rhymeswithcannibal | Until we get a real season 4...

It would be a pity that Hannibal would never see what Will had made of them, if that is the way events would come to pass. Just like Hannibal may never know whose heart was on the table. But if the afterlife were kind or God uncaring, if there were something besides the peaceful, dark oblivion waiting for them, then Will would find Hannibal and tell him.

Why speak a word that has been spoken so many times before when they could express the exact nuances of emotion they felt in that moment through the Blake and Dante, through flower and mineral and fruit and other things that layered meaning over meaning. It was their way.

"And the misuse of all the apple cider vinegar if we don't finish applying this sunblock." Will doubted that Hannibal was stocked with aloe, but imagined there was a small variety of vinegar that would be a decent substitute. He allowed Hannibal to begin to untangle them, straightened himself and took a step away.

Nowhere near ready to cash, though possibly amiable to letting Hannibal cash it himself while he watched. Though he wasn't thinking about that, he was wondering whether Hannibal had packed alcohol with lunch.

If Hannibal's vision of God's love of killing was accurate, perhaps their afterlife would be kind as a reward for services rendered, but Hannibal wasn't making that a homicidal form of Pascal's Wager. What came after would come, be it darkness, perdition, reincarnation, or reward; this was the life they were living and only fools ignored this life because of hope or fear of what came next.

Although, perhaps if their way weren't always written between the lines, Baltimore's tragedy might not have happened...

Will's observation turned up the brightness in Hannibal's smile, even as he retrieved the bottle from where he'd put it down before they got sidetracked once again. "As old as this sunblock is, we may still be forced to resort to home remedies."

He poured more sunblock into his palm and offered the bottle to Will once again. "If so, it will have been worth it. We have told our wrath and pushed back the growth of our poison tree. Now let us enjoy the original - if less important - intent of this outing."

Hannibal would certainly be intrigued by an offer of voyeurism, but that was best saved for the privacy and comfort of their floating home, where sunscreen and sand wouldn't be concerns. Here they had sunscreen, sand, and both beer and wine in the cooler. Sometimes you had to know your audience.

There might be some small thing to learn about less layered meaning, at least, between themselves.

Will inclined his head to that, "Don't look so pleased, sunburns bring out the worst in some people." There was no bite to the warning, really, save for the potential future drain on the vinegar supply,

He accepted the bottle and began to slather lotion across his chest and stomach, then his legs. He left the bottle in the sand by Hannibal's bag. Initially, Will had intended to face plant on his towel and remain that way for a good portion of their beach excursions, but at the moment, he was inclined towards the water, at least for a short time. The temperature of the ocean was not shocking, but warmer. Will likened it to the blood of the great breathing beast of the world in his mind as he curled toes in the wet sand and waded into the shallows.

Such an offer would be shelved for privacy, yes, for lack of sand and the comfort of shade, of softer surfaces and a drink in the hand. Not to dull the experience but to give his hands something to do while Hannibal's own were occupied otherwise.

Beer would be appreciated, savored more than wine would be. Will wanted something to take a bit of the edge off the afternoon.

Hannibal glanced up from spreading sunblock across his chest and tilted his head inquisitively. "Am I to take it that you are one of those 'some people'?"

He couldn't be surprised by that. Will was prickly at the best of times; the discomfort of a sunburn would do nothing to improve his temperament.

He took longer than Will to finish applying the sunscreen. He was still rubbing the lotion on his chest and stomach while he watched Will wading into the water, committing to memory the lines of his back and shoulders as he walked to reproduce on paper someday. Not that his only reason for the scrutiny was artistic.

He fished in his bag for a pair of swim goggles and pulled them over his head to hang around his neck, then followed Will out into the water. He'd missed many things over the past few years, swimming among them, but rather than immediately dive in once the water was deep enough, he waded out until the water was chest deep, then pulled his legs up and let the water hold him up sculling lazily with his arms to stay in place as he rose and fell with the gentle waves.

"I've dreamed of the water ocean than once since our fall. I find the reality more welcoming today."

