[he hears Krouse cooing to the foul creature that he's allowed to cozy too closely to his chest. much longer and he's sure it would send the boy into a form of psychosis, if it already hasn't.
he internally braces himself for the sickly sweet smell that permeates through every particle of air. it's a slap on the face. he does everything he can to remain impenetrable, but a muscle twitches just once in the corner of his eye, breaking past his usual stoicism. he knows it's hardly noticeable and knows Krouse is honed in on caring for the sickness that bleeds into Hannibal's home, so he swallows the discomfort. the only respite is the fire's smoke, but it hardly has a fighting chance against the bubbling stench that rises from Krouse's torso. he recognizes it, knows that smell from patients he's treated in the past and people he's met, but it has never been this pungent.
he has to focus on other senses.
so many stories on Krouse's skin; reds, blues and purples blending together to paint a picture. jagged areas of skin where some scabs are peeling and others fresh. the indents and raises left by scarring.
the tray is moved closer to Hannibal, to the table. firm, steady hands take Krouse's arm delicately to disinfect the area of the median cubital vein. absently, he thinks of grabbing the creature and disposing of it outside right here and now. he can't take care of it inside, he's worried what sort of cleaning he'll need to do to clean his living room just by having it present.]
You may feel slight pinch. Don't fight it, remember you are safe.
[except, with Hannibal's skill, the impact of the needle breaking into skin barely exists. it's done so quickly and precisely that it's possible Krouse doesn't feel it. gauze is pressed against the area, though hardly for more than a few seconds. satisfied, he pulls back, sits himself in his chair neatly. one leg crosses over the other.
he waits in silence for a full minute, long enough for the ketamine to hit the system, early enough that Krouse may still have an crumb of control over what words leave his mouth before everything is taken over by impulse.]
Tell me about what you're holding. What it represents.
cw needles/drug administration, yucky vibes, also hannibal
he internally braces himself for the sickly sweet smell that permeates through every particle of air. it's a slap on the face. he does everything he can to remain impenetrable, but a muscle twitches just once in the corner of his eye, breaking past his usual stoicism. he knows it's hardly noticeable and knows Krouse is honed in on caring for the sickness that bleeds into Hannibal's home, so he swallows the discomfort. the only respite is the fire's smoke, but it hardly has a fighting chance against the bubbling stench that rises from Krouse's torso. he recognizes it, knows that smell from patients he's treated in the past and people he's met, but it has never been this pungent.
he has to focus on other senses.
so many stories on Krouse's skin; reds, blues and purples blending together to paint a picture. jagged areas of skin where some scabs are peeling and others fresh. the indents and raises left by scarring.
the tray is moved closer to Hannibal, to the table. firm, steady hands take Krouse's arm delicately to disinfect the area of the median cubital vein. absently, he thinks of grabbing the creature and disposing of it outside right here and now. he can't take care of it inside, he's worried what sort of cleaning he'll need to do to clean his living room just by having it present.]
You may feel slight pinch. Don't fight it, remember you are safe.
[except, with Hannibal's skill, the impact of the needle breaking into skin barely exists. it's done so quickly and precisely that it's possible Krouse doesn't feel it. gauze is pressed against the area, though hardly for more than a few seconds. satisfied, he pulls back, sits himself in his chair neatly. one leg crosses over the other.
he waits in silence for a full minute, long enough for the ketamine to hit the system, early enough that Krouse may still have an crumb of control over what words leave his mouth before everything is taken over by impulse.]
Tell me about what you're holding. What it represents.