sheriffexe | [ WEEK SIX – KILL LOG (NATALIE) ]

[ Will can only feel a confusing mix of emotions right now.

His own: angry, bitter, resigned. He knows what he must do, he knows that this is only way to do it. He has to kill Natalie, it's his right, but he also does not want to. She's a kid, a teenager, someone lied and manipulated and betrayed by Hannibal just like him. Of course she was angry, of course she retaliated. Hadn't he tried to kill Hannibal himself? Multiple times, in fact. Hannibal is an absolute monster and in truth --

In truth, Will is proud of Natalie for doing what he could not.

Then there is Natalie's: scared, furious, desperate, confused. She wants to flee. She wants to be sick. She doesn't know the extent of what she's tripped into and why would she? Isn't that just what Hannibal does to people -- send them where they don't want to go?

He feels his own eyes water, the emotion in the air clinging to him like a second skin. He hasn't even spilled blood yet. When he speaks, it's soft and tired. ]

What is it?

[She draws in a ragged breath, looking towards the sky in a desperate bid not to let any tears fall.]

I'm going to try really hard not to scream or run. I don't know if I can promise I'll be able to stop myself, but I'll try. I will.

[There's too much raw, animal panic swelling through her for her to say she won't be able to stop herself from doing either of those things. The instinct to flee might not be so easily overcome.]

But... It won't matter if I do, will it?

[Holding any illusions about that point would serve no purpose, but she's leading up to another point, too.]

[ A slow ragged breath and Will closes his eyes. He wishes Hannibal were here -- murder is always so much easier with Hannibal there. He remembers Randall Tier, remembers beating his face with his hands because it's always so much more intimate that way. He remembers dragging his corpse to Hannibal's house, tossing the body on his dining room table and --

Even Steven, he has said and he had meant it. This is the same. Natalie killed Hannibal. Will kills Natalie. Even Steven.

But he will use his knife because there is no intimacy here. ]

I'm going to be as quick as you'll let me. If you run, I will catch you. If you scream, I will silence you. If you fight, I will hurt you.

[ His shoulders lift in a slow shrug. ]

I need your corpse more than I need you. I need the meat.

[ But yes, he truly does wish Hannibal was here. Randall was easier in the end because Hannibal was there to clean his hands, keep him close, and talk him out of his head, slow and steady and so utterly comforting. He could not get lost in the act because Hannibal was there to provide him a soft place to land. A loving hand as he displayed the body, turning it into what Randall needed to become.

This is not the same because Hannibal is not here and he will not turn Natalie into anything but an offering. ]

[There's a long moment before she realizes what he means, and she wasn't prepared for the sudden swell of disgust and panic.

She was leading up to something, but it's forgotten in an instant. Now she looks at him with honest repulsion and horror, eyes glistening.]

You don't... You don't have to do this. Please...

[Though she's already aware it will be futile, she doesn't speak again, waiting for him to comment.]

[ He watches her, watches the realization carefully fall into place and there it is -- there's what Hannibal thrives off of. The ultimate taboo. Will can't say he feels the same but he understands what needs to be done. He'll do it. He'll live with it.

He is living with it. He just wishes Hannibal were here to make it more palatable.

His expression stays flat as she begs and he still feels bad, deep down after everything. He still doesn't want to do this but he's so far down the rabbit hole that there's no reality he could live in where he doesn't take what he's owed. She killed Hannibal so now her flesh is his to take. He has to. ]

... You had something you wanted to ask me?

[Right. She knew that was coming, or she should have. It doesn't stop how she has to scrub her hand across her eyes to stop tears from falling.

Her fear feels like a bottomless expanse.]

...You're going to get what you want, so just - don't hurt anyone else.

[ That gives him pause. A long pause where he blinks and looks genuinely confused for a moment.

Then he shakes his heads and sighs, lifting a hand to drag it over his face, fingers scratching through his beard. He looks immensely tired suddenly and as if he'd rather be anywhere else. ]

I'm not Hannibal, Natalie. I don't... delight in all of this. I don't revel. I tolerate, at most. I'm deeply complicit in what Hannibal has done and what he will do, but I'm not him.

[ And a little sadly, ]

I was a cop once. It isn't like I stopped wanting to help people.

[ But instead, he is here. Bluebeard's final wife. There is no going back from this. ]

We should start heading to the lake now.

...If you're going to kill me, at least don't lie to me.

[She can't force herself to admit that there's still an impulse to help people in him. Far easier to believe that the man that's going to kill her is a monster; simpler not to acknowledge the shades of gray.

She swallows thickly and nods.]

Okay.

