Will he notice the writhing silvery tendrils making charred splinters out of a fine old oak tree?
How about the eerie blue glow that seems to surround them like a haze?
How about the six-foot-two woman in the charcoal grey jumpsuit who looks a) like a refugee from a bad space opera b) pissed off and c) like those hissing, snapping metallic threads are somehow extending from the backs of her hands?
She notices him, and those tendrils flick out and forward, covering the few feet between them and curling through the air in wordless menace, surrounding him from all sides.
"I am having a very bad day," she says flatly, "and you are about to make it better."
He might recognize a certain mad quality to that laugh, as the filaments withdraw slightly, preparing to strike--
And the hum and the glow cut off abruptly with a sharp crack as she slumps to the ground, a marionette with severed strings, one side of her face pouring blood.
Handkerchief, out. Useful thing to keep with you. Although this one's getting discarded as Villiers spits, swimming with disgust and horror.
She was going to kill him, wasn't she?
He moves, carefully, hand over his mouth as he tries to breath evenly, eyes carefully averted from that body. Walking towards Hannibal with shaky steps and uncertain strides.
Jasmine is in a poor mood.
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So he walks, innocently, rounding that small hill in a familiar path.
Too lost in his thoughts to really notice strange sounds.
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How about the eerie blue glow that seems to surround them like a haze?
How about the six-foot-two woman in the charcoal grey jumpsuit who looks a) like a refugee from a bad space opera b) pissed off and c) like those hissing, snapping metallic threads are somehow extending from the backs of her hands?
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The sight is enough to stop him in his tracks, at least, bringing along with it an alarmed stare.
...what?
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"I am having a very bad day," she says flatly, "and you are about to make it better."
Jasmine talks to her prey. Wouldn't you?
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Mysterious tendrils. Weren't they just destroying a tree?
And now, they're surrounding him.
This does not bode well.
"I..."
Swallow.
"I'm sure I could help, if you would just-"
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And the hum and the glow cut off abruptly with a sharp crack as she slumps to the ground, a marionette with severed strings, one side of her face pouring blood.
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"Out for a walk without your gun, Villiers?"
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Too frozen to move.
Then, his brain manages to process the image. Blood. Richly red. And...
...and is that part of her brain? Splinters of her skull?
Her eyes, dead and unseeing.
He manages to stagger back in horror, before turning to a conveniently placed bush to retch and heave and oh god someone just died in front of him.
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He might be chuckling.
So sensitive.
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Handkerchief, out. Useful thing to keep with you. Although this one's getting discarded as Villiers spits, swimming with disgust and horror.
She was going to kill him, wasn't she?
He moves, carefully, hand over his mouth as he tries to breath evenly, eyes carefully averted from that body. Walking towards Hannibal with shaky steps and uncertain strides.
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So fast. So unexpected.
It doesn't help that his mental defenses are weak, almost destroyed by Hannibal Lecter himself.
Perhaps that's part of the reason why he comes to a stop, only to kneel before curling up against Hannibal, head in his lap.
Someone died. In front of him. He could see the life leaving her eyes.
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Almost reminds you of another time, doesn't it.
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Wide-eyed, he remembers.
And shakes all the more. Buries his head closer, escaping accusatory light.
Although there's also the quietest of whispers of thanks.
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