Will gave a one shouldered shrug in answer, "Let's hope we don't have to find out." He was totally one of those people. Stab wounds, gunshots, encephalitis, all of those things were manageable, but sunburns were a different beast. Yet another good reason against swimming in the nude.

He did not wade out as far as Hannibal, though kept an eye on the man, watched him bouyoued by the water, floating in it. "Pleasant dreams?" He asked, absently, toeing at things in the sand, just under the water. "I imagine you missed swimming during your incarceration?" A good full body workout, swimming, especially upper body. Probably helped with all the lifting of that dead weight that Hannibal carried while he was free.

Will moved back closer to the shoreline, sprawling slightly in the wet sand, half sitting up, letting the waves wash over him as he watched Hannibal and the horizon. There was a peace to it, salt and sea, the heat of the sun on his skin. Will lay back in the sand, pillowing his head with his arms.

Moonlight swims in the nude were an option...

"Not particularly," he said with as much emotional weight as if he'd just mentioned that a fig was overripe. "The immediate aftermath of our fall tangled and knotted the threads of my memory. The dreams seem to be an attempt to unravel and unknot those threads into a coherent narrative."

For a man who had devoted so much discipline to organizing and structuring his memories, that tangled skein of memory was an offense that direct attacks couldn't touch. His dreaming mind could approach it laterally.

He let the waves' swells carry him back toward the shore until he couldn't avoid dragging his toes in the sand in the shallows. "Of course. I've always preferred swimming to other forms of exercise for its efficiency."

And no one could see him sweat. Imagine Hannibal Lecter in a gym, t-shirt soaked in a dark V front and back with sweat. Or running along some track, dark stains in his armpits after a few miles. It didn't fit with the image he'd carefully cultivated.

"I'm going to work up an appetite. Join me for lunch after?"

Hannibal was free to take a moonlight swim in the nude, if he so chose.

"From the frigid water to the cabin, or even after that? You were in bad shape," And Will probably hadn't helped with the selective distribution and or withholding of the morphine. But his conscience didn't prick.

Will would be incredibly amused if Hannibal ever elaborated on those reasons. He imagined, really, that it was to avoid others seeing him having to put forth the effort also combined with the unsanitary practices of using weights and equipment after others who didn't wipe down after themselves. On the other hand, it would have been a veritable buffet of rudeness to choose meat from...

"How could I decline?" He said with vague amusement and closed his eyes against the sun.

It could happen.

"My memory begins to regain clarity in the car on the way to the cabin." Morphine and fever hadn't helped with clarity in the cabin, but there were no gaps that he was aware of.

That bit of vanity was one he'd never share with Will.

"You can't." Of course Will could decline, but it would be solely to be perverse and disagreeable.

He pushed backwards against the waves, once again moving away from the shore and Will before shaking the sea water out of his goggles and pulling them on. Once he was far enough away from shore to be unable to stand, he struck out, swimming parallel to the shore, feeling the stretch and strain on muscles that hadn't been used this way in years. He'd be feeling this the next day, and it was wholly worth it.

He returned to shore half an hour later, pleasantly tired and loose-limbed, ready for lunch and a break in the sun before he returned to some promising locations he'd seen while swimming.

And Will would magnanimously allow it from the blissful privacy of his room.

Hannibal still had an image to maintain around Will and showing exposing all his vain bits might cause irreparable damage in the form of Will's amusement at the expense of said vanity?

Of course, Will was never perverse or disagreeable.

Will had, during Hannibal's swim, extricated himself from the water and after poking around the edges of the island's vegetation, had stretched out on his towel, lulled into a light doze by the heat of the sun above him and the sand below him. The primal and rhythmic break of water on the shore was steady as a heartbeat in his ears. He cracked an eye open at Hannibal's approach and tried not to stare at the light catching on the water droplets sliding down Hannibal's limbs.

"Meet any sea life?"

And promise not to peek out the window? Pity.

Not every quirk of character or reasoning needed to be shared. That was the case even when he wasn't living with someone who could get into his head.

He lowered himself to his towel, still wet, but not for long with the sun and breeze to help dry him off. This was something he'd imagined for them even before that night in Baltimore. Admittedly, he'd imagined that Abigail would be there with them, but he felt a real depth of satisfaction to seeing his vision realized.