Edited 2017-02-25 03:31 (UTC)

[ All Will can do at that is smile sadly. He's reminded of being in the BSHCI. He's reminded of sitting in his jail cell and watching everyone he loved and trusted look at him with disgust. How could you do this, they asked, while pointing to Hannibal's crimes. Hannibal, the steadfast denier. Who wanted to watch the pieces play and see what happened.

Percy understood the position Will is in, he knows Natalie will not. She isn't Abigail, for all Hannibal wanted to see the girl in her. ]

I'm not but you want me to.

[ But he'll gesture for her to start on the path towards the lake, following after her as she goes. He truly does hope she doesn't run. ]

[It feels like torture to take the first step. Finality. But she does, eventually, because she has to. She takes another step after that, and another, and she doesn't bother to disguise the tears falling down her face. He's behind her, anyways. She lets the panic run through her, and she doesn't say anything else for a long moment.]

...Did you tell him it was going to be me? Is that how he knew?

[ Will considers falling into step with her, making sure she doesn't feel as if he's looming behind her but then -- Well, that is what he's doing, isn't it? He keeps his same pace, follows carefully a few paces behind. ]

No. I didn't tell him anything, ever. I know you won't believe that either but it's the truth. He found it more fun not to know.

[She doesn't want to believe it, that much is true. Still, this time she doesn't protest. Eyes straight ahead, she stays silent for several moments.]

But he did know, somehow. It was in the letter he wrote me.

[ It almost hurts to talk about Hannibal like this. He's hasn't existed in a world Hannibal didn't in a long, long time -- it feels like an ill fitting suit. He wants to claw at his skin. ]

Then the Sheriff told him, or told him enough that he was able to deduce it himself. He's not a stupid man, Natalie, and you told him enough to know you, didn't you?

I never told him anything that would make him think I'd be this kind of person.

[The kind who murders a man who saved her life and feels, among the horror and shame and panic, an enduring sense of relief and finality. Every time she thinks about it, she wants to vomit, so she changes the subject.]

Why did you pick the lake? So nobody would come across us on accident?

Didn't you? Hannibal can always tell, in a way. What someone's capable of. He makes a living off of fostering it.

[ Yet, Will still catches it. The swift turn of emotion that Natalie can't seem to bear. He doesn't comment, but he notices it. ]

It's peaceful, and this will take a while. I've -- [ . . . ] I've never.

[ He falls quiet again and it's obvious whatever he's thinking is hard to get out. It'll take a few more minutes before, quietly. ]

Never raw. I don't want to but -- I. Have to. He wouldn't have it otherwise.

[Everything goes cold, the edges of her vision fogging from the sheer overwhelming sensation of dread that drops from her heart all the way down to her stomach. She stops in her tracks, plants a hand over her mouth, tries to fight back a sob but can't quite manage it.]

You don't. You don't have to, you... I know you're going to kill me, but there's no reason to—

[All at once, she thinks of what Jason might do if he saw her like that, and she gags, leaning over. Nothing comes up; she hasn't eaten all day. Still, there are a few more dry heaves on the way.]

[ He'll stop when she does, looking at her with a frown on his face. There's nothing he can do for this because there's nothing he can say here. She doesn't get it, and she won't get it, so why bother trying to explain it? He knows what he has to do. He knows if he doesn't do this -- Hannibal and him would not be able to move past it.

He also knows that he wants to do this, not to eat her, but for the act itself and the meaning it would bring to Hannibal. He wants to show him his dedication. He's with Hannibal not -- completely. After their fall, there isn't any going back from this.

When he speaks, it's still soft and quiet and oddly curious. This is an answer he doesn't know. ]

... You spent enough time around him to eat some of his food, didn't you? Something with meat.

[Catching his meaning immediately, her response is immediate, angry and hot and biting. She manages to breathe between gags long enough to say this.]

No. I never ate anything from that sick fuck.

[And, somehow, it isn't a lie, through coincidence or mild paranoia.]

[ Will just nods, swallowing and letting out a sigh -- a sigh that actually sounds quite relieved. ]

Good. Thank god.

[ And then he'll start walking again, gesturing for her to keep going with him. ]

Come on. I -- I promise I'll make this quick. What happens after, it has nothing to do with you.

[She pauses for a long moment, eyes narrowed and staring at him, before she follows again. Part of her wants to tell him she doesn't understand him, but that must be a given by now.

So, bitter and low:]

It has everything to do with me.

[Quick, while it's not such an awful thing in the context he's using it in, is perhaps the last thing she wants. She knows as soon as they reach the lake, that's it, and it makes her pulse start to race. Her legs feel numb and wooden, and she can tell that she's shaking.]

[ Will glances over for a moment before -- ]

Why?

