∎ ETRAYA MODS ∎ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
etrayamods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
etrayamemes2024-11-11 03:04 pm
etrayamods) wrote in etrayamemes2024-11-11 03:04 pm
Entry tags:
TDM 005
 ⏵ arrival ⏴ Arrival goes as anticipated. Characters awaken in a sterile hospital bed in a clean, white room to the hum of machines under the unnatural lighting common to well-kept institutions. Every bit was designed to be comforting and calming, even with the jarring undercurrent of this situation. The first face they see is Aurora's: her smile appears to be warm, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She might offer a quick explanation, or leave characters to figure it out for themselves depending on their approach. The door to the room swings open, revealing a hallway that stretches out ahead of them. There’s noise from outside and strong pumpkin spice scents coming from the lobby. Ah, muffins and tea. Grab one and head into the crisp, sunny fall morning ahead.  ⏵ potluck ⏴ Cutthroat Iron Etrayan Bake-Off As you step out of the arrival holding area into the main thoroughfare, the entire street has been turned into tents and chef stations to accommodate the activities of thirty people at once. There’s seats, trailers, and robots bustling about to make sure everyone is ready. A couple of cheerful robots in aprons and colorful sweaters approach and redirect you as you step towards the cooking area. There’s gas ranges, ovens, grills, blast chillers, mixers, and set walk-ins and pantries with just about every ingredient you can imagine. There are cameramen (also robots) patrolling the area to capture all your best moments and to broadcast them directly to your fellow citizens’ devices. Your instruction? “Make your signature dish. You have one hour, chef.” It can’t just be straightforward, can it? The land itself is held together with pure chaotic energy. If you’re lucky, all goes as planned. If you aren’t… well…
* All kittens disappear at the end. ** These however, stay.  ⏵ share a meal ⏴ As all the cooking concludes, you will be invited to plate your meal into one of many casserole dishes, regardless of what was made. A ladle will be tucked into the corner and placed on the table with a folded bit of cardstock declaring the chef’s name and the name of the dish. A helper camerabot will come around to each participant and ask for their thinking and their process. Even if you got away without having to cook, even looking towards the table of dishes will spur a helper bot to start making you a plate with one of everything. The helperbot will insist that it is rude to not at least try what their peers have made. In fact, if you are to fill out the score card for each person, you really must taste everything! The robots can’t try the food, so it’s up to you. The cards look like so. The grading system is opaque. Is it meant to be numbers? Stars? Letter grades? Well, you’re the judge. You figure it out. Chef: ___________ Dish:_____________ Judge:___________ Overall Rating:_______
 ⏵ tummy ache survivor ⏴ No matter how well your compatriots cooked or baked their dishes, there are… factors. You see that carrot? It’s really just condensed chaos in the shape of a carrot. No matter how powerful you are, these particular ingredients may not mesh with your being. …And even if it is truly a carrot, do all the chefs know the proper cooking temperature of chicken? Even chickens are aliens to many. (Optional) Roll a Die
Please direct all questions to our mod queries comment! |
no subject
Actually, scratch that. This is Hannibal we're talking about. He'd probably enjoy the chance to show off his cleverness, and preen at his success. Not just the success of the party itself, but of having -for the moment- cleverly escaped the consequences of his actions.
The older man's voice was one that lived, almost permanently, in Will's mind. The monster, within Will himself, embraced the less than tasty urges that spilled through the door, which was now permanently open. The remain shreds of his humanity, just sighed and readied themselves for battle.
This whole cooking event was about chaotic energy? Echo should just plug an extension cord into Will's head, and feed off the chaotic energy of the ex-profiler's mind. It could prove enough power to maintain at least a dozen extra dimensions.
But enough of that.
For perhaps the first time since Will had identified Hannibal's identity as the Ripper, the younger man's shoulders did not tense in response to the apex predator's presence behind him. They didn't relax exactly, but to Hannibal's keen eyes, he might noticed that there was a settled resignation that was reflected from Will's body language. ]
Doctor Lecter. [ His voice maintained its soft spoken, sing song quality, expressing neither joy, nor trepidation at the discovery of the man behind him. But when Will turned, his expression mirrored the look in his eyes as he'd stood over the wounded Hannibal, sipping his wine and waiting for Dolarhyde to join them. That strange mix of affectionate resignation, combined with the 'I'm so very fascinated to stand here and watch you slowly die' darkness.
