A.J. Crowley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thepointisdolphins) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2014-10-20 07:17 pm
thepointisdolphins) wrote in entrancelogs2014-10-20 07:17 pm
Entry tags:
[closed] rhymes with
Who: Crowley and Hannibal Lecter
Where: The bar
When: Now
Rating: PG-13ish for mentions of cannibalism, death, murder, all that fun stuff
Summary: It's time for a little old-fashioned retribution
The Story:
Crowley thinks it's high time he stopped sitting on his thumbs.
He had waited to do some some last-minute research, and also to wait for a time when they wouldn't be interrupted by some ridiculous event. It's a damn good thing. Crowley wouldn't be able to live with himself if he had started singing his intentions to the good doctor.
He still isn't entirely sure what he's going to do. He's going to kill Hannibal Lecter. That part is non-negotiable. But he's never actually dealt with a serial killing cannibal before. He's...curious. Curious if the books and movies are all accurate. Curious about what kind of person Hannibal really is. And curious about what kind of person he'll be in the face of his own death.
He knows that Jack the Ripper begged.
The question now is how to lure the doctor out.
Crowley almost wants to just be straightforward, slip a note under the door in the vein of "I know what you did." But somehow he doesn't think that will cut it. Other people have accused him of being that Hannibal Lecter before and he always seems to brush it off. Water off a duck.
No, it would have to be something less obvious. Well, they've talked before about how they should actually meet in person one of these days. Maybe that would be enough.
He sends Hannibal a private message, asking the doctor if he wants to finally meet and get that drink. It's a shame they've never met in person till now, isn't it? They should really amend that. He has a fifty year-old scotch that the doctor might like. There are just so few people worth talking to around here.
He tries to keep it as casual as he can. Then he sends it off and waits for a reply. He's already in the bar. If Hannibal doesn't show up today, that's fine. Crowley's a demon. He has all the time in the world.
Where: The bar
When: Now
Rating: PG-13ish for mentions of cannibalism, death, murder, all that fun stuff
Summary: It's time for a little old-fashioned retribution
The Story:
Crowley thinks it's high time he stopped sitting on his thumbs.
He had waited to do some some last-minute research, and also to wait for a time when they wouldn't be interrupted by some ridiculous event. It's a damn good thing. Crowley wouldn't be able to live with himself if he had started singing his intentions to the good doctor.
He still isn't entirely sure what he's going to do. He's going to kill Hannibal Lecter. That part is non-negotiable. But he's never actually dealt with a serial killing cannibal before. He's...curious. Curious if the books and movies are all accurate. Curious about what kind of person Hannibal really is. And curious about what kind of person he'll be in the face of his own death.
He knows that Jack the Ripper begged.
The question now is how to lure the doctor out.
Crowley almost wants to just be straightforward, slip a note under the door in the vein of "I know what you did." But somehow he doesn't think that will cut it. Other people have accused him of being that Hannibal Lecter before and he always seems to brush it off. Water off a duck.
No, it would have to be something less obvious. Well, they've talked before about how they should actually meet in person one of these days. Maybe that would be enough.
He sends Hannibal a private message, asking the doctor if he wants to finally meet and get that drink. It's a shame they've never met in person till now, isn't it? They should really amend that. He has a fifty year-old scotch that the doctor might like. There are just so few people worth talking to around here.
He tries to keep it as casual as he can. Then he sends it off and waits for a reply. He's already in the bar. If Hannibal doesn't show up today, that's fine. Crowley's a demon. He has all the time in the world.
no subject
When he receives the message, he finds himself at odds with himself.
He read it over, looks down at it for a good five minutes as he pondered possibilities, weighed the pros and cons of showing up. It was obvious enough that there was something Crowley wanted to say to him, something that needed to be said in person, and it's sudden. So rarely is casual amicability so quick to pounce.
In the end, though, he does decide to show up. Curiosity has gotten the better of him, with his scalpel slipped carefully into his inner breast pocket. Whatever Crowley might choose to threaten him with or offer him, it wouldn't hurt to come prepared.
It wouldn't hurt him at least.
The bar isn't Hannibal's ideal location, but he's been before. He's observed, taken in yet another one of the numerous watering holes of Wonderland; Alcohol would always be the social lubricant of choice. He spots Crowley with ease, unbuttoning his jacket before he sits, and smiles politely.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet face to face."
no subject
Crowley could theoretically curse Hannibal to die from a distance, but he wanted to see him in person. He's wanted to for months now, just for confirmation. Humans can control body language and voice and expression, they can craft such intricate lies, but there is nothing anyone can do about the soul. To a demon or an angel, the soul is always just right there, since it's the only really important thing about people in the grand scheme of things. Like a dog will notice a scent before anything else, a demon will notice a soul.
And there it is. Hannibal's little storm cloud, a miniature cold front. It's not even remotely the worst Crowley has ever seen, but it's there, plain as day. It's the last bit of confirmation he needed.
He puts on a smile and raises his glass in greeting.
"It is, isn't it? I find you can't truly know someone until you meet them in person. Well, I've been trying to get out more and properly get to know Wonderland's denizens lately. At least the interesting ones. Scotch?"
no subject
"I would agree, though there is something to be said about the revealing nature of how one acts when they are detached from the full contact of interpersonal relationships. You simply need to know what to look for."
no subject
He smirks.
"Distance and anonymity reveals the callous monster in all of us, eh? From my perspective, every aspect of human activity is telling. Though I've found you can only learn so much being an outside observer."
Something his kin never realized or took advantage of, hence their perpetually archaic ways of dealing with humans and their souls. Crowley much prefers to get in there among the humans and make them his totally willing agents of chaos. Human nature is a funny thing.
