Hannibal Lecter (Female) - Hannibal Rising (plus some crack) - Multiversal Bar

[mm_pyth]

There's a calm, quiet young woman sitting in an armchair by the fire with a glass of water and a contemplative expression.

She would not be averse to company.

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[athingforred]

Would this company suit?

A slim young man, early twenties, pushing through the crowded bar. It's fairly obvious that he's looking for a seat; probably pure chance that his eyes light on the one across from Hannibal's. From his manner, you might guess that he's suffered a disappointment, but that he's carrying it with grace.

Stephen Just is a really good actor.

"Hey, sorry... this one's not taken, is it?" He puts a hand on the back of the empty armchair, directing a hopeful half-smile at Hannibal.

[athingforred]

Quick, startled look from one to the other, and back.

With a slight, short laugh to regain his composure: "Sorry. Guess you're asking for that kind of thing, when you come to Milliways. Hello... Hanni Two?"

He keeps his tone light. But why does he get the feeling that they don't intend to fulfil every man's guilty dream?

[suspects_ravens]

"Hannibal."

Cold smiles in cold unison.

"Our name is Hannibal Lecter."

[athingforred]

It takes about half a second for that name to process, in conjunction with the multiversal nature of this place, and the fact that weird stuff like genderswitching does tend to come into its own here.

Fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck fuckyfuck.

And they're out of sight and out of hearing of anyone. Damn, it's his own trick, and he's walked straight into it.

Could he fight them off whilst they're only girls? They certainly don't look like they're armed, so far as he's able to actually tell these things (ie: not far at all). But there's two of them against one, and a small gun doesn't leave a telltale bulge, and Hannibal fucking Lecter.

A step back, then two, ready to run.

[suspects_ravens]

Except that one of her has hold of his wrist, and her grip is like steel and she's not letting go.

"So soon?" she inquires airily, as her double walks closer.

"Let's talk about Christine."

[athingforred]

"Let go. I don't know who you're talking about."

He wants out of here, stat.

[suspects_ravens]

"Oh, but you do."

...where the fuck did she get those handcuffs?

Ah. Jacket pocket.

Doesn't matter to Steve, as his hands are behind him and restrained, and there's a Hannibal at his back and one approaching from the front and--

"Do you remember her scars, Stephen?"

Hannibal does. Cold fingertips brush his neck and shoulders, tracing the short, curved outlines as though she can see them on his skin.

"We found it very interesting, seeing a woman so covered in bite marks."

The word is delivered like a knife to the gut; her fingernails drag down the column of his throat with it.

[athingforred]

"Shit--"

He's struggling to get away, but he's trapped between the horrible touch in front of him and the handcuffs behind him and how the hell is she stronger than him?

[suspects_ravens]

"Isn't it fun?" they whisper in dangerous unison. "The fear. I'm sure you loved the fear, didn't you. And the bruises, and the rest of it."

Warm breath against his cheek, a cruel mockery of a kiss, leaning in until with an abrupt motion her teeth sink into his shoulder.

[athingforred]

He sees it coming the split second before it arrives. That probably makes it worse.

Stephen yells in pain, wrenching against the handcuffs for all the good it'll do, pulling away from the bite and coming up short against the other Hannibal at his back. He kicks out hard, but the angle and the proximity are all against him.

[suspects_ravens]

The Hannibal behind him responds appropriately enough by taking her turn.

When they lift their heads it's a sharp wrenching jerk, and flesh tears away with a horrible sound.

Apparently they don't mind him raw.

[athingforred]

He screams, and for a second even the fear is wiped away by the onslaught of unbearable pain.

But only for a second.

Then it's back, and ice-cold and burning and unpleasantly wet and it hurts oh god it hurts.

[suspects_ravens]

They laugh, and it's cold and bright and cruel, and the sound of chewing and swallowing is, if possible, worse.

And then they do it again.

And again.

The blood running down over their hands where they restrain him seems only to excite them further.

[athingforred]

How can no-one hear him screaming? How can no-one see him twisting wildly like the corpse of some poor animal caught by piranhas? Why can he do nothing but cry and scream and bleed and shake and pull to escape, pure terrified reaction rather than out of any plan, and weaker and more frantic every time.

The irony isn't lost on him. Or wouldn't be, if he was capable of focusing on it right now.

[suspects_ravens]

Hannibal-- one of her; it's debatable whether he possesses anymore the capacity to tell which-- licks an open wound, digging her tongue into torn muscle and lapping up blood like cake batter out of a bowl.

It hurts.

Their faces and arms are smeared with red, and they share it over his shoulder in a brief kiss before returning to the task at hand. One of her bites open the back of his neck, over the spine. It's an agony that overrides all other agonies, and it's almost enough to distract from the feel of strong teeth closing over his throat.

Almost.

[athingforred]

But almost isn't enough, and with what red shreds of sense he has left he shakes his head desperately, yelling, terrified. He doesn't look at her, though. He doesn't look as if he can see anything, right now, except vivid blinding lines of pain.