Sliding his hands in the front pockets of his blood stained trousers, he cocked his head slightly to the side, his patented sardonic smirk settling on his lips. ]
I'd say this suggests we're both in Hell, [ he continued in those same, soft tones ] only I don't believe the fallen angel Lucifer would want to deal with us both, at the same time. [ Making a show of studying the environment, his eyes made their way back to Hannibal's face. ] Thus, I suppose I must accept this as a living reality.
[ A discreet exploration of his own into what memories Hannibal carried. ]
no subject
Will's posture doesn't go unnoticed, nor does the blood on his clothing. he knows those stains, the spatter of Dolarhyde's flesh that they shared. some relief is there, hidden still beneath the sharp edges and expressions only as the light plays on his features. yes; the veil is gone, only to reveal the creature beneath it. the two of them will always be in an unusual tense game, however or wherever they stand.
only a singular step forward to close some distance between them, one hand into his own pants pocket - a reflection. he smiles, humor behind his eyes.]
If this were Hell, then I would be glad to have you with me. [the shared, inexplicable gaping maw of darkness that envelopes them. Will had changed him, but Hannibal had reached inside of Will and curled his fingers around the potential that he saw and tugged. his tone changes, too - a light fondness.] But it is not. We haven't met our end, not yet.
['we', because of Dolarhyde, because of Hannibal, because of Will.]
no subject
Two monsters, crying out for one another, even as Will ripped them apart.
As is Will's way, when his monster is closer to the surface than his humanity, his head slowly tilts first one way and then the other as he calmly assess Hannibal. Where, back in the beginning, Will would have retreated when Hannibal moved into his space, now he held his ground. In a way, that might have made sense only to the two of them, it was an incredibly intimate gesture. Even more intimate than had they grabbed one another and kissed. ]
Were we together, it certainly would have alleviated any risk of boredom. [ His voice remains soft, but there is a ... not a twinkle exactly, but a slide of something within his eyes. He was acknowledging a call back to when Hannibal had told him to 'think of me, Will' when life gets boring.
Will keeps his expression blank in response to Hannibal's latter words, too tired in general to try to interpret their meaning at this time. ]
Where would you rank this place, along the scale of the beautiful horror of Hell, to the placid tedium of Heaven? [ Yes. Big assumption on Will's part that Hannibal hasn't only just arrived himself, but he feels confident in his instincts.
Were Hannibal as new to this place as Will himself, he'd have the veil in place. Perhaps not as aggressively as he'd maintained it, back when they first met, but to a greater extent than what Will sees in the older man's eyes as he studies him now. ]
no subject
It would.
[the mentions of heaven and hell could make him laugh. could. he clicks his tongue, momentarily breaking eye contact to look up at their faux-sky. he can appreciate the detail, however artificial. some may argue that no matter how artificial Etraya is, it still feels real enough. and if reality is based off of perception, then it's very real indeed.
still lingering on the curve of the open sky, he answers.]
Akin to limbo. An oblivion using us as a last resort. [his gaze lowers, scrutinizing.] There is no devil here, Will. Only man and the creature that keeps us here.
cw: Religious discussions
[ He can't see the sky the way Hannibal does, Will doesn't have enough experience in this place to process it. At least, not yet. His eyes come back to the older man's profile. ]
If I ask, how long have you been here, will you answer? [ 'Answer without clever obfuscations of facts' goes unspoken, but hangs in the air, buoyed by the tone in which Will speaks the words. ]
no subject
[he's notably relaxing, rather, he's allowing Will to see that he's relaxing. just as Will had found him in the museum, waiting for his arrival. Hannibal accepted his fate, watched as Will dragged himself through the murky waters. waited. he's been waiting a long time.
the most minute shift in his head to mock-tilt, barely noticeable to most, but incredibly noticeable to Will, who's become accustomed to his subtleties.]
They use a similar calendar, I've been here for six months. [a slight lean forward, as if sharing a clever secret:] My house is only a short walk from here, if you're hungry.
no subject
[ His eyes, ever changing between blue, green and grey, hold enough self awareness to nod towards what dinner around Hannibal can involve. A little inside joke, that certainly doesn't need to be shared with the masses.
