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Well it would seem that 'sooner-ish' was traded for 'later-ish'. Midterms are finally over. Yes. Yes. I know, what was I thinking, midterms over writing fan fiction...I really need to start prioritising.
Anyway, I thought it appropriate to update today. This is my Easter gift to you all, whether your religion is bases on Christianity, chocolate, or like mine, cannibalistic gentlemen, I do hope you enjoy. Thanks goes out to those who have reviewed. Patient champs, the lot of you ;-)
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'At the End of the Game'
Part Six: Calling Bluff
Inside, the cabin was comfortable and roomy, though significantly musky from disuse. Dr Lecter lit a nearby candle encouraging makeshift light to dance through the room. The walls were bare, though held great character.
Clarice physically shook herself as if to fend off her thoughts. She still felt light, almost like she had watched herself, and the progression of their performance through the evening.
As they ascended a nearby staircase, she realised how exhausted her body was, her limbs ached and her eyes were sore. Yet she trudged on, Clarice Starling would never burnout in the face of a challenge, particularly those that were set by Hannibal Lecter.
Immersed in thought, Clarice barely registered that her captor had stopped at the top of the landing, his arm raised in the direction of an open door to the left. She grated her teeth at the realisation of her lack of observation.
Dr. Lecter fought off the urge to grin, aware that such a gesture would only further the annoyance of his already stressed counterpart. Although he wouldn't deny himself the amusement her whimsical little act, he made a considerably genuine effort to ease the furnace of her temper.
Raising a quizzical eyebrow, her gaze drifted from the expressionless Lecter, to a darkened bedroom.
" I would turn the electricity on, Clarice, but enticing suspicion to any circling patrol helicopters has quite an unappealing repercussions, wouldn't you agree?" His warm breath caressed the base of her neck.
She declined her customary witty retort and waited for movement. It never came. Clarice heard the 'ping' of a pressure change in her ear as a result of absolute silence.
There's something comforting about a complete state of stillness. Its almost as if physicality and time disappear, leaving nothing but the epitome of thought.
Clarice limply fell back into a pair of firm waiting arms.
" Ah my dear, it would seem that your body isn't quite as willing to resist as your mind. Come now, lets get you changed and into bed."
His arms were still unyielding against her shoulders as he guided her into the bedroom.
"How is your shoulder, Clarice?" His voice held honest sincerity as he relinquished contact. Neither expressed their disappointment.
" It's fine" She turned to him, though avoided his eyes; she knew what she would find there. To hell if she'd ask anything of him.
"Perhaps after a shower, you will permit me to take a look?" He furthered his questioning.
" Thank you Doctor, but as I said..."
"Very well, wait here a moment while I check on the state of the bathroom" He deprived her the privilege of finishing her sentence, and replying to his own.
When he returned, he found her with her back turned to him, head bowed in examination of her wound. He presumed that the morphine had almost run its course, and she presently in a fair amount of pain.
" You'll find everything to accommodate your needs available in the bathroom Clarice" Her shoulders flinched as his voice filled a void of silence.
His shadowy figure stood gracefully at the foot of a canvas bed, located in the darkest point of the room, she hadn't been aware of either presence.
She made her way into the bathroom, fighting over the decision to look over her shoulder.
She chose not to look back.
The door shut abruptly, and an echo sounded throughout the cabin. Hannibal Lecter exhaled slowly as he walked his fingers gently over the soft bed quilt.
********************************************************************************
Accommodating her needs was a slight understatement on Dr. Lecter's part. Clarice found scented candles, body lotions, silk pyjamas and a fully equipped first-aid kit awaiting her use. It seemed somewhat surprising to find such amenities in an old disused cabin.
She rejected the surge of panic, which swam, through her body.
After a brief shower, she dressed her wound with a temporary bandage and changed into the ivory silk pyjamas, an exact fit.
Her logical mind liked dominating her body, filtering emotion, commanding a response.
Clarice groaned loudly as she played observer to the argument that was talking place in her head.
Declining the use of the scented lotions, she cleaned up her mess, and left the bathroom in the exact order she found it.
As the door creaked open, Clarice decided that it would be for the best if Dr. Lecter was still somewhere in the house. She would find her gun tomorrow morning, ridding of her submissive charade, and take apprehend him. She would end the game...win the game.
.........Or at least that's how her logic persuaded reasoning.
