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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[ 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.

[ Hmmm, alright. Harold turns this over in his mind, turning away from Castiel to put less pressure on him. He tries to respect others' emotional privacy as he wants his own to be respected. ]

Well. I think art is a wonderful place to start in understanding human emotion. Poetry as well, perhaps; it makes a similar effort at capturing something difficult to articulate.

I liked the Neanderthals' poetry. It was in perfect tune with the spheres. [ he sighs, wistful as he admits this. another thing that's passed into the annals of time, like the synapsids and the ancient archosaurs. ] There was cross-breeding, of course. So they aren't completely gone.

[ only mostly. castiel takes a sip from his wine glass and stares down into the swirling contents, the same dark purple as fresh blood. ]

I... don't know what to do.

Edited (that's what i get for phone tagging) 2024-11-14 02:21 (UTC)

[ In perfect tune with the spheres? All right, sure. Though hearing there was cross-species breeding between early hominids is no great surprise. Harold isn't a biological anthropologist but he is extremely well-read and a curious person, which means he knows enough to accept that as likely true in many universes.

But this confession I don't know what to do seems far beyond the current topic. ]

What is it you think needs doing?

[ Turn the question on its head, perhaps, and see where it gets him. ]

Nothing needs doing.

[ his wine remains the most interesting thing in the room, at least for the next few moments, before he raises his gaze to stare again. as though harold will have all the answers to his yet unasked questions. ]

Humans... express their emotions. What happens when you don't know how?

You've been buying into a lot of propaganda if you think humans know how to express their emotions, [ Harold answers dryly. It's sarcastic but still ultimately sincere. If Castiel is what he says he is, a non-human entity newly come to self-determined consciousness and struggling to understand his own motivations and expression of self, Harold thinks he should immediately lower his expectations. ]

It's a skill, same as anything else. Some of us are better at it than others. [ For a moment, he thinks ruefully of John and his almost total inability to engage in emotional conversation... ] Fortunately, that means it is also a skill that can be acquired.

[ He should know; it doesn't come naturally to him, either. ]

... I see.

[ though he can understand the point harold is trying to make, it's not what he meant. but the ability to explain is beyond castiel. if he knew how to put it into words, he would elaborate: that when he says the word express, it isn't verbal communication that he means. he speaks of the ability to laugh, to cry, to attract with a coy look. to read the same looks back like the language they are. to let feeling take over the body and control it. his closest brushes have been with anger and disappointment — it's why he went and drank the liquor store, after all.

but that's no help in a conversation.

or this one.

he can smell the red wine under his nose. his thoughts skip like a record before coming back to that. ]

Is your alcohol good?

Edited 2024-11-15 22:02 (UTC)

[ Personally, if he knew of the misunderstanding, Harold would still stand on his point. Using John as his mental example, self-awareness of emotion is probably the single most hardest part. Communication is the end product of a process that has to start long before.

It's always been a conundrum that sort of plagued him. Harold is a skilled communicator -- he's articulate, well-spoken, unhurried -- but understanding his own feelings can be challenging indeed, given that it involves by necessity experiencing true vulnerability. And even if he does, it rarely means he wants to share them... but if Castiel is moving on from the conversation, he won't be impolite and drag it back.

Not directly, anyway. ]

Quite good. Which is no surprise, given everything. [ The rest of the house and the service is undeniable. ]

I should introduce myself. My name is Harold Finch. You're welcome to pester me with any tediously human questions.

[ it's a complicated subject. castiel doesn't know how to explain himself and his lack of understanding (and the gap in his ability to relate) without digging into the topic of his species and their physical incapacity. even if he appears to be human in all the ways that matter, there are broad physiological differences. humans have genetics, dna, synapses, nervous systems. and these things inform their personalities as much as their souls.

angels, however, have neither.

but he doesn't really want to talk about that. it's personal. and kind of embarrassing. ]

"Given everything"?

[ he glances around — he thinks he knows what harold means, but he wants to be sure. ]

My name is Castiel.

[ introductions, he often forgets.

castiel pauses, and then — ]

Why do bars serve some drinks with tiny plastic weaponry, but not others?

Edited 2024-11-15 23:29 (UTC)

[ 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. ]

[ 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)

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.

[ 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?

[ 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. ]

[ Harold is exceptionally patient with anyone (or anything) trying to learn how to understand, and therefore care for, humanity. The Machine tapped into a preexisting bottomless well inside him that he hadn't expected to need for its programming. He'd initially naively thought it was going to be like any other project. A whole order of magnitude more ambitious and difficult, of course, but an intellectual exercise nonetheless.

It had only started to work once Harold realized how integral it was to treat the Machine as a living entity. Machines are machines... until they become something more. Something he's not wholly comfortable with, but--

Undeniably, it is possible to teach a non-human being how to understand and care about humans. He has no doubts about that. ]

My example earlier, of eating your favorite meal with someone whose company you enjoy? Try it on someone you like, for them instead of you, [ he suggests. ] Even make it yourself, perhaps, if you feel up to the task. The effort that goes into the surprise is noticed and appreciated.

[ he's taking this all under very serious consideration. if castiel were anyone else but himself, it might come off insincere — the furrow of his brow, his parted lips, his attentive nod after every complete statement. but it's fairly obvious after speaking to him for even a little bit of time that this isn't something he's capable of faking.

angels don't do "surprises". they don't do nice things for people. they're soldiers, guardians, messengers. they're agents of fate, afflicters, strikers down of evil spirits. as well-meaning as his intentions may be, he's never considered going out of his way simply to make someone feel good.

but now that the idea is in his head, he wants to do it. he wanted to ease dean's burden, before. here, dean seems... better. but he still wants to do it.

maybe it's in his nature. ]

What would the best way be to learn how to prepare food?

[ He smiles again, just a little, but with a trace of that earlier complete honesty and warmth. The way Castiel so readily accepted his suggestion indicates there's someone in particular he's thinking of. Harold doesn't feel the need to pry, but...

It's not like he has anything better to do here until he gets his computer equipment, so he might as well help. ]

Like any other skill, by practicing it several times until it's satisfactory. [ A beat. ] Since you said you don't taste things, I'm happy to offer my palate and unvarnished reviews as tester.

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( OPEN ) ALL HALLOW'S EVE FEAST

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