Post by Admin on Oct 5, 2016 15:41:09 GMT -8
TITLE: A Stalker and a Knife
DESCRIPTION: What happens when a cannibal realizes he has a bit of grocery shopping to do?
ADDITIONAL TAGS: [HASH]Hannibal [HASH]HannibalLecter
CHARACTERS: Hannibal Lecter, Franklyn Froideveaux, Will Graham
NOTES: Originally posted on AO3 by me.
COMMENTS/REVIEWS: View this thread
Feast upon thy brethren and absorb thy truth and thy fear.
Hannibal closed his book and set it upon the end table, adjusting it to be completely aligned with the edge. He looked over at the blazing fire going in the hearth. Today was a rare day for Dr. Hannibal Lecter - he had taken a vacation day to laze around his home, deciding he needed a break. The two reasons for his break were his clients, Franklyn Froideveaux and Will Graham. Franklyn had taken to following him around town, showing up at operas, galas, and other settings he clearly did not belong in. But that didn't bother him as much as Will Graham ignoring him. It was beginning to annoy him, the distance Will had set between himself and Hannibal, which he found rude. And it was a well known fact that more than being ignored, Hannibal hated being annoyed.
He could kill Franklyn, with ease and, perhaps, even mercy, but he could not bring himself to kill Will Graham.
He sat in his chair, contemplating the true meaning of his feelings for Will Graham when he remembered to look at his watch. It was just running on five o'clock at night, and the sky was scattered with hues of blue, red, and orange. Time to eat.
Hannibal stood and walked through the private door leading to his main house, his appetite growing steadily with every step. Once he made it past his living room and into the kitchen, he stopped and grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water from the sink's tap. His mouth was dry from a craving, a very specific craving.
He went up to the refrigerator and opened it slowly, expecting to inhale the subtle fumes of raw human flesh, but was disappointed. The only thing in the refrigerator were vegetables and juice. He closed the door, frustrated with no idea what to do. He didn't normally hunt during the day, and, looking at his watch, knew he couldn't wait to eat.
A simple salad was not going to suffice, and ham, turkey, or anything else just would not do. A risk would have to be taken, he decided. Perhaps hunting this early would give him more experience too. Just then his work phone rang in his pocket, buzzing against his thigh with urgency. He fished it out and took a look at the screen, then pursed his lips, a kind of annoyed disgust clear on his face.
It was Franklyn.
He had gotten bold, it appeared. Before, Franklyn would only pop up at random venues, now he was calling him after business hours. Hannibal pressed the 'hang up' icon on the screen and slipped the cellphone back into his pocket, gears whirling on who to feast on and how to get them. He was in the mood for some lean meat tonight; time to look at the index cards. So he walked to his second, private office located upstairs and took a look at the business cards he had arranged in alphabetical order. These were business and handwritten index cards of people who were very rude, unflattering, and disrespectful - people who would end up on his plate sooner or later.
When he had finally picked a name, he decided the first step of the hunt would be the call the soon-to-be victim. He grabbed his cellphone from his pocket and began to dial the phone number on the card, but before he could press 'call', his phone began to ring. Hannibal's phone began to glitch a little, and the caller information took a minute to load. A small, fluttering feeling began to build in his stomach; he was hoping it was Will.
But instead it was Franklyn again.
He pressed the decline button once more and tapped the victim's number into the dial pad one more time, but hesitated and looked at the business card again. It said the victim, Saul Peters, would be at Hampton Catering for another hour. Hannibal took a look at his watch and realized if he rushed, he would catch Peters leaving the business to head home. Perfect.
He deleted the number from the keypad, turned the screen off, and headed to the linen closet by the desk. In it he grabbed a jacket, a pair of gloves, and slipped a hunting knife into the large jacket pocket. If everything went well, he would be back in under forty minutes.