The truth had been left to drown in the Chesapeake, for it was the same underlying motive that forced her to refrain from detaching herself from the sinking madman lest 3 hours ago. The unspoken connotation, which had somehow become dogmatic to both of their thoughts. A walk of the mind through forbidden territory.
She could barely hide her disappointment at finding the candlelit room empty.
There were two points of light in the room. The first from a large candle, which stood on an oak dresser next to the bed, and the second coming from underneath the now-closed door.
He was still in the cabin. Moreover, he was resting in the room directly across from hers.
She looked around in confusion to find he had turned down the bed quilt for her, and left a fresh jug of water and a cup next the candle.
Clarice's nose scrunched at the sight of the water. It was likely to be bore water, judging from their location. She had become quite accustomed to such ill tastes while living on the ranch. Once she caught a bacterial infection, which restricted her to a bed for three weeks. A long three weeks of restless sleep, as she tossed and turned listening to the agonising harmony of the screams of the soon-to-be-slaughtered spring lambs.
She wondered whether the jug was a metaphorical representation constructed by the sharp mind of Hannibal Lecter, or merely a gesture of civility. Clarice decided that the former was greatest in probability.
"You see a lot Dr." She quietly recited an admission to the dark silence.
********************************************************************************
In a chamber across the hall, Hannibal Lecter sat propped up against the headboard of his bed and smiled. His little Starling was modest with both her actions and noises.
He had timed her shower to 4 minutes, no doubt she wasted little time with a quick clean and hair shampoo. He listen to the small hisses she provided as she dressed her wound, and the gentle *swoosh* made by the contact of silk on skin. Constructing mental images proved to be a difficult distraction.
He amused himself with thoughts of her rejecting the use of his body lotion. Of course he had planted the desire, but it was unlikely that she would cover herself in a scent specifically chosen by him. She knew too well how such simple submissions pleased him so.
A few moments later, after what he could only predict to be her state deep thought, he heard her stealthy whisper.
He replied in a similar tone to hers, knowing she was unable to hear him.
" More than you know Clarice, more than you know"
He had called her little bluff, seen through whatever she hoped to achieve tonight by going along with his instructions.
Tomorrow would see an end to her illusions; one of them was going to fold.
Well it would seem that 'sooner-ish' was traded for 'later-ish'. Midterms are finally over. Yes. Yes. I know, what was I thinking, midterms over writing fan fiction...I really need to start prioritising.
Anyway, I thought it appropriate to update today. This is my Easter gift to you all, whether your religion is bases on Christianity, chocolate, or like mine, cannibalistic gentlemen, I do hope you enjoy. Thanks goes out to those who have reviewed. Patient champs, the lot of you ;-)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
'At the End of the Game'
Part Six: Calling Bluff
Inside, the cabin was comfortable and roomy, though significantly musky from disuse. Dr Lecter lit a nearby candle encouraging makeshift light to dance through the room. The walls were bare, though held great character.
Clarice physically shook herself as if to fend off her thoughts. She still felt light, almost like she had watched herself, and the progression of their performance through the evening.
As they ascended a nearby staircase, she realised how exhausted her body was, her limbs ached and her eyes were sore. Yet she trudged on, Clarice Starling would never burnout in the face of a challenge, particularly those that were set by Hannibal Lecter.
Immersed in thought, Clarice barely registered that her captor had stopped at the top of the landing, his arm raised in the direction of an open door to the left. She grated her teeth at the realisation of her lack of observation.
Dr. Lecter fought off the urge to grin, aware that such a gesture would only further the annoyance of his already stressed counterpart. Although he wouldn't deny himself the amusement her whimsical little act, he made a considerably genuine effort to ease the furnace of her temper.
Raising a quizzical eyebrow, her gaze drifted from the expressionless Lecter, to a darkened bedroom.
" I would turn the electricity on, Clarice, but enticing suspicion to any circling patrol helicopters has quite an unappealing repercussions, wouldn't you agree?" His warm breath caressed the base of her neck.
She declined her customary witty retort and waited for movement. It never came. Clarice heard the 'ping' of a pressure change in her ear as a result of absolute silence.
There's something comforting about a complete state of stillness. Its almost as if physicality and time disappear, leaving nothing but the epitome of thought.
Clarice limply fell back into a pair of firm waiting arms.
" Ah my dear, it would seem that your body isn't quite as willing to resist as your mind. Come now, lets get you changed and into bed."
