Dr. Hannibal Lecter

Ah hello, ladies and gentlemen. [Hannibal smiles urbanely, flashing a set of very sharp teeth dominated by curved fangs he's still sorting out how to speak around. His eyes have become staring and ophidian, which troubles him less than whatever is flopping around a bit clumsily in the background.]

It seemss that I too have been graciously equipped for the exploration of this peculiar Port. Unfortunately the same attributes are a bit inconvenient on land. My apologies to my neighbors for any [crash thump, mild wince] ...noise.

On the other hand I should be able to provide a formidable escort for your seafaring adventures. [He lifts his tail, which is serpentine except for the flattened end, and is a vivid black and white stripe like something out of a Tim Burton movie.]

...Dr. Lewis, would you care to play guess-the-species?

Ah yes, also. Once we're again underway, I'd like to host a salon in my suite. For those not familiar, a salon in the traditional style is an elegant gathering meant as much to educate as to entertain. Art, literature, ethics, philosophy, entertainment, and all aspects of our varied cultures are the sort of topics generally up for discussion. Light refreshments will be served; I am taking requests. I will also be looking for individuals to perform readings, lectures, and similar, instrumental music you would like to have played, and ideas on what people who attend would like to learn more about.

[His tail flops illustratively and knocks over a lamp. He sighs softly.]

At any rate, all are welcome who do not cause trouble. Kindly RSVP by the end of the week if you are interested.

[fairly liberal friends list]
Checking in. I do hope no one's become half jellyfish.

[warden filter]
Well. No point letting being turned part reptile keep me from doing some badly-needed housekeeping.

With Dr. Crane having left, I am as far as I know the only Warden currently qualified to make psychiatric prescriptions. I would like to volunteer to step into his role on the Barge, as well as providing general Infirmary support. I have been volunteering during crises, but it is time I take on some more formal responsibilities.

I will of course be continuing my work on breakfast shift, including the odd cooking lessons. Therefore I will make myself available for afternoon and overnight Infirmary shifts.

Mark Lilly and I have decided to collaborate on providing more comprehensive psychological services to Inmates and Wardens alike. Those interested in assisting, or receiving services, please let us know. At the moment our scope of ability only includes more mundane early twenty-first century Earth human options such as talk therapy, hypnosis, exposure therapy and medication, and I would greatly appreciate the chance to expand on that. Mr. Pinkman, if you are interested in joining forces on some level as well, you are invited to do ssssso *cough* so.

[private to Sandoval]
I have a proposition for you. [He's mildly worried, dude.]

 [Have a Hannibal, nicely dressed down in slacks and a tobacco-colored sweater, with his veterinarian's lab coat on over it. He has a young hedgehog in his hands, and Percy, his African Grey Parrot, is in his usual position on his shoulder.]

Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that the Bargewell Veterinary Clinic and Animal Shelter has some new arrivals. Our most recent shelter resident, Miss Marple, has given birth to a litter of six healthy kittens. Now they won't be weaned and ready for at least another eight weeks, but...well. Let's give them a look at the babies, ay Percy?

[The bird fluffs his neck and hops briefly from foot to foot.]  Percy is cuter!

Yes, yes you are, but you already have a home.  [He tucks the hedgie into his breast pocket. The hedgehog peeks out calmly and looks around as if entirely used to such treatment. Then he takes the camera and brings it over to the makeshift nursery he has made in one of the cat enclosures. Miss Marple, all ten fluffy pounds of tabby, peers irritatedly at the camera as she nurses a collection of black and tabby kittens.]

As you can see, they are all doing well, as is Mum. We have two girls, four boys, and they will be ready for gentle visitors within a few weeks. Meanwhile I will be sending out updates on a regular basis. Reservations will be taken at four weeks.

As always, Bargewell is a no-kill shelter, and we need your help to feed and tend to our expanding family. Donations are accepted during business hours. Please call after hours for veterinary emergencies only. Thank you for your time.

[Percy pipes up again.] Bring apples!

[spam for Bargewell Veterinary]
[Truth be told, Hannibal would be open twenty-four hours a day if he had the energy. The animals are better company than most humans, now that he can speak their language. Although at times, it gets to be overwhelming.]