A few minutes later he was on the road, heading towards the city to find Mr. Saul Peters, a man who mistakenly had crossed Hannibal at an event his company had catered. The offense had been during a conversation about the arts - drama to be exact. A passionate discussion between Hannibal, Saul, and a woman named Grace Matthews had turned heated as Saul took over the conversation. He had refused to let Hannibal or the woman get a word in edgewise over the real significance of an actor named Victoria Serene's debut.
Personally Hannibal was quite amused at how insistent Saul was that Ms. Serene's debut was a, as Saul put it, "critical flop", but the amusement had turned to utter disdain once Saul refused to let the lady, Grace, say much of anything. Hannibal did not hesitate to point out his error (cutting a woman off where there was not fault was extremely heinous), but he didn't let it slide just because he told him off. He had asked for Saul's business card, citing wanting to use his catering services in the future.
Hannibal looked into the rear-view mirror before turning left on August Boulevard, his stomach beginning to hurt with hunger. He did a double take with his eyes as he recognized a car three vehicles behind him and sighed.
Franklyn.
Tonight he was asking for it. The poor man was a glutton for punishment.
Hannibal continued on with his course, but he reached over to the dashboard and pushed a few buttons to start a call. The ringtone played a few times before Franklyn answered.
"Hi Doctor Lecter!" Poor Franklyn said excitedly. "How are you?"
"Franklyn.." Hannibal said, dragging the last syllable of his name out, "Are you following me?"
"Following you? What? No!" Franklyn said, a little too fast for Hannibal's taste. He was lying. The poor neurotic was lying.
"What street are you on?"
"Uh, uh..." Franklyn hesitated. "August B. Why?"
"No reason," Hannibal said. "But I would like you to pull over to that warehouse on the corner of Opal Drive, please."
"Uh..sure, okay.."
Hannibal pressed the 'end call' button and proceeded to drive to the abandoned warehouse on Opal drive. It was time to finish this. Hannibal did not take kindly to stalking.
Soon Franklyn pulled up to the warehouse parking lot next to Hannibal's car. Both men got out of their vehicles, Hannibal switching his leather gloves for black latex ones. Franklyn looked at Hannibal's hands, but quickly smiled and waved.
"Hey Hannibal. Nice night out, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is. A perfect night for a feast overlooking the water."
"I agree. I know a place like that not too far from here. If-"
"Franklyn, this has gone much too far. You are stalking me now, and I don't appreciate it. You refuse to see another psychiatrist, which gives me no choice but to remove you completely." Hannibal said in a steady, unemotional tone.
Franklyn failed to understand the weight of the word 'completely' - in fact he completely overlooked the word!
"I'm not stalking you, it's just a coincidence!" Franklyn replied, the smile unwavering on his face.
"Six times in two weeks? That is a coincidence to you?" Hannibal had been taking slow steps towards his newest victim, but here he stopped in his tracks. Not only was Franklyn a neurotic, he was dumb too.
"Ha-Hannibal I..I can explain!" Franklyn knew he had been caught. "I just..I.."
"You love me, Franklyn. Or at least you think you do. But you cannot trust these feelings for me. I am your psychiatrist and, unfortunately for you, your only support system and shoulder to lean on. This happens all the time, but I have had enough of it, Mr. Froideveaux." Here, Hannibal began moving toward Franklyn again. He could see the heart ache in his eyes and he almost felt bad for the younger man. But he had made up his mind - what was to be done must be done.
"You don't mean that," his client said, sniffling with tears in his eyes.
"I do. You have been a great nuisance to me." Hannibal wrapped his hands around Franklyn's thick throat, the man's eyes beginning to bulge out of surprise and fear. Hannibal lifted the man off the ground by his throat, no emotion betrayed on his face because there was no emotion to show. Franklyn began to kick and squeak, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in an effort to let more air in. He began choking under Hannibal's grip, prompting his brain sensors to begin clawing at Hannibal's hands to get them to let go. But Hannibal could see in his eyes that he knew it was already too late. He also saw Franklyn's level of trust for Hannibal die along with him, but the respect, much to Hannibal's surprise, was still there.
