[ Open-ish ] Be Our Guest

[avoirfaim]

Who: Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Evelyn O'Connell, Cecil Palmer, Elizabeth, Lindsey McDonald, Seta Souji, Meg.  Unconfirmed: Martha Jones?, Agent Washington? Alice Liddell?  George Lass? America? Stiles Stilinski? Mr. Gold? Isaac Lahey?  
Where: The Dining Room
When: The evening of 4/16
Rating: PG-13, CW for implied cannibalism. 
Summary: Hannibal Lecter throws a dinner party.

A dinner party is not something to be taken lightly. It is the denouement to his great performance. Hannibal Lecter comes from on high to deliver a great feast, to feed the fine cows the innards of pigs, creating carnivores out of the unremarkable and shaping the circle of life and death in his image. The stage must be set for the actors, those fine meat dishes, in their costumes placed meticulously on select china. He had finished cooking most of the dinner at around 5:00, right when he had asked Evelyn to show up. The choices she gave him for tableware had been delightful, and he picked the right one for his palette.

He had asked the guests to arrive at 5:30, and he bustled around the dining room to prepare with Evelyn. Tables were pushed together and aligned carefully, a tablecloth draped upon and each place set. In front of each place there was a name tag. There were a few extra places at the end of the table, just in case of any emergency.

The dinner itself will begin when all those who RSVP-ed have arrived. Bon Appétit.

ooc: have some notes! This is only technically open to the people he invited to his semi-formal dinner party, party crashers will be frowned at and be added to his handy dandy dinner list. Not everything is Jesse, and if you want to know which is which ask me on plurk (I have one with all this information already done) or PM me. Obviously if I listed you as being in this thread you obviously don't have to comment in these are just the people he invited!  If your character would have not RSVPed or they would have RSVPed and it just never ended up going down no worries, pretend it did!  We can just pretend anyone who didn't show up isn't on that handy dandy chart up there.  

Comments

[glumshoe]

Psychological security is a manner of perspective. Alice has her vorpal blade, and Will would favor a gun were it not a savory reminder to Hannibal that his turn around has been less than sincere and more than useless; killing him only accomplishes so much and Will isn't going to be attacked. He just won't. The galvanizing strength of surviving a hospital for the criminally insane, by contrast, builds all the foundations Will would ever need for mental forts, feet thick and with doors that only open outward. A dinner can be tolerated.

He remembers odd girl that seats herself near him from his first contact with the network. Had some interesting views on Wonderland's reality, as he recalls, thawing some of his nervousness in favor of inviting more of these observations.

"Hi." A beat passes where Will takes in the stiff set of her... everything, a commiserating air about it. "You're Alice, right?"

[digophelia]

Alice wishes she could read minds sometimes, so that assessing others is a bit easier. The constant state of hyper-vigilance gets a little too tiring after a while. She's done enough of it already, like a feral cat, standing next to the door for a good matter of time as she was observing. She hadn't gone to the red queen's party for the same reason: she doesn't really care for being social settings, especially with those she doesn't know. But it would be rude to reject the invitation and Alice's Victorian sensibilities won't allow her to do so.

As rigid as she is, her green eyes scan Will, as she cross her legs tightly, still with firm hands in her lap. It's a force of habit she obtained through therapy and Rutledge to show that her hands weren't gripping on something sharp. Although she can't help but wonder how, exactly, well-known she is.

"Yes, I'm Alice," She tries not to say it with irritation, but she can't help it. She waits to see if the admittance will earn a second glance or a question, "Well, you certainly don't look like a raving lunatic, then again, looks are exceptionally deceitful."

She was never one for tact, always blunt. Although it's hard to tell if that's a friendly joke or not with how Alice keeps an air to her that she isn't one to be trifled with.

[glumshoe]

Blunt doesn't mean wrong. Will puts about as much stock into politeness as he does reputation and by that tack, expectation is firmly in the neutral.

