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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[ Unlike some of the members of the Order, Vincent has spent time outside of Silent Hill. He's experienced what life is like around "outsiders," and is wary of appearing insane. As soon as he realizes how unorthodox his cult's teachings are, he is careful about what he says to not sound like a psychopath.

I'm not crazy.

But he keeps his smile even and friendly. ]

Sure. [ His eyes sparkle with amusement, but there is something dead beneath the shine. ] Resurrection isn't something good in my religion. It's not a reward. It's considered a punishment. [ A small quirk of his lips. ] There is most likely no divine plan, but I will say that it isn't a good thing to happen.

As for how much energy it takes, well, if it is divine, there is no worry about energy conversion. [ He holds his hand out to him. ] It's about faith. How much do you believe Echo will bring you and others back? If it's been seen once, doesn't that enhance the belief?

[ This makes him immediately think of training the Machine once again, because where a normal person might find these characteristics all of a kind, part of a natural trend, Harold knows all too well they are something acquired socially through human development. They aren't rationally obvious.

So although he quirks a faint smile at the question, he answers forthrightly. ]

It's a certain aesthetic. There's a consistency, a kind of pattern recognition, to aesthetics for most people. The environment we're in now is signaling wealth, class, in a variety of ways. Of course I'd expect my whiskey to be exceptional. It requires no accessories; the glass itself is sufficient. [ Calling back to his earlier point about glassware being themselves a kind of art form... ]

For a lower quality, the experience of drinking may be more the point than the liquor. For that reason, we might have additions. Like little toys in our drinks.

[ Having just talked about it, he takes a contemplative sip of his whiskey. It is, indeed, exceptional. ]

[ There's a pause as Harold squints at him and tries to parse this. Fortunately, he's already had a long talk with Krouse by this point as they traversed back from Nova City to the apartment block, so he's come to a personal reckoning with accepting supernatural powers.

Then: ]

You can manipulate anything with a magnitude and a direction? [ he asks in sheer disbelief. ] Is this standard?

[ This better be what makes Accelerator exceptionally powerful, and not just standard issue esper fare, or Harold is quitting his understanding of physics and reality and burying his head into Asimov until he forgets conventional laws. ]

[ castiel raises his glass of wine to study the glass itself, and then turns his head to peer at harold's. then he turns his attention to the room around him, taking in the decor once more, but trying — with all the context he already has — to categorize and understand the new context that harold is implying. it's difficult because he has no experience with the modern sensibilities of wealth. though there may be some basic concepts he understands quite well, such as the human need to flaunt it. it would be beyond him to say that this is a tasteful flaunting, though he can say for sure that it's not to the same extreme as the pyramids built in the kushite empire, or the towering ancient roman temples.

it's an even more difficult concept to grasp than emotion. that, at least, is something he has some scant experience with. ]

I understand. Through association, the experience produces a psychological response, and gains meaning.

[ it's an affirmation: this is what he's learning. the problem he keeps running into is not knowing the associations. the trappings of modern society are a language he doesn't know the words to. even the culture around food and drink have changed considerably over the ages. ]

Such as the Eucharist.

Edited (wording 🥴) 2024-11-18 02:42 (UTC)

[Look, Accelerator is just glad he doesn't have to explain what a vector is. He shakes his head.]

No, I'm the only one with the 'Accelerator' ability. [Part of the reason why he's the #1 Level 5.] Other abilities are shit like electromagnetism, telepathy, aerokinesis, that kind of thing. And only a couple of them come remotely close to what I can do.

( as they walked into the cold of the night, heather looked around on the outside for a bit as she heard him talk. when he pulled forth the cigarettes and handed one to her, she immediately brought it to her mouth and held it between her lips.

to his imaginative scenario, she couldn't help but laugh a bit too. while she had been wanting to find out more about the host here, she couldn't help but enjoy actually talking to krouse as well. he seemed less uptight than before and it was possible they could actually get along.

for now though, she simply smiled as she took the light from him and lit up her own cigarette. as they finally approached the trees, she leaned back against one and took the cigarette out of her mouth, exhaling out smoke. )

I wouldn't say that...but when you've been though some stuff, well you can't help but find 'unique' ways to unwind. Is that why you're working here? To have something to do or to unwind too?