Soon Franklyn was limp, similar to a rag doll, and Hannibal set him down on his feet, hands still around his throat in case there was still life in him. When he collapsed to the ground without so much as a breath exhaled, Hannibal was satisfied, one nuisance finally checked off his list.
He didn't even scream. Shame. Hannibal thought to himself.
Anyone else would have looked at Franklyn's death at the hands of Hannibal as murder, but Hannibal simply looked at it as doing the man a favor. He was ill, useless, and particularly sloppy. No one would miss him and, if there was an afterlife, maybe he could heal there.
Quickly, Hannibal swept Franklyn's lifeless body up and over his shoulder, pressing a button on his car's key fob to pop the trunk open. He stuffed Franklyn's body into the small space and began searching for the man's car keys - the warehouse may have been abandoned, but a car sitting there days on end was suspicious all the same. Once he had found them, he slapped the trunk door down hard and walked to the driver's side of Franklyn's car, then hopped in and revved the engine to life.
He had decided the best hiding place for Franklyn's car would be in an old junkyard not too far from the warehouse. It would take a while to walk back to his own car, but sacrifices were to be made in these kinds of situations.
Once at the junkyard, Hannibal drove the car to the farthest side behind a large stack of old metal and trash bags that had to be at least a month old. He hopped out of the car and barely winced at the smell that greeted him. Instead of focusing on the dirtiness around him, which would allow his OCD to skyrocket, he set to work - the mission was to find a wrench or screwdriver to take off Franklyn's license plates.
Once the mission was done and over, he began to walk back towards the direction of the warehouse, both scratched and bent license plates hidden under different piles of trash. About twenty minutes later he arrived back at his car, the sky above now dark enough for the stars to shine brightly. It was obviously too late to stalk Saul Peters now..
At least at his place of business.
His stomach began to growl and he sighed. He could, of course just use Franklyn as a substitute, but Franklyn was fat and unhealthy. And unhealthy meant bad tasting meat. He hopped into his car and headed to a forest going past the junkyard, a new, more ideal place to dispose of Franklyn's body.
He changed the gear of the car to accommodate the new terrain, and stopped to park after driving on a hidden path for nearly thirty minutes straight. He opened the car door and headed to the trunk area, pressing a button to be greeted by the loud pop! once it opened. Franklyn's face stared up at Hannibal with icy, dead eyes and the skin colored to that of a pale grey ghost, his mouth slightly parted. Hannibal dragged him out of the car and picked the body up so as not to make tracks. He walked for another minute or two where a crowd of bushes and trees grew over a small sliver of stream and stopped.
Franklyn's body was placed gently onto the ground, and his clothes were then ripped off. Once he was fully nude, clothes piled together beside him, Hannibal brought out his hunting knife and began sawing off his limbs, one by one. It was a bloody, tedious mess that took a minute to accomplish. Bone was never easy to get through, but Hannibal was up to the task - he'd had lots of practice.
The heap of body parts that once made up a neurotic named Franklyn were placed into different parts of the forest like the items of a scavenger hunt. Hannibal had saved the head for last. He stared at the dismembered head, appraising his work, noting how clean the cut around the base of the neck was, and nodded his head in approval. He left the head behind a large boulder protruding out of the gloomy night and headed back to his car. Before he touched anything, he took the black latex gloves off and made sure to wrap them one inside the other.
Once back in town, Hannibal remembered his empty stomach; now it was gnawing at itself he was sure. That sly joke provoked a small chuckle and light shone in his eyes. He wondered how he would taste. If desperation ever touched Hannibal, he was sure he would use his own body as a last resort to satiate hunger, but he was not frantic for human flesh at present.
He pulled his car into the driveway and slid up slowly to the intercom.
"Hello, welcome to Burger King! How may I help you?" The voice of a cashier greeted him with as much jolliness as she could muster, which was not much.
"Yes, I think I'll have a burger."
"Okay, would you like that make that a combo?"
"Yes," he replied.
He was in the mood for some fries.
DESCRIPTION: What happens when a cannibal realizes he has a bit of grocery shopping to do?
