Dr Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal took a moment to orient himself, feeling strangely heavy after several days sharing his skin with someone else. He watched Bob for a moment, then nodded. He couldn't see the magic anymore now, but he fancied he could still feel it a bit, and he trusted it was there.

"Thank you for your help."

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Bob shrugged. "Thank you for your body." He picked himself up and dusted nonexistent dirt from his trousers. "I more than half expected you to refuse, when I asked. You're a man who likes to be in control."

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Hannibal smiled. "I'm also a man who values new experiences and learning. And I am extremely adaptable."

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trigons_child

"Thank you for your assistance, Bob," Raven said. "It is good to be reminded that not all spirits are intent on mischief or harm."

She was still recovering from her own experience, but the hallucinations had stopped, as had, thankfully, vomiting any bugs, wires, or hair.

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"...You're welcome." A little earlier would've been nice, mind you. Maybe a little more physically. Still, it was a bit late to wish for that now, wasn't it?

"Maybe a grateful kiss?" he asked hopefully. "I could hop right back into Hannibal for just a moment, couldn't I?"

Now you were getting ghostly puppy-dog eyes, Raven.

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trigons_child

Raven blushed and tried not to laugh.

"Well, if Doctor Lecter is all right with it," she said.

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Hannibal sighed. "I'm fine." He eyed Bob. "You'll keep it polite."

"Of course!" Bob beamed in a COMPLETELY TRUSTWORTHY manner and stepped back into Hannibal.

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trigons_child

Raven stepped up to Hannibal -- well, Bob in Hannibal -- and brushed a chaste kiss to his cheek. Then her hands came up to cup his face between them, and her lips moved to his, giving him a much more thorough and thankful kiss.

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Oh, that was...that was really lovely. Really, Bob had so many new experiences to file away from this week. It might make it harder at first to go back to incorporeality, but it would make for some very pleasant reminiscences.

He might have sat there with his mouth open until he was forcibly pulled back to his skull, if Hannibal hadn't poked him, amused.

"Oh. Right. Um. You're welcome." He gave Raven a little bow and stepped back out of Hannibal.

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Eliot stuck around town long enough to make sure the spell went off without a hitch -- or at least appeared to, he didn't know anywhere near enough about magic to know for sure. He was well aware that the longer he went without getting his hand looked at, the worse it might be getting it fixed, but he was paranoid enough after the last few days to want to know as best he could that it was all done, before he took the time to recover.

Though he managed to make his way to the house only moving a little bit stiffly, he slumped against the door jam as soon as he stopped to knock. It was always easier to just keep moving than stop and start again.

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Hannibal excused himself from his other guests and answered the door. "Ah. Mr. Spencer. Please, come in, let me see to your hand. Have you any other injuries?"

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"Cuts on my arms," Eliot said, since those Hannibal would end up seeing soon enough, when he took care of the hand. "Nothin' I can't take care of myself, there."

He didn't mention the claw marks on his chest or the bruises from being thrown into a wall, though. A guy had to keep some mystery.

"Your, uh, friend from earlier gone?" He never did get that particular ghost's name.

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Hannibal could tell from the way he was moving that Eliot had other injuries, but if he didn't want them tended, that was his own look out.

"Bob? Yes, he's left. As have all the others, I take it?" He eyed Eliot. "I would recommend strong painkillers and anti-inflammatories, in which case I've a guest bedroom you're welcome to use, and we can do this there. Or if you'd prefer, we can use the kitchen and you will be on your own after."

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Yeah, no way was Eliot crashing in Hannibal's guest bedroom. That wasn't even so much a lack of trust thing as a "go to ground" thing. He wouldn't even want to do it in Hardison's or Nate's place. "Kitchen's fine. I'll take any non-narcotics you might have, though." He couldn't help but try to straighten up again under Hannibal's scrutiny. One of these days he'd nail down just why this guy gave him such a bad vibe. . . . "Spell was a success, near as I can tell. Not really the psychic type, so I have to take people's word for it."

And don't think that didn't rankle.

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"As have I," Hannibal acknowledged. "Although we did at least see Bob leave." He led Eliot into the kitchen and steered him to a stool while he went to the corner cupboard to get his nearest aid kit.

He scrutinized Eliot's hand as he scrubbed his own. "Would a local anesthetic work? It will leave you without much use of that hand for a while, but -" He shrugged. How much use of it did you have now, Eliot?

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Eliot snorted. "Yeah, 'cause it's real functional as it is." He sighed, wishing the counter surface was just a little bit cooler, to soothe the ache just a little more. He should have stopped for an icepack. 24 hours ago. "He yanked it out of joint sometime last night. Not sure exactly when."

Eliot not being all that aware at the time was the primary reason Johnny had gotten the upper hand again, after all.