Precisely, [ he agrees with a nod, a little surprised that Castiel is bringing up an example that is frankly quite critical of Christianity. And he reflects, too, that to like something he doesn't have a good understanding of -- or at least not an intuitive understanding -- is an interesting position to be in.

That seems too heavy a conversation for their setting (no politics or religion at a formal event), so Harold casts about for a different direction to go conversationally. One hopefully a bit lighter. ]

If you don't mind me asking, what is it you've liked about humanity most so far? I presume not fancy dinner parties.

[ Alright, well, that's something. Harold will take anything he can get at this point. Abilities aside, he immediately gets stuck on the implication of something else-- ]

That's your ability, but also your name? [ he asks in a tone of surprise. No wonder it was so odd, if that was the case. Harold isn't going to cast judgment, but he is... a little concerned. What he's learned already has been highly dehumanizing; identity based on ability seems horrific to him. ]

[ well, that's a question. his brow furrows. it's difficult to give specifics, since he's spent so long watching at a distance, that he has personal, first-hand experience with very few aspects of humans as a species. he likes their art, their creativity, their ingenuity. all the things they've made, art, languages, machines — the angels, by comparison, have only one language. they need no machines, no tools, so there's never been able need for them to create. and they have nothing to express, except their love for their god, and they can do that well enough through the glory of their own voices. so no art.

but is that really his favorite thing?

humans also have faith in a way that no angel could possibly comprehend — he certainly can't. but that stings to even think.

but then, harold mentions fancy dinner parties as a counter example, and he wonders if he might be looking for a more specific answer. not something broad, like, creativity or faith. castiel tilts his head in thought. ]

I like... The sound of your laughter. The way you smile when you're happy.

[ a sympathetic smile tugs the corners of his lips before his face fades back to neutral. it seems like he might be thinking of a specific moment. or maybe a specific person. ]

It doesn't happen very often, does it?

( 'you're free to socialize as you like'

the words cascade in her mind, feeling her with a sense of general unease. her face won't betray her thoughts though, because she immediately smiled at him, teeth pushing through to shield her from her true feelings.

it truly seemed that he had her pinned now, bringing forth something she thought was kept hidden between her and krouse. she wasn't sure if there even was enough time for the waiter to have gone on to tell hannibal of their encounter, or if he truly had that much of a watchful eye over everyone here. at least now one thing was for certain-

she couldn't hide much from this stranger here moving forward. )

You sure have him working hard, I figured he could use a small break, but he seemed fine. I guess throwing an event like this requires some help.

( she wasn't sure if he would get scolded for taking a break or not, and while she wanted to protect him, clearly she couldn't outright lie about what they had been doing. )

[ The way he says your is so direct. Harold realizes that it's meant as a general you, Harold as part of humanity, but the linguistic effect is that he feels a little like it's talking about him personally. And Harold himself has always felt passionately that how you treat humanity writ large is only so meaningful as how you treat each individual member as they appear in front of you.

Hearing that-- what Castiel likes most is laughter, smiling with real happiness-- it reminds Harold of why he keeps trying to save the irrelevant numbers. It reminds him of a memory he holds very close, of the scavenger hunt he'd planned for Grace's birthday, just to see her happy.

That was worth everything.

Despite himself, he finds he's smiling at Castiel, full and honest in a way he rarely is. It gives a hint that beneath his distance and his protective layers, Harold is an extremely warm person who cares for others. It fades, too, just like Castiel's, but it was there. ]

Not as much as it should, [ he allows, ] and it depends on each person. But I do-- well. I enjoy setting up pleasant surprises where I can.

[ Personal as that is to confess, Harold feels he has to match Castiel in being open and revealing, at least to that extent. It's not fair to ask for something he wouldn't give himself. ]

Sometimes it does have that effect.