[He wanders through the shelter/boarding aisles, greeting each beast in turn as he feeds them, changes their water and checks the condition of their cages. Everyone has an opinion today. The hedgehogs want more toys, the prissy silver Persian he is boarding is demanding more tuna even though it isn't good to give cats as a staple, and the dogs. Oh Lord, the dogs.]

Lol oops I pooped my crate again....

Hey! Hey! You! Play? Play? C'mon, let us out in the backyard!

When's Mom coming back?

These stitches ITCH! I want to lick them. DAMN YOU CONE OF SHAME, DAMN YOU!

OH MY GOD KIBBLE YOU ARE THE BEST EVER

What the Hell is that thing on your shoulder? Clearly it is unnatural.  I must bark at it!

[He sighs and whistles to get their attention.]

All right, all right you lot, finish your kibble and I'll let you out. 

[The bell on the front door chimes, and he turns to go attend to a potential customer. Sick pets and potential adopters wait for no man.]

Well. That little stopover was certainly...interesting. [His smile has a faint predatory edge to it. No, Barge, he was not too caught up in the aftermath of his own insanity to notice everyone else going mad. He has hours of footage and pages of notes to analyze now. Thanks so much for your contributions.]

[But then his expression softens slightly and his demeanor becomes more professional.] The forcible altering of a person's mental state can be damaging if the individual accepts their new reality too firmly. It is most productive to view such an experience, whether caused by drugs, magic, psychic abilities or disease, as seperate from reality in the same way as a particularly vivid dream. Or, in the Bard's more florid language:

"If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear...."

[He snaps out of it and sobers.] Repetition and self-discipline are key in these efforts.

[In spite of his current state, he manages a sort of vague curiosity.] Now what's this about messages from back home?
 

 [Hannibal can't sleep. His mind is full of conflicting thoughts and for once he cannot suppress or distract himself from them. Favorable progress reports were all very well and good, but now he is dealing with the implications of what graduation might actually mean.]

[He knows--has always known--that certain Wardens past and present will naturally be opposed to his graduation. Not so much because of him per se, but because his graduation will earn the T-X her Deal. He can understand their fears on an intellectual basis, but he has no sympathy for them. He must graduate, he must become someone whom his sister will not be afraid of, and he must earn back her life. There is no room for considering the protests of others. No more than there is room to consider his own internal protests. This is simply too important.]

[He does not relish the reaction that will likely come at his graduation, however. And he is concerned about fitting in with the Warden population when the time came. His past is a matter of public record here. And many of the Wardens are narrow-minded and unforgiving. Yet...many are not. He tries to consider the issue as he walks, calculating against his vast store of observations about his Bargemates. Apparent motivations. Potential reactions. Potential hazards.]

[He paces slowly down the halls, sturdy wooden cane in hand, face schooled to mild thoughtfulness...maroon eyes gleaming with little red sparks.]

 [Sir Tony Davies, Shakespearean actor, new grandfather and one of the more subtle of the cast's goofballs, sits in his trailer, which is rather plain except for many books and prominently displayed pictures of his family. He has one of his razor-edged little Hannibal smiles on, and is playing Goldberg Variations on his stereo.]

Well, my friends, I'm afraid that I have a bit of bad news. I've been by the canteen, and they say their food stores won't last the cast more than...two weeks. Which is just horrible really. Famine impending...but not if we plan for it now. 

Obviously rationing should come into play, since it will likely take Public Works at least a month to clear a few trees off the road. But I for one think that we must consider more...radical solutions.

[He cheerfully brings out a meat cleaver and lays it on the desk in front of him.]

So, who's going to contribute first? One of the large alpha males should last us at least a day, they're nice and...meaty.

[Sunday spam]
[Tony will be wandering around, socializing, entertaining the youngin's, and showing off pictures of his teeny granddaughter.]

[Hannibal Lecter sits primly at his artist's desk. Behind him are several sketches pinned to his workboard, mostly anatomical pencil sketches but a few bits and pieces from his Tarot collection. Dominating them all is an exploded view of a startled-looking Narvin's head. Weirdly, several of the drawings have been "improved" by being colored in in a childish hand.]