"Thanks, you seem healthy too," he says, none too bothered with a little honesty (or dark sense of humor) as he spears a slice of heart. "If both our reputations preceded us, I wonder how long a processional train you might have."

Which to say no, he hasn't heard a thing. Insulation inside one's room does a good job blocking out vicious little whispers, and Will's intent to lay low and let Hannibal's little announcement blow over facilitated that. Explains his absence at the Red Queen's get-together too, but parties have never been his scene either. Too much artifice that he's bad at not overlooking.

"The deceitful have something to hide, and Wonderland knows well enough about relevant parts of my past."

[digophelia]

Alice is hoping that it wouldn't proceed her any time soon, however as time goes on, that's becoming far more of a distant wish. It does irritate her, just a bit, that the idea of her becoming the more well-known raving lunatic would soon be applied to her. She'll make a point to avoid that, as she curiously glances what is beside her. Is that really wine?

"I would hope not; I quite like staying out of the lime light," Alice won't even bother hiding that disdain. She doesn't want to be well-known, not as the little girl who fell down the rabbit hole, but that's too late now.

But that? That is enough to actually get a direct look from Alice herself. The dark smirk that seems to play on her lips, followed by a scoff, Alice lowers her voice, "If it didn't, then it is not much of a Wonderland. And I cannot tell which would be more predictable between the two."

She acts as if she's whispering a secret to him, sharply pulling away and setting a very critical pair of eyes on the party. Alice refuses to drop her guard around everyone in this room.

[glumshoe]

"Neither do I," he readily replies, though with a good deal of evenness. He would have been perfectly content to stay in his little farmhouse and talk at his students, not with them. There's a lot he would have been happier doing than what he ended up doing, what was done to him.

It tastes like wine to him, anyway, Will smiling faintly around a mouthful while Alice passes along her observations, shouldering out would-be eavesdroppers. Social cues aren't his forte, but he's reasonably certain that he's been temporarily drawn into her confidence, or collusion at the least, against the rest of the table. Or so he thinks. Social cues are not his strong point.

Of the figures he's met, she's seemingly one of the most knowledgable of the setting itself. Resentful, too, alluding to Wonderland as a figment of her imagination grown out of control, a fern that had taken root in her mind and then left her overrun. Will thinks of water and of his own body betraying him.

Here he leans toward her, voice lowered. "Do I disappoint you?"

[digophelia]

To say it grew out of control would be an understatement; the slithering ruins may have nearly destroyed everything Alice had held dear. Her sanity, her Wonderland, but this only pales in comparison to the true nature of Wonderland. Because of that, she's exceptionally protective of it, despite it's more questionable inhabitants. It makes Alice feel like a veteran of a war, in a sense. And it's not far from the truth.

And now, Alice finds herself tensing up, because she very much hates having her personal space invaded, even if it's to a small degree. There's pins and needles on the back of her neck, her mind is replaying her steps so that she knows where the nearest exit is. Alas, she feels she won't be here long. Sitting at a table with strangers, no matter how enjoyable a meal is, unnerving for her. She glowers just a bit, slipping her hand underneath her apron.

The vorpal blade is in her grip, if needed. The thing is, as a child, she's learned not to trust anyone. Even the supposedly most kindly nurses were the most cruel. She quite likes her shell, she doesn't want to dismantle it. Devoid of an expression, a flicker of annoyance seems to dissipate as Alice speaks freely. She's always been blunt, so uncharacteristically outspoken for a nineteen year old woman in Victorian England.

"What an interesting question, Mr. Graham," She starts out stripping her voice of any indication that she wouldn't hesitate using that knife as defense. "But I've learned many years ago many disappoint me. Why would you or your friend in this room be an exception to that?"

[glumshoe]

Better to find these sorts of things out early on. Will's sensitivity toward others' discomforts hasn't dulled, but been forcibly given space from his mentality. Something of Hannibal's therapy have been recontextualized as teachings: weaponize his empathy, or resign himself to being used. There was no grey space for him to exist in, even though there are innocents who don't deserve to be on the receiving end. Sometimes, though, you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette. He'll remember that.

