If patience was really a virtue, then Hannibal Lecter was a very virtuous man. It seemed to be that every aspect of his life necessitated patience. The truth was that he savored the time it took to prepare and wait for his plans to come to fruition, whether that be in the kitchen, his office, or elsewhere.
Tonight, however, he wasn't exactly pleased to be exercising such patience as he awaited the arrival of a visitor, a graduate student from New York. Granted, when traversing long distances, one could expect delays. However, this visitor was already 40 minutes late. In this day and age, mobile phones enabled persons to make contact with each other at the drop of a hat. To be 40 minutes late and not bother calling an expectant host was, in a word, rude.
Seven minutes later, the doorbell rang. Closing the book that had been resting on his lap and placing it on an end table, Hannibal got up from his seated position, straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket and then his tie before making his way to the foyer.
Hannibal's home was his retreat from the world and he reveled in mixing both the modern and the antique in his decor. Ornate rugs and long floor to ceiling curtains paired rather nicely with the rough wood of hewn timber and horns of creatures long since dead. Straightening one of the many small framed paintings hanging on the wall on his way to the door, Hannibal composed himself to meet his guest.
Swing the door open, his gazed alighted on the tall young woman standing on the porch. Her long dark brown hair, with its heat-imposed curls, framed her face and complimented the porcelain tone of her skin. She looked like a doll come to life in her dress that was better fitted to the 1960s than it was the 21st century.
Ever the courteous host, Hannibal step back and beckoned her inside with a sweeping motion of his hand.
"Do come inside, Miss Basil. I've been expecting you. How was your journey?"
"Fine, I suppose," the young woman replied as she stepped inside and began to unabashedly look about the foyer at the many adornments and artifacts he had on display.
Inwardly, Hannibal noted her rudeness in not apologizing for being tardy but did not outwardly show any sign of his disapproval. Instead, he watched as she brushed past him to make her way further into his home and caught a whiff of coconut shampoo with a hint of vanilla and a crisp pear scented perfume, so very light.
"You know, Miss Basil," Hannibal began, "I knew your grandfather very well. Roger Basil was a very fine man and a superb psychiatrist. He would be so proud to know that you are continuing his legacy."
"That's assuming he doesn't already know," Basil replied nonchalantly with a tilt of her head as she more closely examined a painting on the wall. "Or are you a proponent of nihilistic atheism that prohibits the belief in any sort of spiritual or consciousness continuance after death?"
"I think the living making statements on life-after-death is merely conjecture. Now, Miss Basil, if you'd like to follow me, I'll show you to the sitting room and we can discuss your thesis. Your faculty advisor said your theory of situational aggression having correlations to traumatic upbringings was rather unique."
"Yes, of course, Doctor Lecter," she replied with an impertinent smile that revealed a solitary dimple on her left cheek. "Lead the way."
Rather quickly, Hannibal was regretting volunteering his time to assist this young woman in her scholastic endeavors. Not only was she discourteous but she was also brazenly arrogant in her behavior and manner of speaking, a rash but rather an accurate assessment of a woman he had only met a few minutes prior. As they walked down the hall, he began to wonder how her liver would taste in a Pâte Brisée.
"Oh!" he heard her exclaim and he turned around to look as she picked up a recently acquired item from where it was displayed on a hall table. "What's this?
"That," Hannibal replied as he watched the young woman fingered the long-handled blade and turned it in her hands, "is a mid-19th-century panabas from the Philippines. It is rather fragile and the steel is so brittle that little of the original blade remains. So I'll ask you kindly to place it back on its display."
"Why such the long handle?" Basil inquired further, ignoring his request. "What was it used for?"
"Its primary use was as a chopping weapon. Though originally believe to be used as an agricultural tool, its effectiveness at chopping through meat led to it being favored in executions."
"I doubt this could kill anyone," she noted, examining the broken length of metal protruding from the hilt.
"Well, I think you'll find," Hannibal explained as he stepped over to the young woman and took the panabas from her in one swift motion and turned the blade upward and shoved it through the underside of her jaw with the next, "that sentiment to be quite false."
Her mouth went slack and her left eye-lid drooped in a manner that assured Hannibal that he had at least hit the frontal lobe of her brain. Leaving the blade in place as to reduce the amount of blood he would have to clean up later, he stepped back and let her fall to the ground. Basil would be dead in a manner of seconds if she wasn't already. Though his actions were rather impulsive, he felt nothing but satisfaction as he walked back to his book he had left lying next to his chair.
"Doctor Lecter?"
In utter disbelief of his senses, Hannibal slowly turned around.
A/N: This story is cross posted on Archive of Our Own and due to FFN's limitation of explicit content that will be the only place you can read the complete story. You can find me there under either user24601 or fanficwriter24601. Feel free to message me if you would like the link as I cannot post it here.