ADDITIONAL TAGS: [HASH]Hannibal [HASH]HannibalLecter
CHARACTERS: Hannibal Lecter, Franklyn Froideveaux, Will Graham
NOTES: Originally posted on AO3 by me.
It's a one shot. I was fairly bored today so I thought I would try my hand at Hannibal/graphic death/cannibalism/psychopath/dark comedy fic today! 
This fic deviates from the actual show, but most of the base elements are the same. Comments and feedback are appreciated! Enjoy!
This fic deviates from the actual show, but most of the base elements are the same. Comments and feedback are appreciated! Enjoy!COMMENTS/REVIEWS: View this thread
Feast upon thy brethren and absorb thy truth and thy fear.
Hannibal closed his book and set it upon the end table, adjusting it to be completely aligned with the edge. He looked over at the blazing fire going in the hearth. Today was a rare day for Dr. Hannibal Lecter - he had taken a vacation day to laze around his home, deciding he needed a break. The two reasons for his break were his clients, Franklyn Froideveaux and Will Graham. Franklyn had taken to following him around town, showing up at operas, galas, and other settings he clearly did not belong in. But that didn't bother him as much as Will Graham ignoring him. It was beginning to annoy him, the distance Will had set between himself and Hannibal, which he found rude. And it was a well known fact that more than being ignored, Hannibal hated being annoyed.
He could kill Franklyn, with ease and, perhaps, even mercy, but he could not bring himself to kill Will Graham.
He sat in his chair, contemplating the true meaning of his feelings for Will Graham when he remembered to look at his watch. It was just running on five o'clock at night, and the sky was scattered with hues of blue, red, and orange. Time to eat.
Hannibal stood and walked through the private door leading to his main house, his appetite growing steadily with every step. Once he made it past his living room and into the kitchen, he stopped and grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water from the sink's tap. His mouth was dry from a craving, a very specific craving.
He went up to the refrigerator and opened it slowly, expecting to inhale the subtle fumes of raw human flesh, but was disappointed. The only thing in the refrigerator were vegetables and juice. He closed the door, frustrated with no idea what to do. He didn't normally hunt during the day, and, looking at his watch, knew he couldn't wait to eat.
A simple salad was not going to suffice, and ham, turkey, or anything else just would not do. A risk would have to be taken, he decided. Perhaps hunting this early would give him more experience too. Just then his work phone rang in his pocket, buzzing against his thigh with urgency. He fished it out and took a look at the screen, then pursed his lips, a kind of annoyed disgust clear on his face.
It was Franklyn.
He had gotten bold, it appeared. Before, Franklyn would only pop up at random venues, now he was calling him after business hours. Hannibal pressed the 'hang up' icon on the screen and slipped the cellphone back into his pocket, gears whirling on who to feast on and how to get them. He was in the mood for some lean meat tonight; time to look at the index cards. So he walked to his second, private office located upstairs and took a look at the business cards he had arranged in alphabetical order. These were business and handwritten index cards of people who were very rude, unflattering, and disrespectful - people who would end up on his plate sooner or later.
When he had finally picked a name, he decided the first step of the hunt would be the call the soon-to-be victim. He grabbed his cellphone from his pocket and began to dial the phone number on the card, but before he could press 'call', his phone began to ring. Hannibal's phone began to glitch a little, and the caller information took a minute to load. A small, fluttering feeling began to build in his stomach; he was hoping it was Will.
But instead it was Franklyn again.
He pressed the decline button once more and tapped the victim's number into the dial pad one more time, but hesitated and looked at the business card again. It said the victim, Saul Peters, would be at Hampton Catering for another hour. Hannibal took a look at his watch and realized if he rushed, he would catch Peters leaving the business to head home. Perfect.
He deleted the number from the keypad, turned the screen off, and headed to the linen closet by the desk. In it he grabbed a jacket, a pair of gloves, and slipped a hunting knife into the large jacket pocket. If everything went well, he would be back in under forty minutes.