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"Escaping from handcuffs. I heard on the radio," Hannibal said. He dried his hands, pulled on gloves, and started setting out the needles and plaster. "I'll inject a local anesthetic, set it, and wrap it in a cast. If you can keep that on for six weeks, it would be best."

He had a feeling that wasn't going to happen, but he was going to let you know anyway, Eliot.

"Put your elbow on the counter and show me your hand, please."

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"I know the drill." And almost always meant to at least try to follow it. He just usually couldn't take that much time off work.

Eliot shifted to better brace himself on the stool and set his hand out as ordered. "Haven't had a chance to catch up on the radio since Thursday." And it drove him nuts to know the squirrels had apparently infiltrated his house. "Any other news on it I should know about?"

Like did Johnny get anyone else while he was out of it? Did he have any other souls to add to his conscience?

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"Nothing I can think of off-hand, but you can listen to the podcasts of the news later. I hadn't known that until one of my students mentioned it. It came in very handy when I wasn't living here. Make a fist as best you can."

Hannibal checked his fingers and blood flow. "Any problems with sensation?"

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Eliot nodded. So he hadn't killed anyone this time around. Good to know.

"Hurts like a bitch," he said, nose twitching in a wince as he curled his fingers. "But nah, near as I can tell the nerves are okay." Radio was as good a distraction topic as any. "I know gossip's kinda a small town staple, but this place really brings it to another level, huh."

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"I've certainly never lived anywhere else where squirrels spied on everybody," Hannibal agreed, shaking his head. He finished checking Eliot's hand, nodded, and set a needle into the syringe to start.

Edited Date: 2014-12-07 05:54 am (UTC)

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"Considered setting out traps when I first found out, but I gather they're pretty good at revenge. Freaking squirrels, man. Who'da thought."

There were a handful of batty old codgers from his home town who would've. But they were batty old codgers.

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"Until I arrived here, I'd only ever known them to be wonderfully adaptive rodents that my gardeners despised. They certainly never carried notebooks." He cleaned a spot on the inside of Eliot's wrist. "Three small injections," he explained.

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"These guys seem more likely to be the scourge of your liquor cabinet than your garden," Eliot said. "You keep all this medical stuff around before you moved here, or is this a Fandom special?" Lord knew on this island, it was damn useful to keep around. Unless you liked the leeches cure.

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"A bit of both," Hannibal confessed. "I have always kept a very well-stocked kit for emergencies, but I've expanded it a bit since I began teaching here." He gave Eliot a wry grin. "We seem to get a lot more injuries of a much more varied nature here than at Johns Hopkins."

He turned Eliot's wrist over for the last injection and nodded at the newly carved "41" there. "A present from your friend?"

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Eliot sighed. He actually hadn't noticed that one, yet. There were enough other cuts and things that it had all sort of run together for him. "It was how he marked his victims. Guess I should be glad he didn't try to put it on my forehead."

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Hannibal grimaced. "Charming." Even Johnny's signature was unoriginal. And his handwriting was horrible. "I'll put some ointment and extra padding on it before I wrap your hand." He administered the last injection and set about properly disposing of the needles while he gave the anesthesia a minute.

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To be fair, very few people had good handwriting with a utility knife. Hannibal was probably one of them.

"Yeah, guy definitely had charm in spades. Suppose you lucked out on that front."

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"Apparently so. Bob did have his moments, but at least he wasn't trying to kill everybody." Explanations might have been awkward.

He turned back to Eliot's hand and repositioned it, then started manipulating his thumb back into place.

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Eliot's eyebrow crept up a little. This process was much nicer with a local anesthetic. "Those moves with the curtain rod his?"

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The wonders of modern medicine!

"If I could throw magic around, my life would be much easier," Hannibal offered with a smile. "Also, he probably wouldn't have had to use my curtain rod. No, that was entirely Bob."

That magic part was what you'd meant, right, Eliot?

He left Eliot's hand in a neutral position, thumb all fixed, and started filling the sink with warm water as he reached for the ointment for that number and the other small cuts that would be covered by the plaster.

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Modern medicine could be hard to come by when you were avoiding the law.

"Ah. Magic. Right." Magic was definitely what tried to sweep Johnny's feet out from under him.

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That was the beauty of being a doctor!

Ointment and padding applied, Hannibal started wrapping the plaster. He glanced up at Eliot questioningly at his tone. "Ah, you meant apart from the magic?" He thought about it for a moment as he smoothed the plaster. "I'm sure my medical knowledge may have helped, and my sense of balance, but I'm not exactly a fighter." He huffed in laughter. "Is there a martial art that teaches curtain-rod techniques?"

