A/N here's another one, I want to get to the good stuff!
Saturday came as any other would, Hannibal had spent a few hours of it preparing the ideal tender roast with German mustard and fresh cibleme. He finished packing the meal neatly into various ceramic containers and walked over next door to ring Adelaide's bell at exactly 8:00 pm.
A warm golden glow burst from inside as she opened the door for him with a smile and a greeting him in return. He followed her inside and let his eyes wander over her for a mere moment, her light hair was partially tied in a loose twist at the back of her head, the rest tumbling smoothly down to the middle of her back. She wore a long closefitting emerald dress with a short black velvet jacket tying at the dip of her waist and fastened at the back in a subtle bow, the velvet tendrils hanging over her buttocks and swaying with her hips as she turned to walk up the stairs cutting up from the foyer. He could see the small black leather ballerina slippers she wore when she mounted the stairs but he stayed behind on the landing when he set eyes on the walls of the room. It was painted into a wild, dark forest with loose strokes accurately sculpting the vibrant earthy colours into trunks, no light staining through the leafless branches to shed light on the sinister albeit romantic atmosphere of the scene she must have created herself. The floor was covered with a loose Persian rug and at the leg of a small cherry wood table the cursed cat's scratching pole attempted to hide and ruined the twisted perfection of it all.
Hannibal was careful with the design of his decor; everything in his home went together like red wine and red meat. He'd always considered himself appreciative of the finer things in life; art, music, good food... most people underestimated or simply overlooked the intense value of true beauty.
His thoughts was abruptly interrupted by a faint smell, he tilted his head toward carefully and breathed in deeply. Rose water, a soft scent and somehow very familiar to his memory. He thought better of closing his eyes and turned to face the woman who had returned when she realised her guest was not following her up the stairs. She wore no perfume, he knew what he smelled on her was all natural, and strangely pleasing. Honest and luring.
She did not ask anything as he had expected someone else to perhaps do; she merely stopped and looked at him, her smile not fading from her features.
"You did this." It was no question, just an observation.
"Yes." She answered and looked back to the wall his eyes had been on together for a second before she continued. "You should come upstairs, there's plenty more children of mine to be met."
Hannibal quirked the corner of a lip and bent his head slightly to her in a small bow. This made her smile grow before it fell into a more serious line on her face and she disappeared up the stairs again. He followed her this time, pausing at the top to look at the main landing.
There was no walls separating the kitchen from the sitting room, a half open door at the far side marked the guest bathroom and another next to it remained a mystery to him as the next landing and main rooms were suspended overhead on steel cables with a square cut into the hanging wooden floor, joining the landings and sharing the light from the windows at day time.
The walls were all painted a shadowy blue colour and tastefully mismatched sofas and armchairs mimicked their hues with complimentary cushions on the far end of the large area, the seats arranged in the non-existed heat of a hearth. Rugs lay scattered over the floor in no apparent rhythm but in a whole only aided in complimenting the comfortable ambience. Paintings lined the walls without cramming the space, he left their themes for future discovery and continued with her into the kitchen to stand before the isle she evidently used as a table as five high chairs stood around the granite slab.
A painting of a nude woman rounded like a typical Rubens hung on the wall next to her back door and he stepped nearer, inspecting her small signature in the corner before he pulled his gaze over the surface more carefully. The anonymous lady looked away from him into the wall of her room, her legs covered partially with a wet red drape and her hair also wet, twisted into a plait thrown over her shoulder.
Her strokes managed to catch all the fine details and textures in a way far different from his own devilishly detailed drawings.
"That's Lilith." She filled him in as she was pouring their wine.
"She doesn't look like the devil's wife." He looked at her now, waiting for an answer she immediately gave, her pallid face earnest.
"They never do... Would you like a glass of cabernet sauvignon?" She asked.
"Yes, thank you." He pondered her answer and continued his observation of her home. It was so different from his, or from anyone's he's seen so far; it felt like a colourful exhibition, exotic but elegant at the same time. Bronze sculptures of tall angelic creatures without apparent faces lined the shelves above the smaller sofa in the sitting room, the dim light reflecting from their rough skins and it looked like an exodus of angels cast from heaven.