[ something in his demeanor softens when harold smiles. he's felt ill at ease since he arrived here — despite his professed ignorance to the aesthetics of wealth, he can understand when he's out of his depth due to that ignorance. he may not realize that he sticks out like a sore thumb, but he sees the clothing that everyone is wearing and he can mark how his own differs in presentation. and then there's the entire issue of his unfamiliarity with the standard social moors that at the very least the humans here seem to take for granted.

but harold has been patient, and he doesn't seem to think his sentiments are stupid. it's not fair to assume he would — but most of his socialization has been with other angels. and, well. they don't feel the way he does. dean is the only other person who he knows feels the same and would express it. though maybe not in the words castiel himself used.

but he loves humanity. he's given everything for it. ]

Surprises?

[ he blinks, his expression veering toward the curious now. he doesn't know the specifics, of course, but it strikes him that yes, going out of your way to make someone happy is something that humans do. something that anyone could do, if they wanted. ]

[ Once again, she's successfully getting under his skin. It bothers him as much as the fact he's getting used to her managing to pull that off often enough it's like she's digging some kind of horrible blonde pocket in his brain for her to rifle around in casually. Possibly through the fucking hole in his head she mentions.

So he leans over, picks up one of the prosciutto and watermelon arrangements from the perfectly balanced tray, and pops it into his mouth without breaking eye contact. He chews with obnoxious enjoyment, throwing in a hum of satisfaction when he swallows. ]

Your loss.

[ It's petty, and it won't work on her, but he does it for himself. He's great at digging in his heels. ]

It's not drugged. But hey, who knows? Maybe there are illegal imported spices involved, illicit meat smuggling, genetically engineered watermelons - this could go all the way to the FDA. Scary stuff.

Did it occur to you that maybe you're just picking up on someone being good at their job? He's a psychiatrist. He has to be able to pretend not to judge all the crazies who end up on his couch.

[ Like Krouse. ]

[ There's a lot Krouse could say about quitting the game to win it. Nothing that wouldn't make him sound like a petulant teenager who doesn't know what he's talking about unless he tips his hand about a lot of things very quickly. It's not strictly a secret anymore, but it's not exactly something he wants to get into at a dinner party he's supposed to be volunteering at.

It's not something he wants to get into at all. Harold probably isn't wrong about the idea. Maybe he did manage to quit the game, whatever his personal version of it was. Good for him if it's true. It doesn't stop the bitter swell of bile in Krouse's stomach that wants to say something as dramatic as must be nice to have a choice. That isn't Harold's problem, and it's not Harold's fault.

He's a decent seeming guy dispensing words of advice to someone who probably looks like he needs it. Maybe Krouse should give being gracious a stab for once. He adjusts his smile to something he hopes looks appropriately receptive, trying not to overthink how it reminds him of someone completely different except for his penchant for giving words of advice. ]

You're right. It's a pain in the neck. [ Not ass; he's watching his mouth. ] Main reason I gave up my aspirations of a career in politics, actually.

[ His smile tilts up on one side at that, clearly joking. Harold didn't seem to be a big fan of the government either, so it's a good vein to tap back into. What's even better is the next out Harold offers, whether it's meant as an out or not. ]

And what other fascinating things do birds do? Enlighten me with the feathered trivia.

[ There's few things people love as much as talking about their interest, and Krouse is good at listening to people dump information on him. It's a great way to get a top level overview of something without having to get into it himself. A better way to make someone feel recognized, even if it's only for a couple minutes. ]

[Harold's surprise gets a small pause out of Accelerator, though he supposes it makes sense. Inside Academy City no one ever commented on it, but then... half the time no one called him 'Accelerator' anyways. 'The Strongest,' '#1,' and now 'Board Chairman' are all equally common.]

No, it's only the name of my ability. [Not his name-name, that would be silly. Who would name their kid Accelerator???] I just go by it instead of my real name.

[ Krouse looks down at Hannibal's counter, his face reflecting back to him in the immaculately polished metal. It makes him an afterimage of himself, as strange as his face was in the mirror after their first session.