A few minutes later he was on the road, heading towards the city to find Mr. Saul Peters, a man who mistakenly had crossed Hannibal at an event his company had catered. The offense had been during a conversation about the arts - drama to be exact. A passionate discussion between Hannibal, Saul, and a woman named Grace Matthews had turned heated as Saul took over the conversation. He had refused to let Hannibal or the woman get a word in edgewise over the real significance of an actor named Victoria Serene's debut.
Personally Hannibal was quite amused at how insistent Saul was that Ms. Serene's debut was a, as Saul put it, "critical flop", but the amusement had turned to utter disdain once Saul refused to let the lady, Grace, say much of anything. Hannibal did not hesitate to point out his error (cutting a woman off where there was not fault was extremely heinous), but he didn't let it slide just because he told him off. He had asked for Saul's business card, citing wanting to use his catering services in the future.
Hannibal looked into the rear-view mirror before turning left on August Boulevard, his stomach beginning to hurt with hunger. He did a double take with his eyes as he recognized a car three vehicles behind him and sighed.
Franklyn.
Tonight he was asking for it. The poor man was a glutton for punishment.
Hannibal continued on with his course, but he reached over to the dashboard and pushed a few buttons to start a call. The ringtone played a few times before Franklyn answered.
"Hi Doctor Lecter!" Poor Franklyn said excitedly. "How are you?"
"Franklyn.." Hannibal said, dragging the last syllable of his name out, "Are you following me?"
"Following you? What? No!" Franklyn said, a little too fast for Hannibal's taste. He was lying. The poor neurotic was lying.
"What street are you on?"
"Uh, uh..." Franklyn hesitated. "August B. Why?"
"No reason," Hannibal said. "But I would like you to pull over to that warehouse on the corner of Opal Drive, please."
"Uh..sure, okay.."
Hannibal pressed the 'end call' button and proceeded to drive to the abandoned warehouse on Opal drive. It was time to finish this. Hannibal did not take kindly to stalking.
Soon Franklyn pulled up to the warehouse parking lot next to Hannibal's car. Both men got out of their vehicles, Hannibal switching his leather gloves for black latex ones. Franklyn looked at Hannibal's hands, but quickly smiled and waved.
"Hey Hannibal. Nice night out, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is. A perfect night for a feast overlooking the water."
"I agree. I know a place like that not too far from here. If-"
"Franklyn, this has gone much too far. You are stalking me now, and I don't appreciate it. You refuse to see another psychiatrist, which gives me no choice but to remove you completely." Hannibal said in a steady, unemotional tone.
Franklyn failed to understand the weight of the word 'completely' - in fact he completely overlooked the word!
"I'm not stalking you, it's just a coincidence!" Franklyn replied, the smile unwavering on his face.
"Six times in two weeks? That is a coincidence to you?" Hannibal had been taking slow steps towards his newest victim, but here he stopped in his tracks. Not only was Franklyn a neurotic, he was dumb too.
"Ha-Hannibal I..I can explain!" Franklyn knew he had been caught. "I just..I.."
"You love me, Franklyn. Or at least you think you do. But you cannot trust these feelings for me. I am your psychiatrist and, unfortunately for you, your only support system and shoulder to lean on. This happens all the time, but I have had enough of it, Mr. Froideveaux." Here, Hannibal began moving toward Franklyn again. He could see the heart ache in his eyes and he almost felt bad for the younger man. But he had made up his mind - what was to be done must be done.
"You don't mean that," his client said, sniffling with tears in his eyes.
"I do. You have been a great nuisance to me." Hannibal wrapped his hands around Franklyn's thick throat, the man's eyes beginning to bulge out of surprise and fear. Hannibal lifted the man off the ground by his throat, no emotion betrayed on his face because there was no emotion to show. Franklyn began to kick and squeak, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in an effort to let more air in. He began choking under Hannibal's grip, prompting his brain sensors to begin clawing at Hannibal's hands to get them to let go. But Hannibal could see in his eyes that he knew it was already too late. He also saw Franklyn's level of trust for Hannibal die along with him, but the respect, much to Hannibal's surprise, was still there.
