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Delicate notes of Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat Major trickled over the sparkling silverware glittering under low candlelight spread across the dark, expensive wood and linens of Hannibal’s dining room table. In sharp contrast was the occasional crumb of brown sugar flung across the expanse, punctuated by guttural rumbles at the opposite seat at the end of the table.
It seemed like proper karma for Hannibal to be seated across from this chaotic creature flinging a mess to and fro, devouring dessert before even glancing at dinner, consuming his carefully prepared Anginettis, Baci di Damas, and Mostacciolis with the refined abandon of a starving animal.
When Will had brought home the box of fabrics from the thrift store under the guise of his new hobby of crafting his own dog toys, Hannibal wasn’t too shocked, after all, his beloved had a penchant for the artistic, making lures, cooking for his dogs, assisting in murder tableus.
When they found several odd looking, disturbing puppets at the bottom of the box, Will had laughed as Hannibal examined them with a perplexed expression, suggesting they burn them in the fireplace before they kill them both in their sleep.
When Will served him tea rather pointedly before dinner, Hannibal should have been suspicious of the dark look in his eye. He should have remembered the promise the handsome young man had made of “getting him back” weeks earlier for impulsively killing their gardener for spying on Will getting out of the shower.
And now, his own concoction of hallucinogenic mushroom tea coursing through his veins, he sat at the end of his own dining room table, across from a puppet destroying the delicately crafted cookies he’d baked for them, something in the back of his mind realized this may or may not be actually happening. He wouldn’t know for certain until tomorrow morning.
“COOKIE WANT MORE!” the creature demanded, flinging pastry crumbs to and fro, shoving fistfuls into his gaping maw in a terrifying display of barbarism.
“Of course,” Hannibal said carefully, not wanting to provoke him further, although reasonably aware none of this was real and not entire sure why he was cooperating.
Will watched from the shadows, smirking to himself.
“This is my design,” he whispered, hands in his pockets.