Mischa threw the phone to the ground after trying to reach out to her brother a few times more. A pitched scream echoed through the room, startling even Chiyoh, who was preparing documents for her employer.
"Chiyoh come!" Mischa called to the other woman, who steadily approached her. The handmaiden already knew what was coming, and she felt passive about it through the years. She has served the previous matriarch well, and she plans to do so with this young, unimpressive child.
When they were finally face to face, the height difference was evident, the master of the house being a few inches taller. The master adjusted her plastic appendage, slightly for comfort, before striking her servant with the nails of the prosthetic.
"Why does he care about you?! Why you?!" Mischa screeched continuing the childish outburst.
The pain on Chiyoh's left cheek stung, a bruise possibly already forming, and blood langiudly dripping down her face. All of which matched the scars and bruises on her pale body.
Her master walked off, breaking the expensive antique furniture that lazed around.
In truth Chiyoh knew Mischa did not fit this aesthetic of fine wines, antique furniture and arts. She was nothing like Hannibal, she was nothing like the previous Lecter patriarch and matriarch. She tried to assimilate in high society with the grace and an allure of seduction. She ruled the murky underworld as such, but in truth she doesn't own such graces. She lacked the training and knowledge that was imbedded in the Lecter name, as the woman was Hannibal's junior for a good thirteen years. The man was already in his late twenties when the 'incident' happened.
The servant indulged in the retrospect, and every time she did, she always wondered, if the older Lecter had become her master would she have to suffer such abuse? Would she run around tailing after a slightly unhinged woman? Would she have to serve her for the remainder of her life?
Chiyoh felt a hand grab her shoulder roughly, already knowing who it was. A younger woman pressed her face at the crook of the servant's neck. Arms slithering at her waist, echoing empty apologies.
". . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry. . ." Mischa whispered, at her only friend and servant.
It seemed as though it was a cycle or cruelty and apologies. Something Chiyoh is being sick of, it was a faux sentiment of affection. She had accepted it as such, and remains unmoved, but plasters a smile to ease the violent tendencies of her master
"Jack, Will is back at the office." Beverly whispered in the phone, as she watched a rugged and worn Will rummaged in his office.
"Do not let him leave at any circumstance! I'm calling off my flight, I'm coming over as soon as I can." Jack replied in such a breathy hurried tone, that Beverly was sure the elder man was running through a crowded airport.
"Bev, get me a phone! Now!" Will shouted from his desk, as all his things were rearranged since he left. All the stacks of document arranged, but not in the chaotic art that was easy to identify the location of items.
"Where's your old one?" The assistant queried.
"I lost it." Will said plainly. But in all honesty, he wasn't sure where it was. Frankly, he was sure it was destroyed in the Las Casas incident. So, if it remains intact, it was already a continent away from where he was now.
"That's all you're going to say? Will you've been gone for weeks Will, and you've been off the grid for a while. Aren't you going to tell me where you've been or if your even ok?!" A worried frown plastered on her face, already ready to start a tirade about Will being an irresponsible, and frankly unstoppable imbecile.
"Bev! I—"
"William fucking Graham! You do not shout at me! I am worried and have been covering your ass from Jack flying off to Italy for you! So give me even a piece of fucking respect and sit the fuck down!" The woman finally snapped, like a mother scolding a child. Will knew he irate his friend when he heard his full name being pronounced in such a final tone. It was rare that Beverly be this angry at him. He was already used to her rather talkative and probing nature, but never really received the pointed anger that she has shown today.
"I–I'm sorry Bev."
"Good, now sit down, I'm going to get you something to eat. You look . . . Sick, and not in a good way, not in the 'you look sick—hot' way. And you have to tell me what you've been up to."
"I don't think that's—"
"You trust me, right?" Beverly glanced at Will, it felt like another strain on their friendship has been placed.
"Of course, I do, your my friend." Will said with a hesitant finality. He never really thought he'd have to say it out loud.
"If you trust me, then sit still, and we will talk about this."
"Alright."
"Good?"
"Good."
