dear_mun | mason you are tearing me apart

If you're seeking a professional generalization, I believe Tropophobia may suit best.

[ Helpful! Wait, that's not even close to what you've accused your mun of, is it? Hmm... ]

Did he leave you anything of the estate?

[ He suspects not. Mason was always such a selfish boy, not to mention a sadist. If there was a will, Dr. Lecter would hazard a bet that Cordell's name appears once: as the appointed executor of the will. Hannibal can't see a better last laugh at the dutiful doctor's expense than requesting he see that all of Mason's assets were meted out according to his wishes: away from Cordell's benefit.

Hannibal would like to hope Mason would have at least had the decency to alot the man his usual salary for managing the arduous probate, but he wouldn't afford Mason the benefit of the doubt for much of anything. ]

Edited 2013-05-02 06:06 (UTC)

[Well, well, if it isn't Cordell's lord and savior himself, come to...what? Poke fun at him not having been left a sum of money so grand he could live comfortably on it for the rest of his life?

In Mason's presence, Cordell generally looks like he's on the verge of breaking down into tears. Or killing himself. Or both, really. In Hannibal's presence, he's doing his best to look calm under any sort of pressure (really, being in Lecter's presence at all and knowing who he is is pressure enough), though it doesn't work so well when his voice cracks.]

That's a legal matter, D—Doctor Lecter. I'm not really able to discuss it.

[Maybe he got a superpowered wheelchair left to him. Maybe he got a series of calendars of babies in plant and animal outfits. Maybe he got nothing at all. Maybe he just skipped town and refused to play executor, he doesn't have to say!]

[ He looks at ease, as if they're having this conversation after a pleasant lunch on the veranda. He certainly doesn't seem aggressive, but then, he never does until it's too late for anything to properly be done about it. It's a bit crocodilian. ]

You realize that's more a defense on the behalf of your late employer than an excuse not to answer. I'm sure you can understand why I find that an intriguing sentiment.

[Are there dogs in sight from the veranda? Are they eating pork? Ham and cheese sandwiches, for simplicity's sake? Then it wouldn't be very pleasant at all, would it?]

I haven't discussed the matter of my employer's estate with anyone who wasn't involved. Why would you be the first?

[He's wondering if Hannibal's going to outright state that Cordell owes him, essentially, everything. Freedom from an awful situation (that, granted, he got himself into and didn't know how to get out at the end of it all), freedom from being convicted of the crime he actually committed, freedom to commit the crime...does Cordell owe him an answer? Of course he does. He knows he does. He's just wondering what sort of man, exactly, this Doctor Hannibal Lecter actually is outside of...well, the last time they met.]

Because I'm not asking after your employer's estate; I'm asking whether or not you were recognized as his caretaker and confidant. That makes it a personal inquiry, not a legal matter. There's no better evidence of our appreciation than who we name as inheritors of what's left of us, after we die.

With death comes honesty.

[ He tilts his head. ]

So tell me, Cordell: was there any evidence, in the end, that he ever loved you? Did he take measures to provide for you after his death, as you had provided for him in life?

Edited 2013-05-02 21:49 (UTC)

[What kind of man is Doctor Lecter?

A dick, apparently. A massive one, too.

Part of him wants to argue what death is, scientifically. But considering he's not the only doctor in the room, it's a moot point. And too like a pissing contest for his tastes; besides, it's obvious who would win.]

You ask that as though I would have wanted to be given anything with his name attached to it after he passed on.

[ A pissing contest? That would imply that he felt a sense of competition, which Lecter assuredly does not.

No no no, this is just a bit of fun, Cordell. This is playing. As the plaything, you're understandably worried about whether or not he'll put you back in one piece.

For now, Hannibal's very tender, metaphorically rolling him between his hands and beginning to prod and pull to see what results. ]

There must have been a reason you didn't smother him in his sleep, or any other number of things you could have assuredly gotten away with, I imagine.

He was my patient, too, you'll recall.

[Cordell doesn't know what fun is anymore. It's been a long time since he's had fun.

And isn't it just the way his life would end up that, as soon as he got rid of the bastard, everyone wanted to ask about him? Sure, Lecter wasn't everyone, but...]

You don't seem too shook up that a former patient didn't leave you a good lot of their estate. Why should I?

[ Hannibal's definition of fun isn't very conventional. ]

I could easily point out he spent the majority of his life dedicated to recognizing my... contribution to his health.

[ A dark, amused smile. It's more than clear he's very pleased with himself. ]

I never intended to help him, nor did I. You did, though. Not only did you keep him alive, you kept him from destroying himself.

Why? Don't insult me by trying to say you did it for the money.

[the money

God, the things he could say about that. He could go into some sort of detail about the money, about the reasons, but Cordell doesn't need a psychiatrist (yes he does). And if he did (he really does), it wasn't like he could tell another soul (but Doctor Lecter, apparently) the reasons behind the issues and memories that would crop up whenever he was asked questions (that he was paying to be asked, unlike now).