It's been a long time since Crowley took such a specific interest in a single soul.
no subject
"Distance reveals humanity in being eternally interconnected, not monstrosity. It shows the negative in the worst of us, revealing the positive in the very best. Monsters either know that distance is relative or they don't care. The same cannot be said about anonymity."
This scotch is good, though he can't place the vintage. His tongue darts out just the bare minimum, to catch any scotch lingering on his lip. He finds there is more to Crowley than he expected, garnered from seeing him in person, involved in his space and not just wagging his sharp little tongue about on a screen.
"Did you call on me to discuss monsters, Crowley, or humanity?"
Which do you consider yourself, he wonders.
no subject
Not that humans aren't eternally interconnected. Social animals and all that. But connection does not a monster unmake.
He glances at Hannibal.
"Neither." Lies. "Or perhaps both. As a psychiatrist, I suppose you must be an expert on both. I asked you awhile back what drives people to become monsters; I rather liked your answer."
His total non-answer, that is.
no subject
"As a psychiatrist, my professional expertise is in understanding the actions and reactions of others, in order to guide them towards a sense of betterment."
That's the company line anyway, the one he spouts when he needs to clarify what his job really is, the veil over what he actually does.
"And what was my answer?"
You'll have to excuse him, Crowley, but he isn't infallible. While elevated in intellect and brain function he may be, he is still only human.
no subject
A sense of betterment. He almost loses his cool and starts laughing right then and there.
"Your answer was that it varies from person to person. But that the common thread is a need for realization. Recognition. Attention."
He peers at Hannibal over his scotch.
"Who do you want realization from, Doctor?"
no subject
"Nothing. If you're trying to imply something I would come right out with it."
i hope senpai notices me
"Why would I be implying anything? I think it's not just the monsters who want to be noticed. It's people--all of them. Everyone wants affirmation, after all. There's always someone they want to notice them."
He finishes off his scotch.
"I'm just curious who it is for you."
u 3 u
The question, the circumstances, the way he was invited as opposed to every single interaction they have had so far has Hannibal on alert now, and he shrugs as if he couldn't be further from it.
"I already said. I don't want affirmation from anyone. I'm almost fifty and while not everyone can claim to be content with their life even at middle aged I believe that I can. Though now it's only fair that I ask you the same. What do you need to affirm yourself?"
uguu
"Me?" He looks away briefly. "One of the upsides of not having free will is that you don't need anyone or anything to affirm yourself. You already know your exact purpose; you know what you're here to do and why. Sometimes the things you have to do don't entirely match up and things can get a bit confusing. But it's not really all that complicated."
He turns in his stool to face Hannibal more fully.
"I've lived a very long time and I've seen all kinds of people, all the sorts of things they get up to. Cain and Abel. Nero's Rome. The Children's Crusade. The Spanish Inquisition. I even met Jack the Ripper once."
He smiles.
"And the thing is, monsters--the serial killers and mass murderers, they're all the same. They all have different motivations and they all think they're different from their predecessors. They all think they're so very unique. But monsters are all the same."
He turns to pour himself another scotch.
"It's funny, really, you'd think being a demon and all that I'd be on your side. But you had to go and kill my friend. Were the steaks worth it, at least?"
no subject
Hannibal has no intention of exposing his own weaknesses voluntarily.
He sucks in his cheek and frowns, letting the rocks glass slide against the table. He's done with his drink, the liquor soured by accusation.
"I didn't kill anybody. If you called me here only to accuse me of someone else's crimes, I believe we're done here."
no subject
It's annoying.
"Please don't. I'm not accusing you. Do you know why I called you out here today? I'm a demon. I can look at someone and know the width and breadth of their sins. How else do we know who to tempt and how to tempt them?"
He looks fully at Hannibal again.
"You've got the full set of seven, did you know that? And your soul, don't even get me started on that. A demon sees sins before much else. You're so very sophisticated and well-spoken to hide it, but it's all I see. To me you're no different than ol' Jacky."
He smirks a little, remembering what Will said and wondering if that'll sting Hannibal's pride at all. Manchester does the man have loads of that.
no subject
He doesn't blink, looking right into black sunglasses as if their eyes were visible and glaring. To blink, to look away would be a sign of weakness, and not a single strand of weakness exists in his entire nervous system. None are left from years and years of pruning, as far as he's concerned.
"What do you expect to get out of this, I wonder? Some sense of catharsis for the death of a friend? Or do you simply look to insult me? If I were a monster as you suggest, I can't imagine I would take kindly to being compared to someone as sloppy as Jack the Ripper."
no subject
"It's simple, actually. Just simple revenge. It would be nice if you could at least just admit what you are first, though. Must be rather frustrating, not being able to tell anyone."
He reaches up and takes off his sunglasses, and when he looks at Hannibal again it's through snake's eyes. The eyes are usually intimidating on their own, but Crowley isn't really looking to intimidate Hannibal. He doubts it's possible. But when he does look at Hannibal, it's with six thousand years worth of experience and wrath and contempt. There's something ancient beyond reckoning there. For a moment you can actually see the old, terrible being that caused the Fall of Man.
Even if accidentally.
Crowley blinks and the moment passes.
"I curse you, Hannibal Lecter. Food will turn to ash in your mouth. Any drink but water will turn to dust. You're going to starve to death, Doctor. And any attempts to speed it along, to take you out of your misery, to assist you in any way, all will fail. You will feel every long, painful second until your last breath."
His eyes flicker red for a moment and there's something serpentine and predatory about him as the curse takes hold.
Then he puts his shades back on.
"And if you ever lay a hand on Jesse Pinkman or any of my people ever again, I will do you for far, far worse."