( OPEN ) ALL HALLOW'S EVE FEAST

[relished]

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. )

Comments

[messenger]

[ it does sound condescending, though maybe, depending on your point of view, it might be a little warranted. it's not as though he thinks humans can't have opinions on these things. their lives are often the ones who were most maligned by the gods. but it's a bit off-putting to witness the dismissivess of modern day humanity. like leda wasn't one of them, like she didn't have her own thoughts and feelings on the matter of zeus and his using her. (not that he thinks harold is being dismissive. if anything, he took his words at face value — and still is, it seems.)

classical? castiel snorts. ]

Yes.

For my part, I think Zeus should have kept his beak to himself.

[ another pause, and then he shrugs. ]

Well, the angel Castiel doesn't have any paintings. Not as far as I know, anyway.

[ornithologist]

[ Perhaps if he was an immortal celestial being (?) he too would sound condescending, certainly. Harold is hard-pressed to imagine what that would be like. ]

Zeus should have kept a lot of things to himself, [ Harold retorts automatically. He can engage in trivial banter about highly educated subjects almost without effort; it just slips out. Meanwhile, he's struggling to come up with what to even say regarding his conversational companion being... an angel?

There's a pause. Assuming he takes that as given (which is quickly becoming his primary coping mechanism in Etraya), then-- ]

You must have a unique perspective on humanity, then. And not necessarily a positive one? [ he guesses, based on tone and delivery thus far. He really just can't help himself; Harold has put considerable thought into how non-human sentient entities see humanity, largely in order to make sure the Machine kept the perspective it needed to in caring about them. ]

[messenger]

[ castiel hums in agreement. but he can't deny that he appreciates the change in subject. as interesting as the painting may be, he isn't the biggest fan of zeus, and would rather talk about other things. it's only a shame he hasn't yet grasped the concept of AI, because he might have some interesting things to say about that if he did. being created with a purpose in mind, being made to execute a specific set of tasks and functions — it's something he can relate to. ]

... I like humanity.

[ it's not quite a confession. it's something he's said before, both in defiance to other angels and in admittance to the humans once in his charge. but it's taken on another facet, since his fall. he fell for humanity. he fell for a human.

castiel turns away from the painting, walking in the direction of where the booze is on display. it's obvious he intends to get a drink. ]

But that's not the popular sentiment in Heaven. It's only recently I came to understand that.

[ornithologist]

[ Harold really has no idea how to take this piece of information. If he were backed into a corner and somehow forced to admit the truth, he'd have to say he was an atheist. He's never spent any part of his life religious in any direction, which means he has no particular feelings about hearing Heaven is full of humanity-disliking angels in whatever bizarre dimension Castiel comes from.

It is fascinating, though, on a purely intellectual level. Harold is openly bemused but curious, and trails him toward where the wine is laid out. He's been sipping the same whiskey all night and sees no reason to change that now. ]

I would say it's not a particularly popular sentiment among humanity, either, [ Harold muses aloud. ] But despite all of our many egregious foibles, I would say I like humanity, too.

However much I dislike Monsieur Boucher's choice of subject, the world be a sorrier place without him in it.

[messenger]

I've noticed that.

[ castiel admits with his own sense of bemusement. humans are such miserable creatures, but he's beginning to understand why — he takes a glass of wine from one of the bots and tosses it back, replacing the empty glass on the platter before taking another and moving away, in the direction of one of the other walls, toward something new to look at. hannibal has so much art hung around his house. he's seen quite a lot over the ages, but he's never really stopped to look. ]

You don't like it?

[ he points to the nearest painting now. ]

What about this one?

[ it's a landscape. ]

[ornithologist]

[ The landscape in question is a bunch of eerie, gothic trees in a massive backsplash along the dining room, set with rows of live herbs on the lower half. Harold observes it with appropriate thoughtfulness. ]

Whether or not I like it is not necessarily the point, [ he couldn't take art seriously and be around Grace for four years while missing that, ] but I do like this one better.

The installation of plants is interesting; Dr. Lecter is essentially creating his own art piece on top of the original.

[messenger]

What is the point?

[ it's a genuine question, born from a desire to understand. there are pieces of art that he enjoys, but his enjoyment in the past has been purely aesthetic, with no deeper emotional resonation. how could he make that kind if emotional connection with no emotions to speak of? things are different now, of course, but that doesn't mean ge suddenly understands. ]

Oh. I thought they were for the food.

