collects_strays | [OOM] pack hunters

[OOM] pack hunters

Now, he's starting to delay.

It might be the dissipating effects of the norepinephrine release, his body becoming aware that the threat has passed, his heartbeat slowing, each act he follows grinding through his mind. The splash of water against the basin seems louder, lamplight reflections and shadows in the hallway blotting his vision again.

He hasn't slept, and it's beginning to slow him down. But Graham knows this isn't the only reason he's dragging his feet.

The coppery scent is gone, the sink's basin is pristine. It's still nearly a minute before he makes himself reach out, and turn the tap off.

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"Gladly," Lecter says. "They deserve the best."

Graham sets the knife down aside the cutting board. For a moment, he watches the light reflect off it, but he doesn't speak.

Instead, he reaches for the coffee again.

"I like your dogs very much, you know," Hannibal says.

He takes the eggs, one by one, throws them up, cracks them with the knife as they come down, and catches the empty shells before they're even near the pan.

"Why?"

It's quiet, but there's nothing to soften the bluntness of it. The dogs were decently-trained, but even the most well-trained left a mess of shed hair, odor, and excrement. They were content without 'the best,' their predatory instincts having been tamped down with the promise of other rewards. They roamed freely through his house, knocking things over, sometimes scratching at the floors, coming close to having the run of the place.

And maybe worst of all, they fractured Graham's affections, away from anything else. They still felt like the antithesis to Dr. Lecter.

"I like dogs," Hannibal says, stirring the pan. "They're honest and appreciative. And yours are a pack, interacting on their own and regarding you as their leader. It's a fascinating constellation."