etrayalogs | ( OPEN ) ALL HALLOW'S EVE FEAST

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( OPEN ) ALL HALLOW'S EVE FEAST

WHO: Hannibal & you!
WHEN: October 31st
WHERE: his house
WHAT: The All Hallows Eve Feast
NOTES\WARNINGS: MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: involuntary cannibalism and one (1) artsy nsfw painting*. the link is to the painting leda and the swan. it's labeled with the star (★).

[the preparation for the party was more grueling than he's used to -- he was always able to hire a service to help his parties go as smoothly as possible, but he had to request the help of a few bots as well as Krouse to ensure that he would not be the one doing the serving.

one must knock before entering; greeted by a companion bot to take a coat if they have one. guests are guided through the foyer to the living room, an earthy room with heavy animal imagery. people are encouraged to socialize and relax in front of the roaring fireplace. several small tables have centerpieces of wildflowers that Hannibal has collected and grown as he's spent his time here.

the kitchen is off-limits, but if one might happen to stray into the stark, morgue-like space before Hannibal politely ushers them back out, they'll see Clarke's drawing of the emberbloom and and shadowbloom flowers from months ago as the only picture on the otherwise spotless refrigerator. having the flier there is no accident. he meant for a few curious onlookers to see what is left of her. perhaps it's Hannibal's intention to lead old friends of Clarke's astray to believe he is responsible for her disappearance. he's able to play now, plucking at the strings of minds to enchant and mortify. he knows that suspicions will have risen, but after tonight he's prepared for the onslaught -- so why not have as much fun before the inevitable?

scents of roast meat, cranberries and rosemary embrace guests immediately, delightfully lacing through the halls while classical music beckons them further into unknown horrors. Krouse can be seen making rounds with hors d'oeuvres, an interesting combination of cubed watermelon with what appears to be proscuitto meticulously shaped in the form of a rose, while companion bots carry glasses filled with red wine from his personal collection.

the dining room is lush, one wall stocked with herbs and hanging rosemary and forest imagery. the other wall with a painting above another fire which crackles softly. the mantle, simple yet jarring; large horns on either side with smaller ones laid out between them. the centerpiece is ★Leda and the Swan★, looming as the horns threaten to swallow the painting whole. the table is already set, porcelain charger plates laid in their respective places, with clean empty glasses and three carafes filled with water along the center. small vases of more wildflowers are in along the spread with lit red candles as well, but the table itself manages not to look too busy. snow droplets silently stick to the glass doors and windows, making the home feel warm; gentle, even.

Leda and the Swan is not the only painting to fill his home - art is everywhere, from the foyer to the kitchen, paintings and lithographs can be found in every room. the living room is especially the most wild, with the large oak doors and polished desk and chairs with claws.

Hannibal languidly wanders to greet guests who have made their way inside, dressed in a three-piece suit as usual with a glass of red wine in hand, motioning to wine or snacks. the sophistication that exudes from his home (and himself) can't be missed. those who have never experienced wealth may feel out of place, yet directly eased into the mixed warmth that is passed out with food and wine.]

[after an appropriate amount of time of socializing has passed and he's had help from Krouse to set the table so all of the food is available at once, he alerts everyone by a gentle clink of metal against crystal.]

Dinner is served. Please make your way to the dining room.

[anyone who asks exactly what they are eating is informed that it is veal. "how did you get veal" one may ask, and he'll respond with a sly smile and a twinkle in his eyes. everything they have been consuming and continue to consume has been the body of Samil, every part harvested for use. a petite heart (yes, heart) tartare is served alongside a smaller version of osso buco, which he explains is a traditional Italian dish, with seasonal vegetables.

wine has been replenished, and once settled at the table he raises his glass.]

I hope everyone enjoys eating this meal as much as I did preparing it.

[dig in.]

(ooc: everyone welcome! top level as u desire, tag out to others, get hannibal, etc etc. if you dont want to do an open tl and only want hannibal make sure to add closed to your starter. i won't be adding a starter for him bc this entire party is basically one giant one for him and he can be approached anywhere :) any questions can be left here. ps do not have your character go upstairs that's insane, why would they do that, they'll be redirected ominously. )

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An immense disappointment to legions of dead Renaissance artists, I'm sure, [ he muses, thinking on the implications. It fits with his worldview, so of course it makes sense to him.