[ But he isn't expecting a good answer here. Idly, he thinks Percy would understand. Meat is meat. He would understand the distinction here and the right when it comes to the revenge, the taking of life for life. Natalie killed Hannibal and now her life is forfeit to Will, her meat is forfeit. He doesn't think Natalie would get that, would understand the grey in the situation or even attempt to. He wonders why he's bothering to talk about it. ]

[There are so many answers that come flooding in immediately, but he's right about one thing; she doesn't bother to understand. Part of it, of course, is that it's a viewpoint too disturbing to contemplate for long. The other, though, is that she has never been skilled in dealing with nuance. She's the kind of person who thrives on logic, clear reasons why and how each event takes place. This isn't just something she doesn't want to understand, it's something she can't.

So, her response is short and clipped.]

Because you're going to kill me, you fucking psychopath.

[Breathe, breathe, breathe, swallow.]

...I want to ask you something else.

[ His response is a grin and there's a wryness to it. In his head, he hears Freddie Lounds, clear as a bell. We're just a bunch of psychopaths helping each other out. If anyone deserved a knife to the throat, it was her.

But he doesn't give it an answer beyond that. Instead just nods and offers -- ]

Yes?

[She hates saying this, hates acknowledging in any way the truth of what he's going to do to her. Still, she takes a breath and fights the impulse to gag again, glancing at the ground so she won't have to see that grin.]

If you're - if you're going to...

[Inhale, exhale, repeat.]

I don't want anyone to see whatever it is you do to me. And... If Jason tries to volunteer to kill you, please, tell everyone that isn't what I want.

[ His answer comes simple, without any hesitation -- ]

Okay.

[ And then he continues after a moment. ]

I won't let them see. I don't want them to either. They shouldn't have to, this isn't -- it isn't right. [ . . . ] I'll... have to tell them what I did though, make them vote for me and only me. Lie about the other two, I think. Take the credit so no one else -- so they have more time to figure things out together.

[ He lifts a hand to rub over his eyes. He's so tired. He's just so tired and it's going to be a long two days. ]

I'll make sure Jason doesn't kill me. He'll want to though, you're right.

[She's not going to thank him, and she doesn't look relieved, but she does look a certain sort of resigned rather than strictly terrified. That isn't to say that the panic and fear aren't still around; they've just taken a backseat for a moment.

At the mention of Jason, though, her expression grows distant. Some cold variation of longing and settles into her, mixing with the feeling of fondness just thinking of him brings. Home.]

I know he will. I know.

[As she keeps walking, she rubs at her eyes quickly again.]

[ He just looks at her for a moment as he goes silent, feeling the wash of emotions and thinking of Hannibal, of course. He feels that towards Hannibal, doesn't he? But voicing that now would bring nothing to the table.

Instead, he says nothing and walks with her. Slow, steady, quiet. ]

[If she notices him looking, she doesn't say anything about it. That fond feeling doesn't leave her, but this time, it's because she's desperately thinking of anything that could be considered a positive memory to distract herself.

That means, however, that she barely realizes it when they've nearly reached the lake. When she looks up and realizes where they are, she looks up and sucks in a small breath, feeling the terror come flooding steadily back in. Stalling in place, she finally looks over at him, openly and unabashedly afraid.

She's run out of time.]

[ He feels the spike of change in the air and stops his movements as she does, turning to her with a flat expression. The knife is still in his hand and he thinks then --

He never really wanted to kill Natalie. He actually liked her, for a bit there.

He breathes out slow and on the dock not so far ahead is the ravenstag again, still dripping inky black blood as it approaches them in slow, silent steps. It makes no sound as it moves but its eyes bore down into Will, the pressure there overwhelming him.

If he doesn't kill her -- if he doesn't eat -- oh god, he does not want to know the alternative. ]

Don't run.

[It's not as though the panic didn't exist before, but this is where it comes in earnest. She starts to hyperventilate, and while she doesn't run, she doesn't move towards him or towards the dock. There are tears dripping from her eyes, suddenly, and she shakes her head with no small amount of desperation.

Her voice cracks and breaks apart when she tries to speak, wet and aching.]

Please...

[ God, he doesn't want to do this. This is different, entirely, from slaying the Dragon or putting down Randall Tier. This is even different from Freddie and her parasite of an existence. This is a young girl who got swept up in Hannibal's bullshit and paid the price for it. She survived him though, killed him despite it all and now --

Now Will is killing her.

But what can he do? What can he really do here? He has to do this because Hannibal is his priority and he loves him, dearly, desperately, to a point of blind devotion. This is his Eucharist and he is nothing if not faithful. Bedelia's voice in his head rings out, You found religion. Nothing more
dangerous than that. He will worship at Hannibal's feet and there is no regret there anymore. Willfully blind and ignorant by choice devotion, Will Graham is the dog at Hannibal's heels. ]

I'm sorry. You should have never met us.