Soon Franklyn was limp, similar to a rag doll, and Hannibal set him down on his feet, hands still around his throat in case there was still life in him. When he collapsed to the ground without so much as a breath exhaled, Hannibal was satisfied, one nuisance finally checked off his list.
He didn't even scream. Shame. Hannibal thought to himself.
Anyone else would have looked at Franklyn's death at the hands of Hannibal as murder, but Hannibal simply looked at it as doing the man a favor. He was ill, useless, and particularly sloppy. No one would miss him and, if there was an afterlife, maybe he could heal there.
Quickly, Hannibal swept Franklyn's lifeless body up and over his shoulder, pressing a button on his car's key fob to pop the trunk open. He stuffed Franklyn's body into the small space and began searching for the man's car keys - the warehouse may have been abandoned, but a car sitting there days on end was suspicious all the same. Once he had found them, he slapped the trunk door down hard and walked to the driver's side of Franklyn's car, then hopped in and revved the engine to life.
He had decided the best hiding place for Franklyn's car would be in an old junkyard not too far from the warehouse. It would take a while to walk back to his own car, but sacrifices were to be made in these kinds of situations.
Once at the junkyard, Hannibal drove the car to the farthest side behind a large stack of old metal and trash bags that had to be at least a month old. He hopped out of the car and barely winced at the smell that greeted him. Instead of focusing on the dirtiness around him, which would allow his OCD to skyrocket, he set to work - the mission was to find a wrench or screwdriver to take off Franklyn's license plates.
Once the mission was done and over, he began to walk back towards the direction of the warehouse, both scratched and bent license plates hidden under different piles of trash. About twenty minutes later he arrived back at his car, the sky above now dark enough for the stars to shine brightly. It was obviously too late to stalk Saul Peters now..
At least at his place of business.
His stomach began to growl and he sighed. He could, of course just use Franklyn as a substitute, but Franklyn was fat and unhealthy. And unhealthy meant bad tasting meat. He hopped into his car and headed to a forest going past the junkyard, a new, more ideal place to dispose of Franklyn's body.
He changed the gear of the car to accommodate the new terrain, and stopped to park after driving on a hidden path for nearly thirty minutes straight. He opened the car door and headed to the trunk area, pressing a button to be greeted by the loud pop! once it opened. Franklyn's face stared up at Hannibal with icy, dead eyes and the skin colored to that of a pale grey ghost, his mouth slightly parted. Hannibal dragged him out of the car and picked the body up so as not to make tracks. He walked for another minute or two where a crowd of bushes and trees grew over a small sliver of stream and stopped.
Franklyn's body was placed gently onto the ground, and his clothes were then ripped off. Once he was fully nude, clothes piled together beside him, Hannibal brought out his hunting knife and began sawing off his limbs, one by one. It was a bloody, tedious mess that took a minute to accomplish. Bone was never easy to get through, but Hannibal was up to the task - he'd had lots of practice.
The heap of body parts that once made up a neurotic named Franklyn were placed into different parts of the forest like the items of a scavenger hunt. Hannibal had saved the head for last. He stared at the dismembered head, appraising his work, noting how clean the cut around the base of the neck was, and nodded his head in approval. He left the head behind a large boulder protruding out of the gloomy night and headed back to his car. Before he touched anything, he took the black latex gloves off and made sure to wrap them one inside the other.
Once back in town, Hannibal remembered his empty stomach; now it was gnawing at itself he was sure. That sly joke provoked a small chuckle and light shone in his eyes. He wondered how he would taste. If desperation ever touched Hannibal, he was sure he would use his own body as a last resort to satiate hunger, but he was not frantic for human flesh at present.
He pulled his car into the driveway and slid up slowly to the intercom.
"Hello, welcome to Burger King! How may I help you?" The voice of a cashier greeted him with as much jolliness as she could muster, which was not much.
"Yes, I think I'll have a burger."
"Okay, would you like that make that a combo?"
"Yes," he replied.
He was in the mood for some fries.
