sheriffexe | [ GRAVEYARD ]

Entry tags:

ic: graveyard

[ GRAVEYARD ]

GRAVEYARD

So, you're dead. Shame, that.

But on the other hand, it's actually kind of nice.

When you "wake" in some odd version of it, you'll find yourself lying on a rather plush bed. It's cozy and warm and just soft enough to tempt anyone back into sleep. The room is equally nice, if small, and when you turn and open the curtains to look out the window, you will see... wait, is that the town?

It is, actually. The town is laid out quite simply across the window and no matter how many times you may bang or wave through the window, no one seems to notice you. If you're smart enough to give up the venture and leave the small bedroom, you will notice that, of course, you are on the train.

The train that, is actually pretty fancy.

Moving through it, past the sleeping cabins and through to the main carts, you will find a dining car with fine dishware and meals of all kinds made at a push of a button or a request given to the air. They'll appear, freshly made and ready to eat at the table of your choice with any drink you could want. There truly doesn't seem to be any limits when it comes to the luxury of the meal.

There is also a bathhouse car with private bathrooms and saunas to fit up to four. Even one rather large room containing a small pool/hot tub of sorts is available for just about anyone to take a dip. It's kind of outlandish, honestly.

Then the lounge car, with its library and plush armchairs and couches. A pool table, a darts board, even a small area dedicated to painting. There's a bar too, fully stocked and ready for anyone who needs a drink. All it would require is a request from the bartender who... looks surprisingly familiar?

The Sheriff is there, much cleaner cut than his counterpart outside of the train. He looks up mildly at any arrivals, giving them a nod of greeting before going back to organizing bottles or setting cigars out for a smoke. He doesn't seem to be surprised at all by anyone who appears. Just... ready to serve them, whatever they may wish.

It all sort of seems okay for a moment, until you realize you're just here to wait for the game to end. Awkward.

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[ The cake is probably long gone by the time Hannibal emerges from his own room. He had been watching the proceedings with interest, after all. He watched every development, and at the same time, every bite that Will took. Both enraptured him like little else had, and so Natalie was barely a thought at the time. She was only meat. He was far more interested in Will.

But alas, eventually, his entertainment stops. Will is chosen and caught, and so now he can only wait for tomorrow. It's during that time that Hannibal finds himself bored, and he ends up going to look for Natalie. He comes to the dining car and sees her, and a barely there smile comes to his face.

He stops a short distance away, then nods to her. ]

Hello, Natalie.

[ It's as familiar as ever, delivered in exactly the same tone that Hannibal always had. It's like nothing has changed at all for him, from the way he looks at her with mild curiosity to the way his hands are folded in front of himself. He seems perfectly at ease with being here and with why he's here at all. ]

[For a moment, the slight raise of her head and the soft intake of breath is the only indication that she's heard him at all. She doesn't look towards him and she automatically stops her expression from shifting too far. There is a great hollowness inside her, and while she doesn't know if it was caused by the things he said or the things she did, it persists nonetheless.

If she were being honest with herself, she knew that this moment would come from the second she chose him as a target. Whether or not that had prepared her for it is a more difficult question to answer. In truth, she realizes that she hasn't thought about it at all, neither what to expect nor what to say. So, for a long moment, she simply stares straight ahead without answering him.

Then her shoulders draw together and she feels her hands start to tremble. Hannibal is like the monster in the closet or under her bed, she thinks. Perhaps it was foolish to imagine he would just disappear, leaving her alone. When she speaks, her voice is thick and frail at once.]

Please...

[Even if he asked, she wouldn't be aware what it is she's asking for. Her mouth closes for a short moment before parting again to say something else.]

Why are you here?

[Not on the train, because she's aware that both of them know that answer all too well. Instead - why is he speaking to her? Why is he not avoiding her, as she wishes to avoid him?]

[ He takes a few steps closer when she says that "please," a gesture that's far more threatening than it would be from anyone else. Yet Hannibal has no ill intent behind it. Intimidation, perhaps, or he knows that's the natural consequence of his approach. But he bears no ill will towards Natalie. It was her right to kill him.

Just as it was Will's right to kill her.

He speaks calmly, though again, he stops before approaching too close. The distance is only closed to where it would be friendlier, though it's certainly the last thing she must want. ]

I wrote you a letter.

[ His head tilts very slightly, curious, and the corners of his eyes wrinkle in interest. ]

Did you have a chance to read it?

[He comes closer, and while she hates herself for this moment of weakness as soon as it's come to pass, she flinches. Her arm draws around herself as she makes herself smaller, eyes widening in fear as she looks down at the ground with an intense focus. Looking at him is not an option.

She is terrified of him and all he has come to represent for her.