His arms were still unyielding against her shoulders as he guided her into the bedroom.
"How is your shoulder, Clarice?" His voice held honest sincerity as he relinquished contact. Neither expressed their disappointment.
" It's fine" She turned to him, though avoided his eyes; she knew what she would find there. To hell if she'd ask anything of him.
"Perhaps after a shower, you will permit me to take a look?" He furthered his questioning.
" Thank you Doctor, but as I said..."
"Very well, wait here a moment while I check on the state of the bathroom" He deprived her the privilege of finishing her sentence, and replying to his own.
When he returned, he found her with her back turned to him, head bowed in examination of her wound. He presumed that the morphine had almost run its course, and she presently in a fair amount of pain.
" You'll find everything to accommodate your needs available in the bathroom Clarice" Her shoulders flinched as his voice filled a void of silence.
His shadowy figure stood gracefully at the foot of a canvas bed, located in the darkest point of the room, she hadn't been aware of either presence.
She made her way into the bathroom, fighting over the decision to look over her shoulder.
She chose not to look back.
The door shut abruptly, and an echo sounded throughout the cabin. Hannibal Lecter exhaled slowly as he walked his fingers gently over the soft bed quilt.
********************************************************************************
Accommodating her needs was a slight understatement on Dr. Lecter's part. Clarice found scented candles, body lotions, silk pyjamas and a fully equipped first-aid kit awaiting her use. It seemed somewhat surprising to find such amenities in an old disused cabin.
She rejected the surge of panic, which swam, through her body.
After a brief shower, she dressed her wound with a temporary bandage and changed into the ivory silk pyjamas, an exact fit.
Her logical mind liked dominating her body, filtering emotion, commanding a response.
Clarice groaned loudly as she played observer to the argument that was talking place in her head.
Declining the use of the scented lotions, she cleaned up her mess, and left the bathroom in the exact order she found it.
As the door creaked open, Clarice decided that it would be for the best if Dr. Lecter was still somewhere in the house. She would find her gun tomorrow morning, ridding of her submissive charade, and take apprehend him. She would end the game...win the game.
.........Or at least that's how her logic persuaded reasoning.
The truth had been left to drown in the Chesapeake, for it was the same underlying motive that forced her to refrain from detaching herself from the sinking madman lest 3 hours ago. The unspoken connotation, which had somehow become dogmatic to both of their thoughts. A walk of the mind through forbidden territory.
She could barely hide her disappointment at finding the candlelit room empty.
There were two points of light in the room. The first from a large candle, which stood on an oak dresser next to the bed, and the second coming from underneath the now-closed door.
He was still in the cabin. Moreover, he was resting in the room directly across from hers.
She looked around in confusion to find he had turned down the bed quilt for her, and left a fresh jug of water and a cup next the candle.
Clarice's nose scrunched at the sight of the water. It was likely to be bore water, judging from their location. She had become quite accustomed to such ill tastes while living on the ranch. Once she caught a bacterial infection, which restricted her to a bed for three weeks. A long three weeks of restless sleep, as she tossed and turned listening to the agonising harmony of the screams of the soon-to-be-slaughtered spring lambs.
She wondered whether the jug was a metaphorical representation constructed by the sharp mind of Hannibal Lecter, or merely a gesture of civility. Clarice decided that the former was greatest in probability.
"You see a lot Dr." She quietly recited an admission to the dark silence.
********************************************************************************
In a chamber across the hall, Hannibal Lecter sat propped up against the headboard of his bed and smiled. His little Starling was modest with both her actions and noises.
He had timed her shower to 4 minutes, no doubt she wasted little time with a quick clean and hair shampoo. He listen to the small hisses she provided as she dressed her wound, and the gentle *swoosh* made by the contact of silk on skin. Constructing mental images proved to be a difficult distraction.
He amused himself with thoughts of her rejecting the use of his body lotion. Of course he had planted the desire, but it was unlikely that she would cover herself in a scent specifically chosen by him. She knew too well how such simple submissions pleased him so.
A few moments later, after what he could only predict to be her state deep thought, he heard her stealthy whisper.
He replied in a similar tone to hers, knowing she was unable to hear him.
" More than you know Clarice, more than you know"
He had called her little bluff, seen through whatever she hoped to achieve tonight by going along with his instructions.
Tomorrow would see an end to her illusions; one of them was going to fold.