The image that stays with him is the impenetrable smoothness of Hannibal's face when he spoke, a surface as impervious as the polished counter. The taps of Hannibal's finger, so soft it was barely a sound, didn't echo. He still hears them. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, a low battery alarm goes off. ]

Yeah.

[ His hand finds the counter, his fingers flexing enough to touch his nails to the surface. ]

I wish I was better at making those. [ He admits, in the cloister of the kitchen, as secluded as a confessional booth or an interrogation room. ] I used to think I was good at it. Not necessarily making the right choice, but - making one, whatever it was. I'm great at commitment. Or I used to be.

I promised I'd help her. We were allies. Now I don't know what that's supposed to look like, and I can tell myself she'd want me to look after myself. That's what everyone always says, right? They'd want you to be happy. They'd want you not to break yourself trying to do things you might not be able to do.

I'm sure that's what you tell people. Because it's the better choice for them. [ He lifts his gaze back to Hannibal with a bleak, steady calm. ] Do you think it's true, though? Genuinely? That it's the right choice? Not the better one, or easier, but right.

[ Krouse doesn't blink. He's too taken aback for that, grasping a fistful of things at once: Vincent isn't Christian, for one thing, and Krouse has no idea what religion he is a member of. He's never heard of one where resurrection was explicitly a bad thing.

He can't imagine that thrills the 'quite dead where I come from' man in front of him, going by that flat edge under the brightness of his levity. ]

You're making Echo sound like a god.

[ He says it just as lightly as Vincent does, not able to shake the feeling of skimming on surface tension. Most of it is his own, reflected in the sharp way his easy smile slants. ]

Which I guess they might as well be, for all intents and purposes. Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, so why not extend the principle? Especially sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from divinity. Why not.

[ It's not the frame he's using, but what difference does that really make? ]

Do you mind if I ask why resurrection is a bad thing? That's not really a take I'm familiar with.

[ He asks like he's only curious, but there's a thrumming intensity in how he looks at Vincent that undermines that. ]

Why not?

[ Vincent chimes in return with a smile - a little wider than before. Small smiles are well and good for him; he can manage small smiles. Little grins that barely disrupt his face. But smiling itself doesn't suit him; it seems like his expression is best looking dour, thoughtful, or occasionally sympathetic. Smiles and grin warp his face to something ghoulish, like he isn't sure how his mouth is supposed to curve. ]

Sure, I don't mind.

[ He really is a hypocrite. Here he told Heather not to talk too much about their world and he ends up talking. If she finds out about it, he doesn't want to think of how smug she'll look; or maybe she won't. Who's to say? She's a bit of a wildcard.

His eyes close and he sighs as tries to think of how to put this in words that don't sound insane. ]

Humans are only meant to have one life. No continues, as the saying goes. [ His shoulders bounce in a shrug. ] Resurrection is ... [ In certain cases, it is because divinity wants to be protected verses caring about the vessel itself. He shakes his head as he decides he can't say that part. ] ... a means to force a person to complete the task in front of them versus allowing them to rest even if they've failed.

[it's a little late to not be seen as a lunatic.]

People love gods because they lack benevolence. Gods savor the taste of power, [Hannibal expresses next to nothing compared to Vincent, sipping his wine about as much of a message as his hands hold a close prayer] though power, like any indulgence, carries with it exquisite consequence.

[god kills people all the time. for Vincent to refer to his god as one of pure benevolence is surely a lie, one he catches and holds, gaze sharp. Vincent is speaking the way someone would from an organization that indoctrinates. not dabbling in other religions only confirms his suspicions.]

That depends entirely on how far you'd like me to reach... and which pantheons you find most intriguing. Or perhaps, you’re content to remain in the dark?

[ LET HIM DREAM. ]

Well, yes. [ His shoulders bounce as he agrees that humans lack benevolence. It is what he has been taught and witnessed. He drifts his eyes from the food to Hannibal's face at the rest of what is said; his head tilts as he obviously wants to denounce that comment. The corner of his eye twitching and face warping before he seems to remember that he's among other people.