Despite the fact that she can find herself trembling, somehow she nods slowly. Something haunted and bitter awakens in her as she traces the words in her mind one more time. Those lines have been circling back and forth within her ever since she read them, and recalling them again gives her the courage to look him in the face now.

Much like her trembling hands, her voice shakes, but now it comes from anger as well as fear.]

You don't know me, [she begins, bitter and heated,] and I don't have blood on my hands, because you aren't human. You're a monster.

[ Hannibal watches her reactions, but he doesn't delight in them. There's fear, becayse if course there's fear. There is always fear when someone truly begins to know Hannibal, sees him for what he truly is. He's something that most people cannot understand, and it's always been both a point of intense pride and of loneliness for him. The people that had psychoanalyzed him before always drew the conclusion that this was the cause of what he was. He sought understanding, and he couldn't deny that.

However, that did not make him. He always was. Just, he thinks, as Natalie always had the capacity to kill him in her.

So it's with her words she reacts. She calls him inhuman, a monster, and Hannibal smiles. There may be the sense that this is the first time she's truly seen him smile. ]

Yet does a monster not have blood running through its veins? You should know. You saw it. Bled it from me, because unfortunately, your aim could have been better.

[ The corners of his eyes lift up into a bit more of a smile. ]

You know, there are quite a few people that would be jealous of what you have accomplished here, Natalie. You've managed quite a feat.

Shut up.

[She should have known it was a poor decision not to simply walk away when he came to speak with her, she thinks. With only one remaining arm, putting her hands over her ears is impossible. Even so, the way he smiles, the calm and even pleased tone of his words feels like it's sinking into her skin. Reaching down, the fingers of her remaining hand dig into the fabric of her trousers in a desperate attempt to ground herself.

It is only now that she realizes this is what he does. He has been doing this from the first moment they spoke. Every time she thought of him in such high esteem or spoke words indicating respect to him, she thinks, it must have been entertaining to him. That knowledge curls in the pit of her stomach, and it sickens her.

His words call to mind the still too vivid memory of the blood pooling around his broken body, the scent of gunpowder and the taste of fear. Her expression twists in agony despite her best efforts.]

No. It wasn't hard. You were clumsy, it was easy to figure you out. Shut up.

[ It's tempting to gloat when she denies his words so easily, but Hannibal knows better. It's far, far more damaging to not say a word. To not acknowledge it. He could tell her of how he knew the roles. How he watched as certain people bonded together, chased after bait left behind that would lead to what he knew was nothing, and how he had never had any intention of pursuing the Bounty Leader.

All that Hannibal pursued was entertainment. He believes he's succeeded in that.

So he just watches, still interested as her face twists up and she denies it all together. It's predictable, but he still feels fondness for seeing it all the same. It's a shame, really. If things had gone differently, he would have reached out to her just as he had to Abigail. ]

I'm not here to mock you, Natalie. I'm actually quite proud. I had expected that one of the people I had grown close to would be the one to kill me. The Sheriff gave me the warning I requested, and when he said it was a young woman, I knew it would be you.

[ He watches her, still thoughtfully, but his expression softens. ]

Though, I am here for a reason. To offer answers. Only if you would like them, of course. Percy and I spoke at length this week about who and what I am, so it is only fair I extend you the same courtesy.

[In some perfect version of this moment, she would realize that no answer he could possibly give would be enough to satisfy. She would know it would only enrage her more, and she would have walked away from him already. Unfortunately, in this version of the moment, she feels the bitterness shifting within her, and she somehow believes that hearing what he has to say will give her some small sense of closure.

The hatred boils inside of her even as she decides on a question to ask, but in the end, what she brings forth is born of her own insecurities rather than his trangressions.

Quietly and without looking towards him, she speaks. There is a deep anger quaking in her voice, but it is more muted than it was a few moments ago.]

What you said in your letter...

[About her capacity to bear blood on her hands, her intrinsic ability to cause harm. She has suspected it was true all her life, and the fact that he knew enough to put it into words will gnaw at her no matter what he says.

Regardless, she has been tracing every conversation with him in her mind since she read those words. She cannot find the source of those assumptions no matter where her thoughts take her.]

Why did you think that about me?

You survived.

[ His answer is simple, and probably infuriatingly so, but this is a nuance that Hannibal doesn't think she'll be able to accept easily. Even with patients that he has a more normal relationship, it's not an easy thing to explain in a way that's acceptable. To say "I've seen it many times before" comes off as callous and impersonal, and while that's something that Hannibal did sometimes go for... He doesn't want to with Natalie. ]

Surviving what you did took want to live. You had to earn your way, as the way the town is set up. If you were willing to do that, I knew that you would be willing to kill.