[ they're all edible herbs, as far as he can smell. ]

[ornithologist]

[ Castiel's question about something that creates endless debates among academics and artists gives Harold a slight smile at the innocence behind it. It does make him wonder about angelic existence if there's a basic ignorance about art appreciation, but he'll answer the question sincerely. ]

Many things, potentially, depending on your perspective. Technique; skill; message; emotion, [ Harold suggests, listing each word separately with a pause rather than rattling them off. ]

Functional art is also possible. Take your wine glass -- [ He nods toward him. ] Someone spent considerable effort and hours of their life designing such a thing. It's meant to perform a function, but also to add to the experience of drinking wine. A glass for whiskey -- [ He raises his own; it's a cut crystal rocks glass. ] Is necessarily different.

[messenger]

[ he listens, watching harold the entire time. his stare is maybe a little unnerving — awkward, at least. but it's obvious enough that he's genuinely interested in the topic. angels don't take much stock in human art. not normally. but it's like he said — he likes humanity.

he tips his head at the glass of wine he's holding, the stem pinched between his fingers, peering down as he watches the alcohol move languidly from side to side. ]

But... why do you need different glasses? The function is essentially the same.

[ornithologist]

[ Harold doesn't love being observed as a matter of course, but he has to admit there's something a little alien and therefore fascinating about Castiel's manner of staring. He's bemused to be in this conversation at all, explaining art to a supposed angel, but much like when he's presented with a puzzle he can't quite put it down. ]

The function is the same, but the experience is different. Wine out of the bottle or out of a mug might taste identical, but do you feel the same drinking them?

[ He tilts his head slightly in curiosity about Castiel's answer. ]

[messenger]

Uh...

[ his brow furrows as he considers the answer to this question. he takes a drink from his glass of wine, but he has nothing to compare it to. the last time he drank wine was when jesus walked the earth, and it wasn't anything like this. but then, he's only recently gained a human sense of taste, since his powers began to weaken.

he has more experience with whiskey than wine, but he wasn't exactly focusing on taste when he drank that liquor store. ]

Yes?

[ornithologist]

You don't seem certain.

[ Harold doesn't mean this as a critique, just an observation. He is deeply curious what experiences Castiel has had, but he isn't rude enough to pry overtly. ]

Let me put it a different way. Would you rather eat your favorite meal alone, or with someone you greatly cared for? The meal is the same, of course.

[messenger]

With... that person?

[ he feels he should elaborate here: ]

I don't normally have a sense of taste. At least, not like you would.

[ornithologist]

[ That was such a cagey answer. A moment's pause and then Harold looks at him sidelong with a certain sense of sardonicism. ]

Do I need to adjust the analogy, or can you imagine abnormally having a sense of taste?

[messenger]

[ he continues to stare at harold.

he squints.

it seems like he might be about to say something of value, and then— ]

I don't understand.

[ornithologist]

[ Okay. He does need to adjust the analogy. Harold sighs and then completely reorients himself. ]

Let's back up. Take this depiction of trees again. [ He gestures toward it with his glass. ] Do trees always look like this?

[ They're really backing it up. ]

[messenger]

[ where is this going. ]

No.

[ornithologist]

[ oh thank god ]

Looking at these trees, what do you think the artist was feeling when they chose to depict them this way? Considering all of their other options to draw from.

[messenger]

Well...

[ his eyes move from harold to the painting again. he studies it for several seconds that, from his perspective, go on for an embarrassingly long time.

it's difficult. angels don't feel, or at least they aren't meant to. he struggles to make emotional connections to colors and symbols. things simply are or are not. ]

There's a notable lack of animals. The water is very still. Maybe they were lonely.

[ornithologist]

[ From Harold's perspective, as someone deeply in love with an artist he had almost married and then abandoned to save her life, a few seconds is nothing. He waits patiently.

He nods encouragement. ] I agree. I would go so far as to say desolate. [ There's many places Harold could go from here -- several options flying through his mind -- but he forcibly keeps it basic. ]

A tree is not always just a tree. Trees have a function, but this is also communicating something. I believe it's a uniquely human characteristic to do this, and something I appreciate greatly about humanity. Whether or not I like it as a piece of art.

[ That's how they'd gotten on this topic, after all. ]

[messenger]

I think you're right.

[ he tries to imagine what god sees when god looks at his creations. whether he can find the metaphor in their existence, or are only they capable of this kind of transmutation? castiel at least understands his shortcomings in this way. as he continues to stare at the painting, he tries to think of what the trees themselves could represent.

people, maybe. each one standing alone. that's what the word desolate makes him imagine. ]

There's no art in Heaven.

[ornithologist]

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. ]

[messenger]

[ 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.

[ornithologist]

[ 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. ]

[messenger]

[ 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.