Phoenix Place, Wednesday evening

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal's throat was nearly healed, just a faint shadow of bruising and a very slight hoarseness left. He was feeling much better overall, thanks to friends who insisted upon doing whatever they could. His wrists were still a mess, but only time would heal that.

More importantly, his kitchen was nearly completed! After far too many false starts and reorders of things, all that was left was the center island counter, which was still bare wood. If he was careful and his knives were sharp (they always were), he could finally manage to cook again.

The dining room was still waiting on paneling, plants, and a table, but he wasn't too proud to eat elsewhere.

So he was sitting on the sofa with his plate on one of the end tables, eating and listening to some of the Rob Dougan that Jono had left for him. It wasn't a bad evening.



[OOC: Open post!]

Comments

[gunslingerpose]

So, the heroing gig had its ups and its downs. Tonight, Nikolai had experienced one of the downs pretty early on into the night, before he'd managed to so much as take down that asshole who was mugging a guy in a Baltimore alley. Because of course said asshole had a friend, and of course his friend had come up behind Nick and clocked him across the back of the head a good one with a loose brick, and then had kicked him for good measure until something wasn't quite sitting in the right place. Much as Nikolai wanted to, he wasn't quite equipped to set his own dislocated shoulder, let alone check the back of his head to see if he needed stitches or something, besides.

The clinic was going to be Nikolai's first stop once he'd managed to get back to the island (try pulling that off on a motorbike while seeing stars and with one arm not working quite the way you wanted), only this evening was apparently the evening that the gremlins had decided to try their luck at sunbathing on the front step. After sundown.

Come on, gremlins.

Of course, Nick paid enough attention to the radio lately to have some nominal sort of backup plan. Ish. It mostly involved limping up to what he was more or less sure was the place owned by Dr. Lecter, still wearing his leather duster but with his goggles swapped out for shades, and then sort of... resting his face on the doorbell for a minute. Yes. There. That was nice.