[ He's been injured more severely than this. Far more severely, actually, and the scars listed on his wanted poster were a testament to that. Each breath and each beat of his heart sends pain searing through his side, but he only huffs out a heavy breath. He has an advantage here, as he always does. People underestimate him. The kind, mild-mannered doctor couldn't be capable of what he is. It's the illusion he maintains, because this is the most honest than Hannibal has been in the town. Here, as blood drips into the dirt, he can be seen for what he truly is—a monster.
Because he only wavers for a moment, breathing heavily from exertion, but not giving up. It's clear how this will end. One of them will die, and he can already tell that she doesn't have the experience necessary unless she's lucky. She's just a young woman, and Hannibal has been playing at this game longer than she's been alive. He pushes himself off the ground, and he hears her steps and measures her gait in his mind through them. He runs after her, and his own footing is much more certain than hers. The pain almost seems to motivate him more than anything else.
Hannibal reaches up with one hand to pull of the bag, because this is his moment to do so. He tugs it with a smooth motion, but in that small moment, he's not able to stop himself quickly enough. He sees the glint of silver, but he feels it much more immediately as the steel jaws clamp around his leg as he runs. There's a stuttered breath that's followed by a harsh yell, because the blade cuts into his flesh, but the force breaks bone. Hannibal stumbles and falls to the ground, though it's more a collapse than anything elegant like he would hope. The knife skitters out of reach, and his breath stutters after the yell as he looks after it with parted lips like he can't believe what's just happened.
But that stutter turns into a laugh.
It's soft and disbelieving, but he relaxes, or perhaps more accurately, knows there's nothing more to fight here. Hannibal lays in the dirt and closes his eyes as he pushes his mind away from that excrutiating pain as has become a talent of his over the years. But still, he speaks, even if it's stuttered between heavy, labored breath. ]
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Because he only wavers for a moment, breathing heavily from exertion, but not giving up. It's clear how this will end. One of them will die, and he can already tell that she doesn't have the experience necessary unless she's lucky. She's just a young woman, and Hannibal has been playing at this game longer than she's been alive. He pushes himself off the ground, and he hears her steps and measures her gait in his mind through them. He runs after her, and his own footing is much more certain than hers. The pain almost seems to motivate him more than anything else.
Hannibal reaches up with one hand to pull of the bag, because this is his moment to do so. He tugs it with a smooth motion, but in that small moment, he's not able to stop himself quickly enough. He sees the glint of silver, but he feels it much more immediately as the steel jaws clamp around his leg as he runs. There's a stuttered breath that's followed by a harsh yell, because the blade cuts into his flesh, but the force breaks bone. Hannibal stumbles and falls to the ground, though it's more a collapse than anything elegant like he would hope. The knife skitters out of reach, and his breath stutters after the yell as he looks after it with parted lips like he can't believe what's just happened.
But that stutter turns into a laugh.
It's soft and disbelieving, but he relaxes, or perhaps more accurately, knows there's nothing more to fight here. Hannibal lays in the dirt and closes his eyes as he pushes his mind away from that excrutiating pain as has become a talent of his over the years. But still, he speaks, even if it's stuttered between heavy, labored breath. ]
Naturally— It would be... like an animal.