiet reminder of her failed departure, and the act that she now engages in willingly, cementing her part in this, would make his point with silent, sinister eloquence. ]

[relevee]

[ her stomach leaps into her throat at the sight of the suitcase; she wrings out the rag that has been soaking in the cleaning solution a little tighter than she means to and the scent of vinegar seeps into everything, every crevice. she's on her knees scrubbing until the cloth and her hands are stained pink. in the dim lighting it could almost be as if she'd spilled a glass of wine on herself, struggling to wash it clean before it sets.

she can hear the sound of bones breaking - that sharp snap like someone stepping on sticks in the woods, sudden and unexpected, and she pauses to sit back on her heels. looks at one of her hands and holds it out in front of her. she can see the bones shifting underneath her skin. such strong things that hold the human body together - and yet, in an instant, can be broken.

she does not enter the neighboring room when she is finished, almost as if she can't bring herself to see the horror of it for herself. this is participation, but only to a point.

she scrubs her hands beneath the faucet until the water runs clear again. her robe is wet, the silk blotched and damp. she looks at her reflection in the mirror almost as if she is reluctant to see his face looking back at her. ]

[entrees]

[ it is intricate work, this origami grostesquerie of his, and he has donned one of his tailored plastic suits for the crafting of it, as a sculptor might don an apron. He turns away from his project only to go and fetch a rather specific saw from another room of the house. In so doing, he notices the sound of running water in the bathroom, moves to stand at the threshold, studying her as she struggles to examine herself in the reflection. After a moment, he speaks. ]

What do you see, Bedelia, now that your eyes are open?

[relevee]

[ he is somehow immaculate in this, polished even while he dismembers and handles limbs with care. there is an ironic intimacy in this, perhaps moreso than in the moment she had held a gun on him. the baring of the self holds more sensuality than the baring of the body. she suddenly feels as though she could just as easily be standing there naked, exposed.

she braces her hands against the edges of the sink and looks at him in the mirror. ]

A man that I never truly knew until this moment.

[entrees]

[ as it has long been in his company, her tremoring fear is balanced by a quiet resiliency, and hannibal allows himself a moment's rumination on how this is the enticing duality of her character, that which holds his interest, this creature of such fragility and such steel.

He, too, thinks of bones. And of breaking. ] You once said you saw enough to see to the truth of me. [ there's a certain cruelty in the reminder, and he waits for her flinch, curious if she will evince it. She'd also said, then, that she liked him, in spite of what she claimed to see about his true character. he waited for her to remember her own words, for them to taste bitter in her memory.

What did it say about her, that she had once claimed as much? ]

Is this not what you expected to find, beneath my human veil?

[relevee]

I do not know what I expected to find. I only had hints of what you hid under your person suit.

[ her gaze does not shift away from his; she only breaks it when she turns to face him directly instead of speaking to a reflection. there, confronted with the hard evidence of the truth, she finds her resolve.

she's holding the rag in one hand, limply resting at her side. she walks over to him leisurely as though exhausted by the events of the day. ]

You once helped me when I asked it of you. That too was a truth that I would not soon forget.

[entrees]

[ she chooses her words with such deliberate care, something he has always valued about her, particularly in this modern age, where what most call 'communication' has become increasingly mislabeled as such. It is part of her elegance, of her poise. While she is often frank with him, she is never truly candid, shrouding herself in ways that are in part a habit of her profession, but in other ways an essential characteristic of her personality. even now, he can sense the hidden meanings roiling beneath her words, finds excitement in the interplay.

Comparing the two situations she refers to is bold, given the motivations behind each. She is sweeping aside degrees of morality, or at least granting the appearance of placing a higher value on the dynamic of personal debt, or gratitude.

As she's said, Hannibal can appreciate even mere appearances, more than most. He lets her have them. ] I see.

My work with Mr. Dimmond will take some time. I think you have helped enough for this evening, Bedelia.

[relevee]

[ her relief is palpable at the reprieve he has issued her - permission, if not absolution, to remove herself of this participation into which she only slightly entered willingly. it is this sensation that ripples through her and floods her body with calm; she pauses to allow him a brief nod of acknowledgment, of appreciation at this release.

almost subconsciously, she draws the edges of her robe more securely around her body, tightening the knot at her waist. ]

Then, if you don't mind, I'll be in the bath.

[entrees]

[ he reads into the shift in her demeanor, although his eyes don't specifically drop to follow the movement of her hands at her waist, remaining on her face instead. he turns to cast his gaze across the room for a moment, before he steps back out of the door frame and into the hall. ] Very well.

[ the plastic suit makes the slightest whispering noise at the movement, a single droplet of blood sliding its way off from a previously creased ridge that shifted to set it free, skating further down his side, a macabre shiver of motion. ] Good night. [ he turns from her, with that deceptively benign well-wishing hanging in the air, after reaching out to close the door partially for her. ]