ext_16438 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
giyenah.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2005-08-05 07:46 pm
giyenah.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-08-05 07:46 pm
August 5 [Hannibal (book)] Cut her in little stars
Title: Cut her in little stars
Day/Theme: August 5 / A boy
Series: Hannibal (book)
Character/Pairing: Lecter/Clarice
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Spoilers for the book. I took atrocious and probably unrealistic liberties regarding memory places, egads, forgive me.
The doctor never lets her near the little boy.
A boy so pale with a ragged coat and hair the shade of soot who always stands there, always near the stables, always knee-deep in dirty snow. There is always snow like this in this part of Dr. Lecter’s memory palace, even when he is dancing with Clarice in Buenos Aires, in Marrakesh, in Toulon.
She roams freely in most of his halls alone, even the ones not intersecting with hers. No, not wholly free. For every time Clarice finds her feet leading her to the western wing--where the stable is located, where the boy stands knee-deep in dirty snow--Dr. Lecter arrives and leads her somewhere else, offering to play for her sonatas.
But one day she reaches him, one day when Dr. Lecter is overwhelmed by the stench in one of his oubliettes.
The stables look familiar, not unlike the ones from her memory place, her palace that grows everyday.
Clarice smiles and asks the boy, “Who are you waiting for?”
Maroon eyes look up at her, this pale boy knee-deep in snow. White snow that is dirty, like the color of washed-up bones. “Mischa. But she’s not coming back.”
“Why?”
“They are eating her.”
She smiles and stoops down to try and touch dirty boy’s hand, the six-fingered hand pale and cold. But then she hears a voice.
“Clarice.”
She looks behind her and finds Dr. Lecter. She looks back and whispered something to the boy just as Lecter calls out her name once more, reverberating through the winter of his mind.
Dr. Lecter’s fingers closes around her arm when she reaches him. They almost hurt.
“What did you tell him, Clarice?”
Almost tempted to bow her head, to avert her eyes--when she takes a glimpse of his face, his face that looks unusually pale. She realizes the doctor is not the only master of this house. Sometimes she holds the keys.
She matches Lecter’s menacing stare with an unflinching one of hers. “I told him not to worry. Mischa must have had sharp teeth herself.”
end
Day/Theme: August 5 / A boy
Series: Hannibal (book)
Character/Pairing: Lecter/Clarice
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Spoilers for the book. I took atrocious and probably unrealistic liberties regarding memory places, egads, forgive me.
The doctor never lets her near the little boy.
A boy so pale with a ragged coat and hair the shade of soot who always stands there, always near the stables, always knee-deep in dirty snow. There is always snow like this in this part of Dr. Lecter’s memory palace, even when he is dancing with Clarice in Buenos Aires, in Marrakesh, in Toulon.
She roams freely in most of his halls alone, even the ones not intersecting with hers. No, not wholly free. For every time Clarice finds her feet leading her to the western wing--where the stable is located, where the boy stands knee-deep in dirty snow--Dr. Lecter arrives and leads her somewhere else, offering to play for her sonatas.
But one day she reaches him, one day when Dr. Lecter is overwhelmed by the stench in one of his oubliettes.
The stables look familiar, not unlike the ones from her memory place, her palace that grows everyday.
Clarice smiles and asks the boy, “Who are you waiting for?”
Maroon eyes look up at her, this pale boy knee-deep in snow. White snow that is dirty, like the color of washed-up bones. “Mischa. But she’s not coming back.”
“Why?”
“They are eating her.”
She smiles and stoops down to try and touch dirty boy’s hand, the six-fingered hand pale and cold. But then she hears a voice.
“Clarice.”
She looks behind her and finds Dr. Lecter. She looks back and whispered something to the boy just as Lecter calls out her name once more, reverberating through the winter of his mind.
Dr. Lecter’s fingers closes around her arm when she reaches him. They almost hurt.
“What did you tell him, Clarice?”
Almost tempted to bow her head, to avert her eyes--when she takes a glimpse of his face, his face that looks unusually pale. She realizes the doctor is not the only master of this house. Sometimes she holds the keys.
She matches Lecter’s menacing stare with an unflinching one of hers. “I told him not to worry. Mischa must have had sharp teeth herself.”
end