marcato | (no subject)

(no subject)

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, SATURNSCHILD. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 001.00.653.90 * SATURNSCHILD has joined 001.00.653.90 <saturnschild> Hello. <saturnschild>** I'm listening.

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Yes.

[His words are just as reverent, half a whisper, half a song, like he's filling in the lyrics of some ancient hymn. He reaches a gloved hand for Hannibal's face, unafraid of the twisted, leathery skin of his Waldgeist form. For the first time in a long time, his own hand is warm.]

As a lich, my phylactery was the very essence of my life. It kept time with my heartbeat.

[His other hand snakes to Hannibal's, tapping the watch with his overly long fingers.]

It was a pocket watch just -- [tap] -- like -- [tap] -- this. In some ways, dear Hannibal, this is me giving you my heart.

[ It's the most natural thing in the world to lean into Aunamee's hand. Hannibal's lips slowly curve into a warm, sincerely affectionate smile. ]

Then I will cherish it for the rest of my days.

[ He brushes the tips of the fingers of his free hand over the back of Aunamee's, then presses them to his own chest, directly over his heart. ]

Would you like mine as well? It's no elegant work of art like the gift you've given me, but you can cut it from my chest yourself if you'd like to have the physical organ.

[ The offer is genuine. He will even hand him the knife. ]

Metaphorically speaking, however, I suspect you've had it all along. I simply did not realize it until I came here.

[How does Hannibal always know what to say? The offer is tantalizing, and he finds himself watching the place on Hannibal's chest where he knows his heart rests, inert in undeath. He imagines he can feel it between his fingertips, and then he imagines he can feel it writhing, squirming in both life and death.

He leans closer, his breath warm and alive. ]

I'd be honored.

[He pulls back, but only slightly. ]

But I can't risk having you vanish from this place. I'll content myself with the metaphor.

[His grip on the other man's face tightens, as though he's going to bring him in for a kiss. Right now, however, his jaw is all wrong, more bug-like than human, and so he resists, loosening his grip a moment later. ]

We'll resume this dance when my body returns to normal, dear Hannibal. I look forward to it desperately.

[ There are far worse sights than Aunamee's face, though perhaps that's Hannibal's bias at work. An insect-like visage on anyone else would be repulsive. But Aunamee is, as always, beautiful. ]

Of course.

[ Just for an instant, Hannibal runs his fingertips—angled carefully to avoid scratching him with his claws—over what would have been Aunamee's cheek were his face more human. It's a caress as affectionate as it is appreciative. But his hand is cold, he knows, and he drops it before it becomes too unpleasant. ]

Much awaits us on that day. [ A duel with swords. A bit of fun at the Cube. ] Patient though I am, I confess it cannot come soon enough.

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