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"Yeah, you've said that before." But most people who 'weren't fighters' weren't quite as good at fighting as Hannibal seemed to be. "Ain't exactly weighted properly, but by way of improvised bo or quarterstaves, you could do worse. You got some moves."

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Hannibal shrugged. "My moves mostly involve getting out of the way. And a bit of dance; I suppose that might help. And Jono," he nodded toward the other room, "and I have been spending some time at an orphanage; the children and I have both been learning some self-defense from him."

He eyed Eliot in amusement. "And unless it's an emergency, I'll thank you not to come grabbing my curtain rods."

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Eliot snorted a laugh at that. "Never know when you're going to have to fight with one," he said. "Maybe you should bring it to your self-defense class."

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"I'd rather leave it to hold up the curtains, thank you," Hannibal answered, smiling and shaking his head. He smoothed the last of the plaster down and stepped back to strip off his gloves.

"If you need to remove this too soon," he said, "soak it a bit first to soften. Then, you see this?" He pointed out a small ridge of gauze that trailed halfway down the cast. "Cut here with scissors or a knife and it will come apart. You should at least be able to get it off without further injury. But try not to have to, please."

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"I always try," Eliot said. It wasn't as though he enjoyed having to get into fights.

. . . Well, okay, actually yeah. He really did. But he wasn't out to prolong the healing period at all.

"Thanks, Doc. I owe ya." He said it lightly, but he didn't take it that way. The sooner he managed to pay that off, the better.

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As if that was a bad thing!

Hannibal nodded pleasantly. "You're welcome." He packed the plaster away and took out a small tab of pills. "Ibuprofen, 800 milligrams. If you find yourself taking too many, come see me or another doctor."

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Eliot slowly straightened up on the stool, preparing to stand. He'd managed to settle in a little too much, so it was something of a process. He held out his unbandaged hand for the pills. "Gotcha. Shouldn't be a problem."

If anything, he'd end up taking too few.

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Yes, Hannibal was getting that impression, but it warranted saying. He watched Eliot move for a moment, to make sure he would be fine getting home, but the island wasn't that big, after all.

"I suppose I should thank you as well," he said. "If not for you, Johnny Bartlett might have killed many others this week." And Hannibal really was fairly fond of some of them. ~~And didn't want to tip off the rest.~~

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Eliot nodded seriously. "I know his type." And, but for the difference in central motivation, could have possibly ended up his type himself. "I'm just glad I managed to lock him down as long as I did. Last thing this island needs is a serial killer running around."

~~Mmm. Dramatic irony.~~

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furnaceface

Jono wasn't out fighting evil or anything like that, no. His shoulder was still not doing so great, and, truth be told, neither was his head. Now that he knew what was out there... wherever there was a threat of possible possession, there was somewhere that he wouldn't be.

It was nothing shy of a miracle that Betelgeuse hadn't leveled the island while he'd had Jonothon's body, back there.

//... So.//

That was sort of like, 'yeah, you're not terrible, it was good to meet you, you'll probably be missed or something' if you squinted.

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Bob smirked and nodded at Hannibal, who stepped forward with a small medallion he held out to Jono.

"For you," Bob said, "as promised. One anti-possession ward. Wear it, keep it in a pocket..." He eyed Jono's bandages and shrugged. "Keep it in yourself, even."

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furnaceface

Jono reached and took the amulet, turning it over thoughtfully.

//... I might refrain from keeping it in me,// he noted. //I try to avoid things rattling around between my ribs when I can help it. But...//

He shrugged his shoulders a little, tucking it away in his pocket, with all of the other important random odds and ends he was starting to keep tucked away in there. It was quite the collection.

//Thank you. I... Yeah. I appreciate this, mate.//

It wouldn't keep him from being brainwashed, mind-controlled by other mutants, sucked into alternate realities, or, probably even being turned into a vampire's thrall, but if it meant he didn't have to deal with Betelgeuse again, he'd take it. Happily.

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"I appreciate what you've done for me," Bob answered, shrugging. "Both of you," he said, including Hannibal in it.

The amulet might help with a lot of things, but it wouldn't help with being friends with a dangerous man. Then again, who was Bob to judge? But if he said nothing...

"He cares about you very much," he told Jono. And on a tightly focused thought, Be careful.

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furnaceface

The thought caught Jono unawares, a weird, sudden, unexpected crawling feeling in the back of his mind. He nodded, just a little, to show that he'd gotten the thought, but he didn't let his confusion show on his face.

He was, after all, a professional.

//Well, of course he does,// he replied, easily. //Have you met me?//

Yes. Yes he had, indeed.

It was followed, in a brush of psionic power meant for Bob alone, by a sort of sense of query, by a wary, almost lopsided, 'okay...?' that promised that he would, while not entirely certain what he was being careful of.

Everybody had their surprises, he supposed.

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