[Hunt #3 | 1666 Nelson St] We're All Mad Here
By eight in the morning Hannibal was already pacing the kitchen. It wasn't hard to miss the events that were going on outside between the random killings and people over the phones talking about other events. All those signs as well as the radio announcements about the Milkman being the police chief now? Yeah. There was a reason that Hannibal was eying the bottles of milk that were currently sitting on the kitchen table very warily. With his arms crossed he circled the table studying the bottles carefully. The pamphlet that Jordan hat let him read had said not to drink the milk and what did they have to do now? Drink the fucking milk.
Carolyn and the others were still upstairs while King was supposed to be getting breakfast together. What they didn't know, he figured, was that he was trying to psych himself up to open one of those bottles and, well, chug it down. Maybe him just drinking one bottle would be enough to keep anything from happening to the people upstairs. Reaching out he picked up one of the bottles at random having to force himself to take one deep breath feeling the cool glass under his fingers. He could do this. All he had to do was pop the top and just... Taking a few more deep breaths his hands were moving before his mind could talk him out of it, twisting the top off and upturning the rim of the bottle against his lips.
It tasted awful. That mix between soured milk and something else that left a tartness in an after taste. Hannibal thought once he was going to choke as he forced himself to keep drinking breathing through his nose knowing if he stopped he'd never pick it back up again. When the last drop was drained it was all the Hunter could do to keep from throwing it all back up. He coughed, gagged, and felt like he had been hit by a train. Bent over the table he tossed the empty bottle on to it resting his palms against the cool wooden surface. All he had to do was hold it down right? Just... hold it down and wait.
By the time that he heard footsteps on the stairwell, Hannibal had spilled himself in to a chair at the table feeling like shit. More so than that actually, it hadn't taken long at all after drinking the bottle that the feeling of being run over intensified. His body ached and he swore it was the worst feeling ever considering he hadn't been sick in years. Food poisoning or whatever this sucked and every time he shifted just a hair he thought he was going to throw up. How many more days of this was he going to have to do again?
Carolyn and the others were still upstairs while King was supposed to be getting breakfast together. What they didn't know, he figured, was that he was trying to psych himself up to open one of those bottles and, well, chug it down. Maybe him just drinking one bottle would be enough to keep anything from happening to the people upstairs. Reaching out he picked up one of the bottles at random having to force himself to take one deep breath feeling the cool glass under his fingers. He could do this. All he had to do was pop the top and just... Taking a few more deep breaths his hands were moving before his mind could talk him out of it, twisting the top off and upturning the rim of the bottle against his lips.
It tasted awful. That mix between soured milk and something else that left a tartness in an after taste. Hannibal thought once he was going to choke as he forced himself to keep drinking breathing through his nose knowing if he stopped he'd never pick it back up again. When the last drop was drained it was all the Hunter could do to keep from throwing it all back up. He coughed, gagged, and felt like he had been hit by a train. Bent over the table he tossed the empty bottle on to it resting his palms against the cool wooden surface. All he had to do was hold it down right? Just... hold it down and wait.
By the time that he heard footsteps on the stairwell, Hannibal had spilled himself in to a chair at the table feeling like shit. More so than that actually, it hadn't taken long at all after drinking the bottle that the feeling of being run over intensified. His body ached and he swore it was the worst feeling ever considering he hadn't been sick in years. Food poisoning or whatever this sucked and every time he shifted just a hair he thought he was going to throw up. How many more days of this was he going to have to do again?