"Not to have a conversation," he said while he opened the cooler and took out a glass bottle he'd filled with water back on the boat. He was in a very light mood and made no attempt to hide it. "If I'd brought a spear gun, we would already have dinner sorted out."

He held up the bottle for Will to see. "Would you like water, beer, or wine?"

Will is a gentleman, after all.

Hannibal's foibles of vanity were sure to make themselves known to Will on certain levels simply by the both of them living together. Will would attempt to allow Hannibal some semblance of dignity by keeping the majority of his amusement (or annoyance) at said foibles to himself.

"I find myself uncertain where you would have kept a spear gun on your person and hesitant to ask," The lightened mood was infectious and Will found no reason to fight it. He fully extricated himself from his sprawl and sat up, legs folded, knees over ankles.

A gentleman who shoved his finger in Hannibal's bullet wound.

They were both going to learn things about each other that could only come from living together. Of the two of them, Hannibal was the one more likely to have problems shrugging off Will's foibles.

"I'm almost surprised you weren't offering suggestions for where I could keep it." He set the water bottle on his towel and pulled a bottle of beer out of the cooler, offering it to Will with one hand while he pulled a wrapped plate with finger sandwiches out of the cooler with the other.

A gentleman who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty.

What were a few wet towels on the floor between friends? Will would own that he wasn't near Hannibal's level of fastidiousness in most aspects of life. Once there were dogs, he would make the obvious effort to keep things tidy, but he didn't tend to notice the stray dog fur or smears of slobber that Hannibal's keen eye might be drawn to.

"During a polite lunch? I would never..." He accepted the beer, opening it gladly, uncaring of the sand from his fingers sticking to the condensation on the container.

Once there were dogs, plural, Hannibal would have to sit Will down for some negotiations about ground rules. He had some expectations for training any animal he was going to have to be around regularly. He'd take an active hand in the training, though.

"And I appreciate you for your decorum." He held out the plate for Will to take so he could free up his hands to take out cut fruit, crusty bread, the remaining figs from the night before, cheeses, and a small container of pâté that he wouldn't offer to Will. He'd scaled back mostly out of necessity, lacking the kind of ingredients and resources that he'd have preferred for an over the top picnic.

"Would you like to join me later to see what edible resources this island may be hiding?"

Will always trained his dogs, and he would be amiable to sitting down with Hannibal to negotiate ground rules. He would even welcome Hannibal to train the dogs with him. Once there was one dog, it wouldn't be long before there were more. He wouldn't have as large a pack as he had in Wolf Trap, obviously, but one couldn't just have a single dog.

He accepted the plate to set aside and watched Hannibal unpack the rest of the provisions. Obviously their ideas differed on over the top since Will considered this quite the spread for a simple afternoon on the beach. Will took a long swallow of beer before unwrapping the plate of finger sandwiches. There was no suspicion over the contents of any of the dishes since Hannibal had previously disclosed which contained human meat.

"I wouldn't mind seeing what you consider edible," There was faint amusement at the edges of his tone.

"This was a good idea," Will added, no hint of grudging in his tone.

Edited 2017-06-28 07:11 (UTC)

One could have a single dog. Will couldn't have a single dog. Hannibal understood that Will and dog stink were a package deal, and he was still there.

He removed small plates and utensils, one of the two stemless wine glasses he'd packed wrapped in tea towels, and the unfinished bottle of the prior night's chardonnay. Now he could start assembling a suitable plate of food.

"You'll mind even less once it's on the dinner table." He glanced up from opening the container of figs, giving Will a smile that was borderline smug.

"If our only focus is on survival, we have already died. Let this serve as a reminder that we owe it to ourselves and to each other to not just survive but thrive."

One day amidst the fur, slobber, and dog stink mixing with Hannibal's extreme tidiness, Will would have a clear moment of appreciation for what that meant. Hannibal would likely be the beneficiary of that appreciation.

Will's amusement grew as Hannibal removed plates and utensils and a wine glass. "Forks and spoons while eating in the sand are an elevation above survival?" He asked with humor, taking a long, thirsty drink of the beer.

