and he mourns her, always // intro // open
Hannibal had been wandering the better part of Eastern Europe for the last two weeks, tracking down the men who'd killed his sister. After spending time at the ruins of his father's castle, he had nothing else on his mind. He had rarely spared a moment for any thought beside Mischa's vengeance. But now, such wrath was also faded and replaced only by a deep sadness. He was close on their trail. He would have them all by the end of the month. There was no reason not to spend a day the entire day resting.
He'd found a pleasant little inn, charmed by it's quaint appearance, and was completely willing to offer a few extra coin if it meant the keeper's said nothing about having a solitary young guest, if asked by any police. Which they would of course be, eventually, he had no doubt. The French Inspector's were always on his tail, he'd noticed. Ever since the murder they couldn't tack to him.
Assuring a capable young man with a lust for blood and need for revenge that he was more intelligent than your most decorated inspector encouraged all the wrong traits, really. Not that he saw anything wrong with them.
He slept better than usual, though he still awoke with slight cold sweat to the beginning of his sister's nightmare - fortunately, he'd woken at the part where the barn doors shut out her frightened face, and not anything more accurate, or beyond that point. Not the stump. Not the blood. Not the deer, with it's dead eyes...
Looking around what was once a small room which smelled strongly of sawdust and wet forest, he found himself in a larger, more garish room, which smelled richly of incense and burning candles. It was not at all the room he fell asleep in.
Perhaps he'd never actually woken. Was this still a dream? He'd never felt one this real, if it was. He slipped his head out the room's door, into the hall, and gave a restrained shout, unwilling to rudely wake anyone from slumber, but hoping to catch anyone who might be awake, or near his hallway. "Hallo? Gibt es hier jemanden?" He spoke an endless stream of languages, but he asked in German first, his last waking memory being entering the inn in West Germany. He debated asking in English, and French as well. Perhaps Spanish? You never knew who was passing through.
Not that this was real.
[* "Hello? Is there anyone here?"
Don't care, totally new, have no idea. Anything goes. Han is male (clearly) and legal (pretty obvious) and in his twenties. All kinks welcome, for now. Will write in if that changes. Do keep in mind he's a tad prude (for now >D).]
He'd found a pleasant little inn, charmed by it's quaint appearance, and was completely willing to offer a few extra coin if it meant the keeper's said nothing about having a solitary young guest, if asked by any police. Which they would of course be, eventually, he had no doubt. The French Inspector's were always on his tail, he'd noticed. Ever since the murder they couldn't tack to him.
Assuring a capable young man with a lust for blood and need for revenge that he was more intelligent than your most decorated inspector encouraged all the wrong traits, really. Not that he saw anything wrong with them.
He slept better than usual, though he still awoke with slight cold sweat to the beginning of his sister's nightmare - fortunately, he'd woken at the part where the barn doors shut out her frightened face, and not anything more accurate, or beyond that point. Not the stump. Not the blood. Not the deer, with it's dead eyes...
Looking around what was once a small room which smelled strongly of sawdust and wet forest, he found himself in a larger, more garish room, which smelled richly of incense and burning candles. It was not at all the room he fell asleep in.
Perhaps he'd never actually woken. Was this still a dream? He'd never felt one this real, if it was. He slipped his head out the room's door, into the hall, and gave a restrained shout, unwilling to rudely wake anyone from slumber, but hoping to catch anyone who might be awake, or near his hallway. "Hallo? Gibt es hier jemanden?" He spoke an endless stream of languages, but he asked in German first, his last waking memory being entering the inn in West Germany. He debated asking in English, and French as well. Perhaps Spanish? You never knew who was passing through.
Not that this was real.
[* "Hello? Is there anyone here?"
Don't care, totally new, have no idea. Anything goes. Han is male (clearly) and legal (pretty obvious) and in his twenties. All kinks welcome, for now. Will write in if that changes. Do keep in mind he's a tad prude (for now >D).]