Granted, Will didn't think Alice would react with deadly dispassion. He had read the situation and chosen poorly and now has to run with it, limping. He leans back a respectable distance, but still close enough to indicate he hasn't disengaged like perhaps she wanted him to. Threats of bodily harm do seem to roll off you when just this morning he examined the desecrated body of the very food they are all dining on tonight.

"We wouldn't be, Miss Liddell," he agrees, and slices off more of the heart. "But I didn't think anyone would take note of a psychiatrist's pronunciation of my condition unless they intended to determine its truth. Lots of esteemed colleagues and famous intellectual giants come by to poke and prod, and find themselves wanting."

The boy next door evidently doesn't impress. Of course, Will never gave them any reason to and Chilton didn't forgive him for not dancing when told to. Will shakes his head once and eyes his dinner again rather than her bright gaze. "If it was going to end the same way I figured I'd just force the issue."

[digophelia]

Oh, god.

Alice fails to cover up her deep exhale, a visible sign of discomfort. She remembers how Dr. Wilson would openly express he want Alice to stay in Rutledge for the rest of her life. For the fact that just as he said all the intellects wanted to poke and prod, because her so-called "condition" remained a mystery. Flashbacks are a strange thing, something so regular, and something Alice hasn't quite mastered. A vague memory comes to mind, along with the scent of blood and sweat, pinpricks...

Shocks. A brief, faint moment of disassociation, but Alice has to bring herself back into reality. Her hands remain braced in her lap, just in case. Alice cannot let go of that intense nervousness that keeps her on edge. He unintentionally hits a nerve, not that he would know. Had Alice not have been in such an open setting, her tongue would have been sharper. She can do this, she can be composed.

She's such an unhealthy thin, but she still takes a few innocent bites here and there. "The quiet ones are the most deranged? I already knew that."

That is a poor joke, because Alice is half-serious and sarcastic. "I'm only here to be polite. I'd rather not stay long, I never do well with strangers. But if you wanted something, you should be more discreet. Otherwise, if you like, I can express my not-so secret disdain for doctors of any sort."

[glumshoe]

Concern briefly eclipses his reserve, watching Alice go stiff and then shake loose of it after a fashion, as though a ghost had passed through her body. Only after several moments have passed does he feel safe to venture out, processing and deciding whether or not it might be better to suggest an early night for her.

"Or they're the most composed." It's an off-handed remark to her joke, ostensibly, but one that can be read into for all sorts of history. "The ones that have the composure to never make a mistake. Doctors are of a curious company, then."

Will's made plenty of mistakes, but while wary of him, he doesn't press into threat territory in her mind, backing off when it's needed. He's still thinking on the way she went pale, and what that has to do with a not-so-secret disdain for doctors, though the link is obvious.

"I wouldn't want to keep you further than you're enduring for the sake of politeness. Leaving the company of the good doctor -" Here he tips his fork toward Hannibal, voice soft. " - would do both of us well. Discretion wouldn't be so necessary with the liberty to be frank."

[digophelia]

"The most composed?"

There's a hint here and there with Alice and whether she does it on purpose is debatable. But she likes to think she knows madness when she sees it or it could be simply a survival tactic of her own to protect herself, since an early age. Adults are supposed to be protectors and nurturing people, they're supposed to take care of children. Alice's childhood was hardly filled with any adults like that, so much so that it has left her wondering for years if there are any people like that to begin with.

Needless to say, this situation in particular is starting to give her a small headache and it won't be too long before Alice's overactive imagination gives way to hallucinations. They're starting to beckon her now in her stress.

Damn these people, she thinks to herself bitterly. "Even the most composed make mistakes, sir, it is only a matter of time before they let their egos get the better of them. No one is exempt, patients or doctors."

She almost sneers, pinching the bridge of her nose before drinking a glass of water.