Slevin Kelevra (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
andyougoleft) wrote2014-01-28 02:52 pm
andyougoleft) wrote2014-01-28 02:52 pm
|: 008. Spam/Video : See Me, Hear Me, But Don't Touch Me :|
[ Spam for Hannibal Lecter ]
[Slevin has been working for several months to get to this day. This is the point of no return, the first domino, the peak of the track before the drop - once he's passed this, once he's pushed this piece, all he can do is commit to the fall and accept where it goes.
Well. Unless he doesn't.
He's taken care to come across as mostly under the radar, or if he accidentally ends up above the wire, harmless. He runs his mouth but he never does anything. In the Barge environment, that has been especially easy to do. Now, though, he checks that the Glock he picked up in Los Angeles is still loaded (it is) and clean (it is), and slides it away into his waistband; a knife, too, tucked into his pocket, also from Los Angeles, his favorite black hoodie - roomie and bulky and chosen precisely for these qualities - settled comfortably over both. He'd have liked to have the glasses, but they were traded away for another point in his favor in this long game. It's all about to pay off, or flop.
He closes the door behind him on his way out of his cabin, and moves for the dining hall to locate his target. He doesn't even hesitate.
Hannibal hasn't been out and about much, but when he does he keeps to a routine that would be difficult enough to process through the breaks unless one were watching for exactly that; Slevin has been. It's simple, when he spots him in the dining hall, to know where he'll be if he's going to be out later tonight. Slevin finishes his own dinner, and then leaves to intercept him in the hallway.
Level 2 is risky - it's busier than the deeper levels, and the infirmary being so near could save Hannibal if Slevin is interrupted - but that's never really bothered him, and it is objectively the emptiest level anyway. It will, regardless, be quick.]
[ Private to Chris D'Amico : Video : Later ]
[Chris has seen Slevin go distant and detached a few times now; this is slightly different, but related. He looks confused as well when he comes on the screen, and he's staring at something out of frame, something on the floor, expectantly; he's in a dark room that is not his. A few moments of stillness, of silence, and then Slevin speaks in a voice matching his expression, still without looking.]
Chris, I.
I think I may have made a mistake.
[ Zero Spam : OPEN ]
[Slevin was expecting to be spending some time in a cell in Zero when he started this. It's a price he's willing to pay, for what he'd expected to gain from it.
Maybe he was right. Maybe he was wrong. It's difficult to tell from where he's settled on the cot in the cell, leaned back against the bars, feet crossed on the bed and arms folded over his chest, sitting quietly in thought. It is, now, a waiting game.]
[Slevin has been working for several months to get to this day. This is the point of no return, the first domino, the peak of the track before the drop - once he's passed this, once he's pushed this piece, all he can do is commit to the fall and accept where it goes.
Well. Unless he doesn't.
He's taken care to come across as mostly under the radar, or if he accidentally ends up above the wire, harmless. He runs his mouth but he never does anything. In the Barge environment, that has been especially easy to do. Now, though, he checks that the Glock he picked up in Los Angeles is still loaded (it is) and clean (it is), and slides it away into his waistband; a knife, too, tucked into his pocket, also from Los Angeles, his favorite black hoodie - roomie and bulky and chosen precisely for these qualities - settled comfortably over both. He'd have liked to have the glasses, but they were traded away for another point in his favor in this long game. It's all about to pay off, or flop.
He closes the door behind him on his way out of his cabin, and moves for the dining hall to locate his target. He doesn't even hesitate.
Hannibal hasn't been out and about much, but when he does he keeps to a routine that would be difficult enough to process through the breaks unless one were watching for exactly that; Slevin has been. It's simple, when he spots him in the dining hall, to know where he'll be if he's going to be out later tonight. Slevin finishes his own dinner, and then leaves to intercept him in the hallway.
Level 2 is risky - it's busier than the deeper levels, and the infirmary being so near could save Hannibal if Slevin is interrupted - but that's never really bothered him, and it is objectively the emptiest level anyway. It will, regardless, be quick.]