Hannibal was allowed a little smug where culinary skill was concerned. "There is very little I'm coming to mind on the dinner table." After all, what was a little island vegetation and odd sea life in comparison to willingly indulging in the flesh of another human.

He inclined his head, "I don't disagree, I just prefer the thriving part to come after we're farther away from the states than this."

Hannibal would put his foot down when it came to a slobber factory like a bloodhound. If a dog was capable of hitting the ceiling with its saliva, it was a hard no. He honestly believed that Will was worth it, living proof of Nietzsche's assertion that there is always some madness in love.

He set the plates and silverware on top of the closed cooler, turning it into a table. Rather than pouring himself wine, though, he first filled the wine glass with water and drank thirstily. Half an hour of swimming was serious cardio in its own right.

"I prefer to eat like a civilized human being whenever possible." As far as he was concerned, a civilized cannibal wasn't a contradiction. "I've always appreciated your open mindedness at table."

He poured another glass of water and drank more slowly, taking sips from time to time while he arranged quartered slices of bread, figs, fruit, and his pâté on his plate. "We're in international waters and this island doesn't seem to see much traffic, from the lack of trash and human debris. You chose well despite your misgivings."

The dogs would end up being whatever fortunate strays Will came across, or who came across Will. Likely more thin and lanky mutts than something as large and pedigreed as a bloodhound.

Will determinedly did not watch Hannibal's throat work as he drank the water, instead, like a proper adult, he went about fixing his own plate, avoiding the people pâté. Civilizations bred its own cruelty, Will would note, its own set of rules where rudeness could forfeit ones life to a butcher block. "Humanity has a fascination with the taboo," With the right kind of wink and nudge, the feel of conspiracy in doing the forbidden, he imagined more people would be likely to indulge in a taste. Like the eating of the songbird.

"Did you appreciate it more when that open mindedness was without my full knowledge?" It was a curiosity and not wholly an accusation. Hannibal always had an air of private satisfaction about him, before Will realized what was going on, as though he was telling a joke to himself that no one understood. Like his various dinner table pun.

"Continued misgivings." He hadn't entirely relaxed, after all. "Just slightly less of them after some sand and sea water, And you did need some time in the sun." He smiled behind the bottle neck of his beer at that.

"The loss of Eden says as much." Hannibal dried his empty wine glass with the tea towel and poured the wine. "God created man and immediately imposed the first taboo - all is yours save the fruit of knowledge of good and evil."

He sipped his wine and gave the glass an approving look before setting it down in a carefully made hollow on his towel. "Most people look at that story as a condemnation of man's weakness, but they fail to see the underlying message - that humans were made to break taboos. Had man not been made so, no amount of whispering by a clever tongued snake would have tempted Eve to the fruit."

He paused to spread a bit of the pâté on a piece of bread, added a bit of fig, and savored a first bite before answering. "I appreciated your cognizant participation more than your unwitting enjoyment. It's far more intimate a sharing."

Dinner with Bedelia, for instance. His eyes flicked down to the fork marks on his hand. He'd treasure the memory of Will using the same fork she'd stabbed Hannibal with to eat a perfectly cooked morsel of her leg.

He sipped his wine after another bite of bread and pâté. "You continue to worry too much. There's more reason to worry about sunburn than apprehension."

Will considered that as he lay a bit of cheese on a slice of bread and took a thoughtful bite. He chewed silently for a moment, then washed the bite down with a swig of beer. "Watching animals in their habitats at the zoo is relaxing in a way that verges on boredom. Safe. When the tiger slips the cage, that's entertainment. Why create a temptation if the animals in the habitat weren't programmed to be able to choose."

An urge took him for a moment and Will took up another thin slice of bread in one hand and a clean knife in the other, having settled his bottle of beer in a mound of sand earlier. He, without hesitation, but with purposeful movement, dipped the flat of the blade into the pâté and with a twist of his wrist gathered a small amount on the blade. In one stroke, he spread it across the bread and set the knife down. Will added a slice of cheese and took a bite, looked out at the horizon where the sea met the water as he chewed, then swallowed.