Finally they've reached a natural point for him to ask, so Harold can't fully contain his curiosity anymore. ]

You seem unfamiliar with, well, a great many things about living among humanity. [ No real sense of taste, really? Harold isn't a hedonist but he is a great appreciator of all the arts, and food is among them. ]

[Yeah, by bringing that up Accelerator knows what he's getting into. A few months ago he would have left off the whole 'strongest' prefix and just left it at 'an esper,' thinking people don't need to know any more than that. These days he's aware of the power his status holds, and grudgingly accepts the responsibilities that come with it.

Like being (mostly) upfront about who he is and what he can do.]

Esper. As in, ESP? It means I'm psychic. Like fucking Mifune Chizuko or.... [Give him a second, he's furrowing his brow as he comes up with another example that an American might know....] .... That movie by the famous author with the bloody high school dance scene?

[Carrie. He's thinking of Carrie. Having never actually seen it, he's only recalling it via cultural osmosis.]

My city is a haven for every kind of scientific research, but the original reason it was founded was for the research and development of artificial espers.

[ he has half a mind to point out that half of them are elsewhere, or that the ones who did manage to make it upstairs have their own art to admire in their own personal heavens, but maybe he shouldn't play so fast and loose with heaven's secrets. for the sake of the humans he speaks to, if anything else.

he raises his wine glass to his lips and takes a sip. ]

I've been in Heaven for 2000 years.

She provides what she can.

[in truth, the entire planet is at his disposal, but making these dinners a regular event as he did at home is asking for trouble. it would become a boring chase, and he'd likely end up locked away by either Aurora or those that live here - his supposed "allies".]

I prefer using my favors for other pleasures. I wouldn't have my wine without her help.

[ People always wanted to fly.

It was a go to power for a reason, and unsurprisingly relatively common. Not a lot beat flight for escape. Fliers tended to share a tendency to retreat when cornered, which was a useful thing to keep in mind for dealing with them.

Changing into a bird was more specific. A different kind of fantasy. Becoming something else, something entirely unlike yourself, a shape not attached to the body tethering you to the earth. It could mean nothing except that Harold Finch had internalized a lot of bird jokes as a kid. It's just an idle rumination, that always wondered what that would be like.

But writing it off as meaningless defeats the point of asking, so he'll assume it means something. Not an offensive power, not a defensive one, not even a particularly useful one except for the freedom of shucking off an aging human body and taking to the air.

At least Harold is smart enough to know that it's not something he should really want. ]

I knew someone who could turn into birds.

[ Phoenixes, harpies, giant eagles with burning eyes and claws made of diamond-hard black hallucinations. Other things that could fly. A banshee, a winged bison, an elegantly rippling serpent of solid smoke. Jess had a flair for eye-catching design. And it was never really her, in all of those shapes, as her body slept in a bed somewhere else. But that's details.

Luke never stopped being jealous. He was too good to ever say anything about it, but Krouse could tell. ]

She said it was neat. [ Krouse gives Harold a small, crooked smile, his eyes opaque. ] Until she had to land.

That's one of those funny things about powers. [ Supernatural or otherwise. ] Whatever you get, you just bump into some new restriction. I'd stick to planes. At least when you're annoyed about the lack of leg room, you can blame someone else.

Although I'm going to venture a guess you don't fly a lot of coach.

Of course. Appearances aren't everything. [ Vincent flashes a quick smile. ] To quote a cliche, it's what's on the inside that counts, right?

[ And he pauses to look around the room at the people present. He's not sure why people are chosen but comes to accept that there are no criteria. Luck of the draw, as it were. Echo seems to be a god that cares, but doesn't care as much as his own - and that makes everyone very, very lucky. ]

There's no harm in ensuring that you can live peacefully with the people that are around you, no. I certainly live by that principle. If only for the sake of being a good neighbor.

[ His fingers flex before he picks off another piece of meat. ] I do hope to keep staying in this liminal space, however. Do you know if that's on the table? I happen to be quite dead where I came from, you see.

[ He decides to share some of his thoughts on the matter. Of course, he's still trying to figure out how to sabotage worlds so he can continue. But for now, it's time to try to garner sympathy even though his tone of voice is very flippant about the fact that he is dead. ]

But yes, I think making friends is a good idea... I hope we can be pals, too.

Edited (i went - hold on me...) 2024-11-11 06:26 (UTC)

[to be a man of faith who believes those are the only things on their mind when they think of god is one who is blind, but Hannibal holds his tongue.

Vincent asks what he should know already, which is to default to the most polite address. he doesn't like correcting people, prefers that they simply know. to be in someone's home, speaking to him as he sits at the head of the table and slices into meat, and asking what he shouldn't -

it looks ignorant, but Vincent may be playing ignorant, too.]