Adelaide handed him a glass of blood red liquid and pinched the green bottle under her arm before offering him an explanation.
"We're eating outside, it's spring." She said simply. Her hair hung in her face like it had before, he felt and suppressed the sudden urge to fix it and started toward the backdoor instead.
They walked through the garden in silence, the darkness all around them broken by the tapering pool's bluish light and the waning moon. The bed of heads were caught in the eerie light and long shadows crossed their angular faces. Hannibal approved the strong aroma of citrus and grass as he looked into the thicket of dense orange trees to where she had laid their table in the brightly lit gazebo. The tablecloth was pure white with crystalline plates of different shapes and sizes, new candles but only needing an arrangement of flowers, perhaps lilies, something repeating the stark white.
He pulled her chair out for her and remained standing next to it until she sat down. Then he started opening the smouldering containers and introducing the dishes as he arranged them on the crystalline plates she had set. Her expression looked pleased and pleasantly surprised at his menu for the evening he noted as he sat down opposite her, unfolding a napkin for his lap.
"You are not a religious man?" she asked in the gap where a prayer for the food should have gone.
"No, certainly not. I find God man's greatest blunder."
"Nietzsche." She caught the quote he had answered with. "I don't consider myself a religious – spiritual maybe... but I think there was some inconceivable maker of our perfection."
"Agnostic then."
"Yes, I suppose."
They ate in silence for a while; savouring the taste and the fresh tang in the spring air.
"Tell me about yourself Adelaide." He enquired after a while. She sat still for a moment, her grip loose around her fork.
"I'm a stranger to the world of ordinary men with insatiable need to express my mind and soul... but I think you already made the analysis so I'll share with you something you'd never have guessed."
He raised his brows questioningly at her and thought that he did indeed like her inquisitive gaze as he examined her, it travelled everywhere, the eyes of an artist, trying to absorb everything into their own, quite reserves.
"I like soap operas." They shared a short laugh before he commented.
"Sounds like a lot of drama, Adelaide."
"That's off the top of my head, how about yourself?"
"I am a doctor of psychiatry; I practice privately but used to work as a surgeon in the past." He took a sip of wine after swirling it around the bottom of the glass to release the rich flavours.
"That doesn't say much."
He stroked his chin and added playfully, "I enjoy cooking ... and long walks on the beach too."
For two hours and fifteen minutes Hannibal and the woman talked quietly. The doctor had taken of his suit jacket and remained in a satin vest as they moved back inside with the plates and cutlery before retiring to the living room. A two-seater he hadn't noticed before was dragged in front of the hearth at an awkward angle, he tried not to pay it any heed as they sat down, he had offered to build a fire as she brewed a pot of tea for them.
"You play the saxophone?" He asked as he gestured to a case on the far side of a sofa
"Saxophone, organ, piano, flute and cello."
"How about your voice?"
"No." She breathed, "I can't reach the high notes without a flute."
"Would you play for me?" Hannibal asked suddenly, setting his near empty cup down on the side table.
Adelaide nodded and rose from the seat, walking into the door of the mystery room, and exiting moments later with a much larger leather case. She positioned herself behind her cello on a chair, resting the neck of the instrument on her shoulder before starting abruptly with a long, dramatic stroke. He admired the curving line her key bone made and found himself studying the silky leg that the material had slid off of as she sat down, the glimpse of a thigh she seemed oblivious to.
He started noticing the sounds from the snares she caressed. It was the prelude of Bach's cello suite no. 5. Hannibal closed his eyes, lost in the notes she played from memory.
Adelaide was watching the man through lidded eyes as she played on, his eyes fluttered shut and she saw the emotion she knew he never even considered expressing honestly. She looked down; suddenly afraid he'd open his eyes and catch her eyes on him.
She glanced at him again at the end of her piece; he had opened his eyes again and set them intently on her, his irises looked almost black in the shadows. It reminded her of deep waters.
"Sublime, Adelaide." He praised her; she sat up a little straighter and grinned to one side.
"Might I be so bold as to ask if I may draw you?" Hannibal said after a moment of thought.