He looked back at Hannibal, "Then curiosity is both a flaw and a hint of the design. Made in his image, but playing in his garden, in his rules?" In this vein of thought, anyway. Will was't religious.

"And the conspiracy of knowing someone gets your dinner time jokes about cannibalism?" Will had not forgotten about those.

He rolled his shoulders and half reclined on the sand again, "I'll relax when we've reached Cuba." Probably.

"But the zookeeper doesn't blame the tiger for following its nature. The tiger may be condemned for its actions, but the burden of blame lies with the habitat's designer, not the tiger."

His gaze sharpened when Will went for the pâté. He chewed a touch more slowly, watching the knife dip into the pâté and glide over the bread. Will continued to surprise him. Lately the surprises had been pleasant more often than not. This one was was pleasant enough to require an effort to keep his expression one of friendly attention.

"They're always God's rules, whether we play by them or not." Hannibal wasn't religious, either. He didn't need to be religious to have a certain kind of dark faith.

He was often a little bit smug, but it intensified when Will asked about his jokes. "The real humor of those jokes is in the ignorance of my dinner guests and you've indicated you'd rather not attend future dinner parties. Perhaps once you relax in Cuba--" Maybe. "--you'll reconsider and we can share that humor."

"Yet the tiger is the one that suffers the fatal consequences while the habitat's designer remains anonymous and alive,"

That had been a wholly calculated action as Will was more interested in Hannibal's reaction than the puréed liver of the former documents dealer. Their game had been elevated in some ways, since their escape, taking on facets that Will had never expected and reaching new levels that the person he was years ago might have looked on as depraved. Will did not wholly consider it depraved, he did not particularly enjoy the taste of human flesh above others, but he enjoyed Hannibal's reactions to him eating it.

Will's face was not in god or his rules.

"Are you the snake or are you Eve?" He asked, finishing off his beer and going for another one. He didn't intend to drink to inebriation, but after the afternoon, a pleasant buzz would be entirely appropriate.

Will pretended to consider, "I wouldn't want to leave the dogs alone."

Will could justify his gradual slide any way he wanted to. The reality was that day by day he inched a little closer to Hannibal and traveled miles away from the man he'd been.

Hannibal's reaction was entirely in his unwavering attention. He had always taken deep satisfaction in showing the pointlessness of the taboo against cannibalism - the people who consumed human flesh at his dinner parties weren't changed by the eating until they knew about it. Was any other proof that the prohibition was pointless needed? Yes, human flesh could harbor diseases, but so could any other meat that people consumed. For pork or fish, people simply took proper precautions, and Hannibal did the same.

More satisfying still was to see Will eating human flesh entirely by choice. Not because of a debt to pay, as with Bedelia. Not because he was laying bait, as with Randall Tier. Simply because he chose to. It moved Hannibal deeply.

And if he was honest, it turned him on a little.

"The snake is as he was made as well, which speaks to a desire for an adversary. God wants conflict, and we are the result."

He moved containers off the top of the cooler to allow Will to get inside for his beer, then replaced them.

After more wine, he tilted his head, considering before asking, "How many dogs are you envisioning?"

Justification was the stepping off point Will needed until he fully realized himself and decided that justification was unnecessary and unneeded. Justification had been what led to the scars on Hannibal's wrists and Hannibal's eventual return to freedom.

The only qualm in eating human flesh was the necessity of another human to die in order to provide it, mostly. Therein lay the groundwork for the taboo, rather than the act of eating the flesh itself. Will felt the weight of that unwavering attention and it pleased him in ways that were purely indulgent.

Will chose to eat the flesh of the man whose murder Will had also condoned as necessary. It was another act of participation, as with Bedelia, though different. He wanted to move Hannibal, he wanted Hannibal's desire. Will wanted to examine how Hannibal's reactionos looked, how they sounded, the syntax of the words he chose. He wanted to draw all of these things out for no great betrayal but his own simple interest.

"And the show's not over." Not for them. Not for a while. And when it ended, oh, it would be something for the ages.

Wil did not comment on the impracticalityy of Hannibal hosting the dishes on top of the cooler, only watched as he took them off, then put them back on agaiin.

"Six is a good number." Or a starting point for a negotiations.

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