I'm not a crazy person.

He holds his hands out in front of him, flexing his fingers, before cutting more of what is in front of him. Seems to be more of needing something to do with his hands than anything else, however. ]

Like most raised in their religion, I'm afraid I consider mine to be the truest one. [ His head bobs side to side, like he's making a light joke. He clenches his face in a funny look like he's made a mistake. ] Which means there is no pantheon more intriguing than my own. So, I'm afraid I shall have to remain in the dark.

[ Silverware set down. He lightly slaps the top of his hand - dramatics to cover up idiosyncrasies. ] Unfortunate for me.

Edited 2024-11-19 20:50 (UTC)

[the air of his tone is nearly intimate, a near-whisper brought to the surface that only Castiel can hear. working as something from his subconscious, he lowers his voice to avoid potential eavesdropping.]

Does the confinement of a human vessel not stir the birth of a heart where one had not existed before?

Edited (grammar and then a typo lmao) 2024-11-19 21:33 (UTC)

[ Krouse checks the timer in his head as he leans up against a tree of his own, blowing out a grey plume of smoke as he props his foot up against the bark behind him in a way that suggests a habit cultivated to try to look cool. He's done it often enough - and stopped being fifteen, which probably helps more than anything else - that it doesn't look completely embarrassing.

He'll never have the languid ease of the cool kids in a teen drama, but he's maybe more relaxed around this relative stranger than he should be. It's mostly because she laughed. Krouse always gets a little thrill out of making girls laugh, because it's more of a challenge. They generally have higher standards for funny. ]

Pretty much. [ He admits, rolling his shoulders back as he looks up at the sky. ] I may have underestimated how demanding being a waiter at a nice dinner party is. You have no idea how much you have to remember to do with your hands.

So. You're another veteran of the fucked up life experiences club? [ He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. ] I'm not going to pry. Just [ he gestures with the glowing cherry of his cigarette ] small talk. Or statistical data gathering, depending on how you want to take it.

[ the little hairs on the back of castiel's neck stand on end, and his fingers flex in his pockets. castiel can hear the conversation going on elsewhere in the room. hannibal is clear as a bell. he glances over again, unblinking, but doesn't answer. only acknowledging that he heard by the direction of his gaze. behind his expression perches a dispassionate curiosity.

he wonders what kind of assumptions this man must be making. it was understandable for anna to come to the same conclusion, being that she was an angel herself, and one in a similar situation.

several more moments pass before he speaks. ]

Did you know, in order to interact with you mortal creatures, it's necessary for us to take a vessel? Otherwise, we risk killing you.

[ he cocks his head, bird-like. ]

I always wondered why God make you that way. Isn't it inconvenient?

( as he spoke, she held her face up towards the night-sky, eyes watching as the smoke drifted away from her. there was a strange feeling filling her up and despite her original goal being to snoop around just a bit, she was here just taking what he would give her. whatever information he wanted to share, whether about himself or the host, she would listen.

it was the first time in ages she could just relax in a setting like this, no fear of the cult coming after her, no monsters lurking, and no god to revive. it was euphoric-

but then he mentioned that, drawing her back into their world. with a soft smile, she held her cigarette in her hand, hand pressed against the tree and by her skirt. )

Life is suffering....I always thought that. What I realized early on is either you learn to deal with that or you go under.

( she wasn't trying to be deep by any means, but after what she had gone through, it was better to remain positive. )

At least you're doing something with yourself, besides if you ever go back home, now you have work skills. I guess?

[ This gets an even bigger frown. ]

I won't comment on leaving behind your real name, [ he answers, because Harold is self-aware enough not to want to be an immense hypocrite, thank you, ] but it doesn't seem right to call you by the name of your ability.

[ He would hate to be treated that way. ]

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( OPEN ) ALL HALLOW'S EVE FEAST

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cw: medical practitioner abuse, drug use, ableism

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