It is instinct for Will to refuse the offer and retreat to the bolt hole he's claimed in the apartment building. But there is a part of him that genuinely draws comfort from Hannibal's familiar presence. Will steps back and motions for Hannibal to lead the way. He'll will fall into step beside him.
cw mentions of cannibalism/murder
the look he holds is easily recognizable as the same one he has when reminiscing an especially tasty meal.]
Yes, you will.
[he leads them up through the market and path that reaches to his house. he never saw the need for pointless conversation and he doesn't make any now, and whenever silence may fall during their walk he takes it comfortably. just being around Will fills the void, it always has. his house looks better than Will probably remembers it - perfect in its replica, even when they step through the foyer. it hasn't yet been tainted by the hands of Dolarhyde.
having Will in his home brings back scents and memories and memories again. last gutted on his kitchen floor, now back to all pristine and shining floors, as if it never happened; nothing broken. the teacup has been brought back together again.
it feels domestic, he can taste it on his tongue.]
Would you like some tea? Or something stronger?
cw mentions of cannibalism/murder
Will doesn't say anything, what can he say at this point in their relationship. Hannibal will share, or not share, as Hannibal sees fit. Hannibal knows, that Will knows. Not the specifics. Not who is in the sausage these days, but he knows someone is processed and hanging out in Hannibal's' refrigerator.
Before he can think beyond 'Ripper gonna Ripper' they are walking up to an exact replica of Hannibal's magnificent Baltimore home. Will pauses. At this point, he lives with so much PTSD it's akin to an old friend so that's not what stops him. He hasn't been back to that house since that night, and his imagination is replaying those events.
The grief surrounding Abigail's death is muted now, but never completely gone. ]
I told Jack, [ he begins in a voice so soft he might be talking to himself. Except, he knows how preternaturally acute Hannibal's senses can be. ] a part of me wanted to go with you. Not a small part, not a whisper easily ignored. I launched my boat, shortly after that conversation.
[ Why had he traversed the Atlantic in a sailboat, rather than hopping on a plane? The boat was quieter, and the extra days had given him the time he needed to finish processing it all. ]
Abigail was excellent company on that voyage.
[ Exhaling a deep breath, Will shakes himself out of the past and focuses on the here and now. Even as they stand in the kitchen, next to the counter he'd sat against, holding his vital organs, keeping them from spilling across the floor. ]
Tea sounds good. [ Something stronger sounded good, tea was a safe compromise. Will was too aware of his own mental instability in this moment, combined with the wisdom of remaining sober for this first full conversation with Hannibal. ]
cw more mentions of murder, etc
Will talks of his confession to Jack with a sentiment that almost sounds kind. dream-like. it makes him pause by the stove, eyes blinking away emotions he'd hidden, hand lingering on the kettle that he knew Will would be agreeable to.
he takes his words in silence, faces him with an expression akin to longing. longing for the actions that took place not to have happened, longing for Abigail's life, longing for Will. Will hadn't been so forthright with him behind glass -- he'd cleverly left that information out of Hannibal's reach, buried and burned it -- until now. he knows the company she kept him comforted him. he kept her alive in ways Hannibal never could.
was it guilt that tugged at Will, or something more?]
Would you have admitted that to him, or more importantly to yourself, if the consequences of our actions hadn't overlapped as they did?
[and why didn't he come to dinner, instead? he knows why. swallows the reason down in his throat. the fault fell on Will. he had given him everything, shown him everything, for it to be crudely turned around on him. as much as he is grateful for Will's presence, for what they'd done, the topic churns potential forgiveness into grudging when it's as fresh and surfacing as it is now.
they have to talk about it. they never did - they glided over past conversations, time being scarce. now time is all they have.]
You must have known we would always find our way back to each other.
cw: Hannibal and Will discussing canon topics, which can be horrible and triggering
I find that path of 'what if' to be a dead end. [ His voice is soft, as it often is around Hannibal. Perching himself up on one of the bar chairs, Will watches the oddly soothing routine of the older man preparing a culinary treat. ]
Had our actions not overlapped as they had, then either I would have gone with you and Abigail, or you would have left, with Jack none the wiser. [ Jack, none the wiser in regards to just how broken Will had become during their elaborate attempt to entrap Hannibal.
He can't genuinely read minds, despite how it might seem. But his memories are traveling a similar track to Hannibal's own. Hard not to, when this is the first time the pair of them have been back in this kitchen since that night. ]
I was still wrestling with the guilt of Beverly's murder. [ He admits quietly. ] Still believed that if you were caught, then perhaps I might still have a chance at redemption.