[ He lays it out simply, as if it were as obvious to him as if she had confessed a desire to do so. There's no hesitation, but no mocking or judgement in it either. It simply is. Though he does add one comment that he knows is likely to upset her, all things considered, but to him, it's a perfect explanation. ]

Just as I saw it in Will, I saw wrath in you.

[Wanting to live is different than being willing to kill someone else in order to live, she nearly argues. In her case, though, she supposes she can't say either item is inaccurate. The fact that he may have a point is loathsome to her, and so even if what he's saying digs deep inside her, the expression she adopts is one of defiance.

Any one would have done the same thing she did given the same set of choices, she thinks, and yet she remembers the Sheriff telling her she was in the most interesting moral position in the game. She recalls Milla urging everyone to trust each other, to tell them about any plans they were making. Why didn't she? Is it because—

No, she shuts that thought down in favor of another. When her voice next emerges, it is as though she is being struck by a realization for the first time. His calm demeanor, the understanding in his letter, and the smile he fixed her with earlier... Her voice rises.]

You wanted this to happen, didn't you? You wanted to be right.

[ Understanding dawns on her face, and Hannibal is curious to see what she suddenly knows. It's wrong, he's sure, because people always were. He can't blame them for that, because it wasn't as if Hannibal were a man (or otherwise) that could be neatly understood and categorized. Though it was always interesting to see just what conclusions people drew about him.

Her voice rises, and it's met only with a soft, almost fond laugh. Hannibal sounds proud when he speaks. Not of himself, but of her. ]

I already knew I was right. There was no "want."

[The pride and fondness in his voice makes her skin crawl, but more than that, it makes her heart pound faster. He has no right to sound like that, she thinks, after what happened. The letter he wrote her proves he knew what Will was going to do to her, she thinks.

Even the memory of it is where reason breaks, where the swelling emotion takes control. Nausea rises like a tide within her, steady and sure, but she isn't going to vomit. She sounds like a tea kettle about to erupt with steam, shrill and heated.]

Stop it. You don't get to sound like that when - when you knew what he was going to—

[It isn't accurate to say she trails off. She cuts herself off forcibly, because thinking of what happened any longer will surely make her gag.]

[ He thinks that her anger and fear coming more unbridled is because of the tone of his voice, but as she continues, he realizes that's not quite it. It may not have helped, but no, now she returns to the moment of her death. Or... He does wonder about that. Much to his disappointment, he hadn't been able to watch the kill itself. Only the consumption.

Though here is where he takes a step back, because as the conversation turns to this, he'd rather not get vomit on him. He was probably safe before, but better safer than sorry. ]

I not only knew. I suggested it.

[ Because now that Natalie and so many others know the truth (or at least enough of it), they also get to meet a part of Hannibal that truly sticks with people and digs into their deepest fears with ease. There's always more with Hannibal, even when you think the surprises and horrors are done. ]

[When she found out he was the Deputy, she assumed everything he told her was a lie. Any concern, caring, or fondness must have been fabricated, planted there because he knew she was lonely and desperate for attention. Those things, at least, should have been easy to grasp from all the details she divulged to him in private. It meant that when she found out about him, the betrayal had stung like no other.

And yet, somehow, this hurts even more. She no longer holds any delusions about the kind of person he is, but this - she did not expect this. There is no basis for it, no context that could have given her clues necessary to realize he could be that cruel. I would have saved you all the same, he had said, and so she had never thought he would have orchestrated something like that, no matter how despicable he is. Her hand is pressed to her mouth as she pales, but...

It really is a pity she ate all that cake, but at least he stepped back, because it's coming right back up as tears start to leak from her eyes again. This is unreal, it can't be happening. There has not been a moment this week that she hasn't felt completely overwhelmed, as if she's moving through a fever dream that has become reality.

Even once the contents of her stomach have been emptied, she continues dry heaving.]

[ He doesn't react at all as she retches and the cake comes back up, just watches with an interest that's almost dispassionate. To himself, he thinks that the reaction really is overblown, though he's seen it many times. The particular taboo of cannibalism was always a fascinating one, since it provoked such violent responses. Somehow, it was worse than death alone, which was a comparison he'd never quite agreed with. Though it may be because of how he had first gotten his taste. No one will ever know.

He takes another step back as if to leave, but he does say one more thing. ]

Just as the worshiper feels close to Christ in the Eucharist, eat in memory of the one you love.

[ It's what Will had said during the investigation, though neither of them know that. Perhaps Hannibal is quoting something here, or maybe he's referring to some other conversation. He doesn't elaborate, because he sees no need to. ]

Farewell, Natalie. I will not bother you any longer. [ He turns to leave, though before he goes, he does add: ] Though you are welcome to find Will and I yourself, of course.

[ But he's had his fun for the day, so he leaves with that. Moral of the story: never talk to Hannibal Lecter ]

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[ GRAVEYARD ]

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