Dr. Lecter is acceptable. [because looking at him and everyone else at this table, they are not equals.] In my world, those that were committed to devotion referred to God as a man. Did you have a separate church?

Convenience, or acceptance?

[what an interesting response.]

To envy a position of a woman who submits to a god bares a substantial weight. But she is submitting to a beast, too. Would you still envy her, then?

[as open as her body is, Zeus taking her as he likes leaves much to interpretation regarding her consent. is she truly welcoming him in, or immediately accepting defeat?]

Of course. Doctor Lecter.

[ Vincent takes a bite of meat and then a moment to appreciate the taste. His head tilts for a second like he doesn't quite recognize the flavor, but soon is mentally shrugging his shoulders.

He tips his head up to indicate that he's still listening. ]

Oh, yes. [ This is a moment of hesitation on his expression; his head dips as he mulls over what he should and shouldn't say. Looking over the top of his glasses, he seems to muse how many people are listening. Calculating before returning to the role of an ignorant faithful man. ]

Our church may be separate but for anyone and everyone who wishes to be part of it, they may. [ A brief smile before another careful stabbing of meat. ] The faithful and curious shall always be rewarded. [ Until they aren't. ] But I believe every religion says something along those lines. In this way, I can't say we're too different save for the gender of my God.

[he can't imagine Clarke openly enjoying a dinner party held with such glamor. he knows she wouldn't arrive dressed the part, but if she asked he would have guided her in the semi-acceptable direction. the clothing provided here will never match his standards, but he'd make due.

Krouse's comments feed into the home he'd carved out for her. Clarke sensed his darkness on the tip of her tongue, just as he sniffed out her reservations. their first meeting had gone somewhat tumultuously, and he'll never forget the look in her eyes.]

You knew her in ways she didn't expect to be known. [an assumption that he wants to draw out of Krouse, needling thread through skin. the pain is there, he can feel that in their nostalgic whispers.] If this experience helps bring people together, [which it will, in its own twisted way] perhaps there is hope.

[ he doesn't have an answer for any question hannibal asks, except the last. even then, it's tenuous at best. his adam's apple moves in his throat as he watches the painting, wondering. has he already accepted defeat? he's a fish on a line, lip hooked. thrashing until he can't. going limp and thrashing again. gutted anyway, in the end. even with dean here, alive, he can't imagine himself a good future.

castiel chews his lip and lowers his eyes. ]

I don't know.

[ he smells different today than the day he and hannibal met. the bunker clings to his clothes and his hair and his skin. leather and gun oil and other human scents. ]

[Now there's a subject Accelerator knows exactly nothing about. He could tell you all about the bioethanol Academy City produces to use as fuel for vehicles, but the information he has on alcohol meant for drinking extends only to the kind of beer Yomikawa likes.]

....... I'm guessing you couldn't just get that stuff at the Kwik Trip or Bangsan Market.

Breaking the locks huh? I guess this place isn't so strict after all...

( she was genuinely surprised that someone who seemed so uptight and strict with his work, and making sure guests stayed out of the kitchen, would be like this outside of that setting. as she made her way along, heading for the door, she started to take a smoke out of the pack she had, but held back the moment he spoke.

of course a seasoned smoker would recognize how old and busted the pack she had was. all she could do was laugh in return, putting them away before shrugging. )

Yeah I guess I've been hoarding these as if they were the last pack in a prison. I'll gladly take you up on your offer-

Oh and I'll give your little advice a try if it doesn't land me in the pokey.

[ Harold knows a lot of obscure references, but Mifune Chizuko is not one of them. He immediately itches to search the term online and is equally immediately highly annoyed that he can't. He does understand the allusion to Carrie, at least. It takes him a whole mental twist to accept this tacit equation of psychics and scientific research -- it reminds him far too much of MKUltra -- but he pushes past it. ]

Artificial, as in-- induced?

[ Is he understanding that implication correctly? Because if he is, that makes Harold very alarmed. MKUltra indeed. ]

[ Look, the sarcastic joke was too easy, so he had to make it. Harold has no idea where various people would end up in the Christian afterlife and is, honestly, too much of an atheist to care. He's sanguine in his understanding that his own version of reality is not likely to match Castiel's. It's no more or less absurd to him than what he's heard about Krouse's world, or Accelerator's, or Riz's.

Two thousand years is still a very long time. Harold squints at him a bit. ]

Humanity did have art two thousand years ago. Among other things.

[ He's well-educated enough not to believe people alive at that time were really all that different from people alive in modernity, from his reckoning. That's a tiny blip on the evolutionary scale. ]

[ okay, harold is right, but that's not the whole story. ]

Well, yes. But I didn't live among them. I only watched over them sometimes.