[ And then he'll take a step forward, reaching out with his free hand to grab her. ]

[Since Monday, she's known she was going to die. It's been a week of desperately trying to convince herself that she was prepared, but maybe that was a cruel joke she'd been playing on herself. It certainly feels like, as she looks at the glint of the knife, at the look on his face.

Despite what she thought she'd do and how she'd handle this, she does try to move away from him as he reaches out to grab her. She isn't fast enough, of course, and while she might try to pull away... It's clear how this is going to end. Her breathing, already quickened, jets out of her mouth in fits and starts as she shakes her head. It feels as though the entire atmosphere is alive with the sheer force of her terror.

While she might not scream, her voice comes out shrill and louder than she means it.]

You don't have to do this, please, I don't want to die!

[ Her fear ratchets up and up and up but it's as she jerks away from him when he goes to grab her that Will's own emotions go from a mixture of guilt and resignation to a cold, blank anger and his upper lip curls in a snarl.

She begs and he remembers then what he saw, the gunshots hitting Hannibal over and over and he is suddenly so, so very angry. ]

I had to do this the moment you decided to be the one to kill Hannibal. You knew this was coming. You knew I would kill you.

[ And then he lunges again, quicker this time, sharper, and he grabs a fistful of hair before jerking her back sharply so he can try to get an arm around her throat. ]

I didn't have—

[A choice, she starts to say, but then his hand is in her hair and she's being pulled back. Even if she wasn't too taken aback to fight back, she wouldn't be strong enough to do so. As he tries to get a hand around her throat, though, she starts to struggle. Kicking out, driving her elbow into his side, anything she can make contact with easily in the position he has her in.

He told her he would hurt her if he had to, but it's forgotten in the terror of the moment. The tears continue to obscure her vision, even as she tries to escape his grasp.]

[ This is why he kept the knife.

She struggles and fights him but his free arm still holds the knife while the other clamps tighter and tighter around her throat. He doesn't hesitate in his actions, bringing the knife up quickly to stab her in the same place as her wound from last night.

To make it worse though, he drags the knife after it's embedded against her, dragging it down through her collarbone and across her chest as he goes.

Stop fighting him. ]

[At one moment, she's trying to pry his arm away from her neck because she can't breathe, and then - oh.

If she could breathe normally,she would scream. As it is, she makes a voiceless cry of agony, her eyes widening and her mouth opening in pain. It makes her stop fighting. Relaxing isn't quite the right word, perhaps, but she goes limp in his grasp, expression twisted into pain and despair.

Her hand tightens around his arm, but somehow, it reads as a request for something different this time. Don't let him do anything like that again, she prays. If this is how it's going to end...

Make it fast.]

[ He told her he would make it fast. He only hurt her because she fought.

And now, she isn't fighting.

So, the knife comes out quickly, spray of blood over his hands and the dirt on front of them. He doesn't hesitate, drops his arm from her neck for only a few seconds before --

The knife slides clean across the throat as if he's practiced this many, many times before. He is experienced in one way or another with the movement and his mind sticks, for a moment, to Abigail. To Garret Jacob Hobbs in the kitchen that morning. How fitting that he slices Natalie's throat while she gunned down Hannibal.

How fitting.

When the knife is through, he drops her down to ground with little fanfare and watches her die with a blank expression. He has to wait, he has to see her pulse leave and then --

And then he'll eat her heart. ]

[Once the knife comes out of her chest, she closes her eyes. Just breathe, think of something else, she tells herself, this will be over soon—

Then, as the knife drives it's way through her neck... All the fright, all the sorrow, every moment of fear and despair doesn't prepare her for the swell of raw, animal panic. I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm going to die, she thinks. Her eyes fly open in pain and terror. She doesn't necessarily expect him to drop her to the ground, but she's too weak to get up or do anything but stare at him from where she lays in the dirt.

For a moment, she tries to bring her hand up to stop the bleeding, but in the end she doesn't have enough time to move it all the way to her neck. As her strength leaves her, her hand ends up falling onto her chest. She keeps trying to talk, making low and guttural noises through the blood bubbling out of her throat, pouring into the ground. None of it is actually audible.

In the end, she looks out towards the water as she starts to feel incredibly weak, as her vision starts to go black around the edges. All at once, she thinks of a night not too long ago - kneeling on the bank, one hand grasping hers, one hand gently squeezing her shoulder. Fingers intertwined. A boy she may never see again.

Her fear gives way to sorrow, to longing, as the life leaves her eyes. Her last thoughts: Jason. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.]

Edited (ignore this edit i gotta make this more painful for kyuu) 2017-03-03 03:42 (UTC)

[ WEEK SIX – KILL LOG (NATALIE) ]

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