[ Upon the arrival of the deluge of puppies, Hannibal Lecter armed himself with a lint roller and the ability to stare any creature down until it whimpered in submission and walked away. The rampant nature of the whole thing bothers him more than anything else, and carefully avoids the remnants of whatever they chose to eat and leave in various corners of the mansion.
He's not cleaning up after dogs, particularly dogs he has no moral charge over.
Anyway, dogs and muted colors aside, there's really nothing out of the ordinary occurring for him. He approaches the day as he would any other day, with the exception of being armed with a lint-roller, and makes for the kitchen to make brunch.
He smells the rotten fruit before he even pushes open the door. The sourness hits him and his lip curls into a grimace. He pushes open the door and stares.
no subject
He's not cleaning up after dogs, particularly dogs he has no moral charge over.
Anyway, dogs and muted colors aside, there's really nothing out of the ordinary occurring for him. He approaches the day as he would any other day, with the exception of being armed with a lint-roller, and makes for the kitchen to make brunch.
He smells the rotten fruit before he even pushes open the door. The sourness hits him and his lip curls into a grimace. He pushes open the door and stares.
That's gross, Ned. ]