[ Private to Chris D'Amico : Video : Later ]
[Chris has seen Slevin go distant and detached a few times now; this is slightly different, but related. He looks confused as well when he comes on the screen, and he's staring at something out of frame, something on the floor, expectantly; he's in a dark room that is not his. A few moments of stillness, of silence, and then Slevin speaks in a voice matching his expression, still without looking.]
Chris, I.
I think I may have made a mistake.
[ Zero Spam : OPEN ]
[Slevin was expecting to be spending some time in a cell in Zero when he started this. It's a price he's willing to pay, for what he'd expected to gain from it.
Maybe he was right. Maybe he was wrong. It's difficult to tell from where he's settled on the cot in the cell, leaned back against the bars, feet crossed on the bed and arms folded over his chest, sitting quietly in thought. It is, now, a waiting game.]
[ spam ]
It worked well enough, when Sylvanas dragged out her torture. Bach's Cello Suite still strums through his thoughts, even now. He might as well add variety to the music in his mind.
Rising to his feet, flexing jammed fingers, Hannibal does not back away any further.]
You must have been planning this quite a long time. How long have you been watching me?
[ spam ]
Don't flatter yourself. I watch everyone. [Hannibal is a large man and he knows how to use his strength well enough that he subdued Slevin last time; this much, he remembers well. There will not be a repeat performance. Once Hannibal has reached his feet he doesn't give him any time to acclimate himself there: Slevin feints a punch to his gut, swings a precise, powerful elbow for the side of his head instead, then spins into another aimed kick that would normally take him somewhere near the side of his knee.
Slevin has, in the past, broken knees with that strike. He'd be okay with it now.] Have since I got here. You just bumped yourself to the top of the list by being an insufferable prick.
[ spam ]
He is tired of riding this out.
The punch, he is ready for; the feint he is not. Moving to lean out of the way, avoiding the elbow, he does not calculate for the reach of Slevin's leg. Hannibal hears it break picoseconds before the pain shoots through him. His throat closes around an agonized cry, and he falls backward again, hard. The pain in his tailbone is nothing, barely a murmur in his consciousness, compared to the loss of his knee. There is one good thing to the Barge, one useful cheat: as with his unsplinted, broken arm, this too will mend in death.
Gritting his teeth, still bloody from where he bit the inside of his cheek, Hannibal turns his gave up at Slevin. There is anger that he cannot, does not want to hide, there, and he licks his lips to taste blood.]
I hope you don't intend to converse through this. [Somehow, through the grating tone his voice takes on with pain, he manages to sound bored with the very thought.]
[ spam ]
Maybe. Maybe not.
[He kicks at Hannibal's broken leg again, careless this time but not gently, and then steps around closer to his side. He doesn't stand idle, doesn't hesitate: he stomps with one boot down onto where Hannibal's fingers are spread to brace against the floor, does not take it back but instead leans his weight down onto it, one of his hands snaking out to tangle his fingers into the other inmate's hair if he can, to hold him steady if he can be pinned at all between the pull on his head and the tether of his arm.
His lips quirk, mirthless and insincere, his voice taut and confident.]
Normally I kill people from blocks away. One shot, clean and neat, and they never see my face. I could've done like you, could've refused to let you see my face either, but what's the point?
This is almost... novel.
[ spam ]
His bodily functions will cease, and he will wake again with aches and pains. But he will wake, and the cycle will start again. Hannibal clenches bloody teeth.]
Is it, [he spits out, and his free arm finally rises, grasping for the hand in his hair. He's waiting for numbness to flood in, and knows full well blood loss would take care of that much faster.]
Please don't let me keep you from enjoying it.
[He hears The Goldberg Variations begin in his head, light notes on harpsichord keys, and he knows precisely when it will be loud enough in his thoughts to drown Slevin out.
He hopes it doesn't take that long.]