Jack knew of the guilt. He leveraged it, made everything we did seem so very ... just. My guilt kept me blind to what was happening up until that moment I called you.
I kept believing I could straddle the doorway. Inhabit your world, your dreams, and still step back to who I was before we met. It was hubris. My staying in the field was hubris. I look back and recognize that my fall from grace was inevitable. It had nothing to do with you, or even with Jack.
cw the entire thread lmao
he moves around the kitchen, silent as he listens. he believes that it does revolve (somewhat) around him. he was right at his side and pulling the strings. Will's right - he could have walked away at any time, could have denied Jack his help. that isn't who he is, though, and Hannibal looks at him with a glint of understanding behind his eyes.]
One foot in the world you fought so desperately to deny, the very world I invited you to know. Is it a fall from grace, or a becoming?
[the kettle whistles, perhaps timed as perfect as the words that slice into air. tea poured, the saucer with its cup is placed before Will on the island counter.]
Grace was never your suit; had it been, we wouldn't be here — [he glides casually into another train of thought,] Honey?
[but the honey is already being put out in front of him, in a glass container with a small wooden dipper.]
cw the entire thread lmao
[ He'd read the file on Katherine Pimms; he'd had a hard time looking at honey the same way every since. Rather like how he feels about mushrooms.
As for the question 'fall from grace, or a becoming', Will stares down into his tea for a long minute, before he picks up the cup and shrugs. ]
I do not have an answer for that; not right this moment. [ He's not deliberately avoiding the question. He knows better than to try that with Hannibal. He is actually being ... open in acknowledging a truth. Will isn't sure how he feels, about how he felt in the breaths that came in the wake of Dolarhyde's death.
If he'd embraced the change as a becoming, he probably wouldn't have taken them over the cliff. That said, having found himself surviving the fall -at least for the moment- he doesn't feel angst over his actions, and how they made him feel.
After a sip of tea, he glances to the honey and then to Hannibal's face. Eye to eye contact. ]
Is the honey, shall we say, local? [ Does Hannibal have a lobotomized individual doing hive duty somewhere in his garden? ]
no subject
[a glint of - amusement, when the honey is turned down. he hasn't indulged in ways that Will assumes. he collected and grew local flowers that he still hasn't used. waiting for the perfect moment, but the moment hasn't quite come. he meets Will's eyes, a smile hidden behind the lip of the cup.]
As local as the flora and fauna.
[a hint of humor laced into their conversation. he does miss having snails, however.]
no subject
Catching the older man's humor, Will gives a soft chuff. Not quite a smile, but the corner of his lips curl upwards, and an answering twinkle brightens his eyes. ]
Word around the office was, Price and Zeller kept pranking each other with honey, bee and hive related "gifts". [ He does the air quotes. He won't mention Jack's reaction to either the case itself, or the morbid games of his two forensic specialists. Jack being a complicated subject.
Price and Zeller had always been ... palate cleansers of a sort. Harmless enough to be amusing rather than potential meal ingredients. ]
no subject
tea is enjoyed between deft hands and movements around the kitchen as he prepares the small meal for two. the smells of sausage and eggs, of fresh bread being toasted and the sound of plates and silverware clicking together. having Will sit in the kitchen and exchanging light conversation felt far away, out of his grasp, until this new reality set in. thoughts of Echo's intentions dance around his thoughts. if they're both here now, what could Echo - or Aurora - want from the two of them? are they to be the balance of this world, or the imbalance?]
Are you planning on staying in the apartments?
[they're far from the comfort of Will's home, and further from any comfort at all.]
no subject
Will had spent too many nights agonizing over what he now knew about the food he'd consumed. Too many nights. When Will had decided to release Hannibal from prison, and let events with the Red Dragon unfold as Fate decreed, Will had let go of that part of his own humanity. There was no sense in torturing himself over that past. Over choices, both ignorant and knowing.
Hannibal was right. Life was much more peaceful, when you just accepted your nature. ]
It's not ideal. [ He says, in a resigned tone. ] Being in close quarters with that many people? Even Chilton's 'luxury guest' accommodations were preferable. But it beats sleeping on strange streets, so for the time being ... [ He shrugs, accepting his fate. ]