[ his mouth twists in self-consternation. his desire not to be seen as stupid wars with the idea that he shouldn't be so forthright about himself.

but he doesn't know how what he says next could come back to bite him. it isn't a physical weakness, and most humans naturally assume that he's the same as them in this respect, even though he's not. ]

And art is... an expression of human emotion. That's not something I was capable of understanding.

[ I only watched over them... Oh. Well. There was no "sometimes" about the Machine -- it watched constantly, endlessly, with every iota of its considerable processing power -- but that sense of remove... Harold recognized it.

There's no trace whatsoever that Harold considers this admission overly revealing, or weak. If anything, he looks far more intently at Castiel, suddenly examining him more closely in a reverse of his earlier staring. ]

Was, as in past tense? But you are now. Hence your interest.

[ he's distracted enough by his own thoughts — and, yes, feelings — that he doesn't notice harold's increased interest. it's strange to think of himself back then. the person he was. ]

... Yes. It's a recent development.

This small event is the most Hannibal has ever even hinted at a smile, ever. He tips his chin in acknowledgement, knowing that Harold is as new and fresh as a few others who have meandered through his door. Etraya has a certain scent to it, the air comprised of different chemicals. It sticks to people, and Harold doesn't have that. His home still clings to him.

"Thank you, Harold," he sounds humble, as though compliments are easily brushed off - or appreciated but already known.

"If someone new were to know more about me, I'd be curious as to what it would be," light teasing, a new familiarity in his tone. "What would you like to know?"

[he didn't think Castiel would know, but he's been so raw in his answers that the i don't know strikes him, a match lit in darkness. a stranger excuses themselves alongside the two of them and brings both new and old smells toward him. beneath their layers, they bring a new, familiar smell forward.

he knows who he's been with. he takes a quiet moment, the inhale hardly noticeable, as he traces the memory back. Dean. in the labyrinth, taking his kit. in the Kwik-Trip, with the mustang plush; cleaner, but still encased in leather and oil. human.]

Where did your mind take you just now?

[he raises his brows at Accelerator, and it's as close as a are you serious as he's ever going to get, smoothed over as he takes a bite of his food. he's amused at the suggestion. he had looked, of course, when he first arrived. the wine was terrible. the wine at the cafe was somehow worse.]

Their selection leaves much to be desired.

[Accelerator gives a short nod, affirming exactly what Harold is thinking. And lucky him, while the Power Curriculum Program isn't public knowledge (it'd be bad PR) Accelerator doesn't particularly care, so he goes on to explain.]

Yeah, as opposed to being naturally born that way. [Those kinds of espers exist, they're just rare.] Every student that registers with Academy City goes through the Power Curriculum Program. It's a series of medical procedures, from shit like hypnosis to electroshock, that alters your brain and body and causes you to split from normal reality.

[what is he playing at. Hannibal is suspicious of Echo's chosen victims constantly (and while he himself is a questionable choice, he is capable of adapting as necessary and can contribute to the planet in ways that most can't. he's been unaffected by most of the missions, and remains an asset) and speaking to Vincent is only confirming his theory of their presence being a control group of testing.]

Are the rewards you speak of their guarantee into paradise?

[a healthy pause as he takes a bite, chewing carefully, satisfied.]

I have not been bothered by any considerations of deity other than to recognize how my own modest actions pale beside those of God.

( there's an intense feeling of emotion as he rides into the next thing, outright telling her who he is. there was a thought in her mind that he could have been the host, but now that she knew it, she was on the edge. there was something strange about his home, the waiter, the atmosphere that screamed at heather to run, but she couldn't.

instead she opted to try and work her way out of this, to protect herself from this man in any way she could. she would be polite and friendly, and avoid answering his question for now. )

It's a lovely house, lovely art. I apologize for being rude, my name is Heather...

I appreciate you inviting me here, even though I'm new around here.

[her emotions are immediately perceived, from the way she backtracks to immediate, apologetic formality and the abrupt change of her expression. her eyes are giving away quite a lot. through a form near-pity, he offers her a small hint of a smile.]

It's quite alright. Art awakens feelings inside of us we otherwise leave unattended.

[she's more than uncomfortable, he can see the fear on her.]

Doctor Hannibal Lecter. I found that what food Aurora does provide doesn't quite meet my taste, so I wanted to share what I think we all deserve. I'm very careful about what I put in my body, so I employ an ethical butcher.

[it's him, he's the butcher.]

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( OPEN ) ALL HALLOW'S EVE FEAST

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