[Hannibal's hands are folded in front of him, and have been bandaged. There is a manic light in the back of his eyes and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, but other than that he is impeccably dressed and composed.]

Interesting experiences, these Floods. 

[private to Rorschach, Mr. Pink, Claire, Dean, and Mark Hoffman]
It seems that I owe you a debt of honor.

[spam for kitchens]
[Hannibal is paying an unusual amount of attention to the blood dispensers as he takes a late night cleaning shift. There must be a way to get at the contents....]

 [Birds are singing in the silk-cotton tree planted just outside the little shop at the end of the row where Hannibal Lecter sells his line of elegant clothes and wigs. It is a small place, but very posh inside, walls freshly whitewashed, bottle-glass windows polished and sparkling and every bit of merchandise in place. The man himself is much the same--diminutive, neat and resplendent, his gloves impeccably white, tobacco-colored waistcoat shimmering softly with subtle embroidery. The only unusual things about him are his boots, which though polished are clearly those of a seaman, and the long knife sheathed at his belt. Any rumors about the Mad Hannibal who ran rum and stolen goods here fifteen years ago are probably unrelated. Probably.]

[He putters around, arranging a freshly made wig on one of a row of wooden heads facing the door, then steps back to look at the resulting display. It needs something.] Hm.

[private]
Blood Pudding, Classic Recipe:

• 1 quart human blood
• 12 ounces bread crumbs
• 1/2 lb. suet
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• 1 quart milk
• 1 cup cooked barley
• 1 cup dry rolled oats
• 1 ounce ground mint

[Immediately after being driven away from that book-burning filth by his spectacularly misguided Warden, Hannibal found himself walking rapidly through the hallways. He had the manner of a man in a hurry, a man with a purpose. Inside, however, he was boiling over with rage.]

[Books. His prized library at his Chesapeake home. The first editions he had bought at auction and had lovingly restored. Back further: his parents' last few boxes of their beloved books, rifled through by the soldiers and burnt for warmth. Forward a bit: his tiny library in the prison, which was taken from him whenever Chilton wanted to feel a jolt of spiteful power. Books.  He had contributed to them, smuggled them, devoured them in half a dozen different languages. Had he been a dragon, that would be his hoard.]

[And Beatty lived to destroy them, and his Warden...did nothing...would do nothing...acted like it was something insignificant. Had he no sense of history? No thought for the effect of such an act on others? No consideration for the need to preserve humanity's intellectual legacy in the face of waxing ignorance?]

[Apparently not. And so, seething under a politely neutral expression, he stalked from floor to floor, seeking something he wasn't likely to find--peace in the face of a deep injustice].

[Hannibal is smiling, relaxed, expression as contented as a cat in the sun. He's a well known local wizard-for-hire and apothecary specializing, with his wife, in cures and all sorts of domestic charms. Rumor has it that he was once the nastiest of wizards, but Something Happened, possibly having to do with the aforementioned wife and his young apprentice. He has, to all appearances, Settled Down, and it seems to have done him good.]

Good morning, my friends! The Miracle Emporium is now open for business for the weekend. [He gestures gracefully to the shelves of bottles, bags, books, scrolls and odd mystical-looking items packing the wall behind him.] We are the premier suppliers of magical supplies, curatives and charms in the kingdom. Prices are fair, everything is genuine and hand-conjured, and the tea is excellent.

[He moves over to a bank of small cages with glowing points of light inside.] Right now we're having a sale on will-o-the-wisp lanterns, hand raised and very docile. I have an excellent dragon-scale shield, guaranteed fireproof, I have a three-generation-used willow healer's wand...and three drams of Philter of Mild Affection on special. We are located at the end of Merchant's Road, near the wishing-well. Do come by and have a look!

[Spam]
Humming a Medieval plein chant, Hannibal puts a cauldron of tea on, throws a fistful of customer-attracting herb mix into the fire beneath it, and then wanders about sweeping, waiting for the first to arrive.