"Will stay. Do not leave this office while I'm gone, or I would have to call Jack's boys and barricade the whole building." Beverly reminded again, flashing her phone with Jack's office on speed dial.
"Alright Bev. Ok."
"Good."
Will sighed and shut his eyes as he leaned back on the settee. He was tired. The flight from Italy was such a pain, and yet he couldn't sleep. He hasn't been sleeping since Hannibal left. In reality he knew he was physically useless to help the man from whatever fight this war has become. Especially after his comatose period, he knew his body hasn't fully healed, and with all the incidents combined, he was weak, worn and abused his body to its physical limit. The mental scars of all the incidents combined, and the continued recurring nightmares, he silently suppressed didn't aid the situation. He didn't understand the complexities of the underworld, nor did he understand why he was so triggered in trying to find him.
In reality, he knew it was illogical to be this invested in a man you only knew for months. He cannot even truly confirm if he actually adores the man or is intrigued by him. He feels as though he was a kindred spirit, repressed by society and social etiquette and responsibilities.
Hannibal was visually appealing, but was he worth endangering his own life? Especially after the argument that took place.
"— Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck—" Will continued a litany of swears as he settled into his thoughts. A hand pressing the bridge of his nose as a migraine has come to consume him.
Even at this moment, where he is safe, all he could think about is running away with his ex-bodyguard. He felt utterly stupid at the implications of this thought.
"Isn't it too quiet of a drive?" The teen uttered, peeking through the window of their car. The quiet side streets eerily threatening.
"Your father made a promise to try to give us safety while we leave. You might be an ungrateful brat, but somehow blood is thicker than water, and Hannibal is trying to keep you safe." Bedelia uttered in a matter-a-fact tone. She was still simmering over the youth's meddling of the matter. And possibly endangering her ticket to safety and peace.
Hannibal was her last layer of protection, and she would be damned if that would be stolen from her.
"What?" Abigail uttered, peering at the older woman in a slanted curiosity.
"You may think that finding your birth mother would solve that family complex you have. But it won't, and soon you'll find it would have been better if you hadn't known of that woman's existence."
"So, you have met my mother."
"I've met the shadow of your mother. She doesn't care about you. Who do you think abandoned you?" Bedelia finally spat her patience wearing thin, as Hannibal has been refusing to answer her calls after the first conversation.
"I—"
"You always act as though you know what's best, without knowing the whole story. That woman only brings death and tragedy anywhere she goes. "
"It's ironic that you want to meet your maker, because in reality, you'll feel the love of a hundred deities even before she would give a damn about you!" Bedelia added in spite and hinting a silent rage.
"Why do you hate her so much?! How much do you really know? preaching to me like I'm a child! I am an adult! I can handle my own identity!" Abigail wailed a childish tantrum, all her endearment to Bedelia gone, instead a venomous appeal presented itself.
"Can you? Can you really expect a child that sends a civilian to a death sentence and endanger the man who took care of her for all her life?!" The former psychiatrist swerved and halted the car on to the empty side of the road. She raised her hand hit the side of the teen's face. A reddening mark already blooming.
"I may have come to take care of you at the last seven years of your life, but for the rest of it? That inhuman beast actually cared to give you financial and physical aid even when he wasn't personally there." Bedelia added, peeved by the teen's lack of manners or restraint since the existence of her mother was revealed.
"Then why did he even do that?! He should have just thrown me away!"
"Your melodramatic personality aches me. What would you prefer I do? Cry with you? Don't be idiotic Abigail. He cared for you because you are his heir." The sarcastic tone marking her words roughly.
In truth, she knew the reason why Abigail was kept. She reminded the assassin of a less damaged, bright elated sister. The sister he should had before the incident. The last of his blood relatives. But this child also carried the blood of the man that ruined the siblings' lives. Such an unfortunate gift wrapped in the devil's skin.
It was also an unfortunate fact that the teen looked nothing of the Lecters, instead inheriting the blue eyes and dark hair of the perpetrator of multiple crimes, that are arguably worse than the gift of death. She looked too much like him, too much, that it finally broke the woman now known as 'M'.