Don't insult him. What has he been doing to Cordell all along, though?]

Honestly, Doctor Lecter; I'm flattered by the interest, but I don't think my brain is one that needs to be picked apart.

[In either way, but he won't be so rude as to point that out.]

I've got a good wealth to my name now and I still have my degree. Whether he left me a dime or a million doesn't matter; I'm out. I'm on my own again.

I would have sent you a polite thank you card, but I know you don't stick to the same address long enough for it to matter.

[ Playing, fiddling, trying to see how the thing works. Assuredly, Cordell would know it when Hannibal was actively insulting him. For now, he's given the doctor no reason to want to.

He's only curious. His curiosity stings, but that's because he's prodding wounds that are already there, not making new ones. ]

I'd much rather you thank me with some candor, Cordell, if you truly think I deserve your gratitude.

[ He thinks he does, but probably not the way Cordell would expect him to. Hannibal won't demand it from him, either, because gratitude is only pleasing when it's voluntarily given. He doesn't expect a thanks, nor does he need one. He'd only think better of the other man's manners if he did. ]

It's clear that you resented him, and I don't blame you. He's always been very hideous. What's interesting is he had to die for you to finally leave him behind.

I know what he was, Cordell. I know how he must have treated you. The only thing I wonder about is why you ever allowed it. I don't think any amount of money could cover the price of degradation, and neither do you.

[I'd much rather you thank me

So he would like a thanks, or so Cordell reads into it. A thank you card was meant as a joke, because really—how could he thank him? How could he say it, and also...how could he ever meet him again to do as much? A man like Doctor Lecter (though he supposes there aren't many like him, and thank God for that) didn't exactly stay in one place for too long, did he? He didn't have his name listed in the phone book. Cordell couldn't rightly just look him up like he could most anyone else. And, besides, inviting a man like him to lunch didn't seem the most sensible course of action.

For anyone, not just someone like Cordell (though he supposes there aren't many like him, and even then he thinks he much prefers there not to be because he can't be such an exception; he's not all that special, after all).]

I am grateful. [And maybe his voice cracks again, but can anyone blame him? He worked for a monster, he felt like a monster, and now he owes the clean slate he's been granted to yet another monster. Definitely not the kind of man who needs psychiatry, not at all.] Is that why...you're asking so many questions? Because you know I am and that I'll answer them, even if I don't want to?

[One doesn't deny Hannibal Lecter what he wants for too long, after all. Cordell may have done stupid things in his life (and a good deal of them), but he's not so stupid as to realize that avoiding a topic he's so intent on for very long is anything but a stupid course of action.

He just got his life back, after all. He'd like to keep it as best he can.]

[ There are always ways to get in contact with him, if you're clever. ]

I'm asking because I'm interested.

[ Simple, though there's a faint, amused smile. There are a lot of things that can be inferred from that particular question. ]

If you don't want to tell me, you only need to be honest. This is a conversation, not a tribunal. I'd find your evasiveness demeaning if I didn't think he made it your natural habit to shield your discomfort in things he'd actually pay attention to.

The law, for example, is what you chose to hide behind. He feared its repercussions, didn't he?

I do not. And it's far too late to protect yourself by pretending you believe in it. Not with me, anyway.

[If he's clever? That burns, Doctor!

Cordell has spent a good deal of his recent days avoiding being honest about a great deal of things. At least, not about anything that he thought outside of a professional (medical) opinion. Being honest gave away too much, and Verger didn't need anything else to hang over his head. And, after a while, the idea of being honest even to himself grew too riddled with nothing but misery for Cordell to consider.]

Your former patient feared several things. [He doesn't even want to call him by his name. He can hear his own name in that bastard's awful voice a hundred times a day, even though he knows he's long gone. Now, when he hears it, there's an undertone that grates against everything in him. The name his parents gave him, all but ruined. He'd go for "our former patient," but he hardly thinks putting Lecter in his own company is a good idea. Cordell barely likes his own company.] What do you think I'm trying to protect myself from, Doctor Lecter?

[Being tear-stained sirloin, maybe?]

[ Don't be offended, Cordell - be clever.

Lecter would be amused with "our patient", but indeed, it would imply they share some form of connection to one another. But is there really no truth in that? ]

Don't ask questions you don't wish to receive an answer for, Cordell. I'm also well aware of when someone is trying to test me...

[ His tone, until now fairly pleasant, darkens a little dangerously with that particular word. ]

Edited 2013-05-03 02:28 (UTC)

[He's a doctor, Goddamnit. He's...kind of clever? In a way?

Mason Verger connects them, certainly. But he has to be careful, doesn't he? Carefuller than he's been in a long while. This isn't an employer who can bark at him but can't actually bite. There was the risk that Cordell might speak, even though that would ruin him as well.

He could have always had him killed, if it came to that.]

I'm not trying to test you. [Is he? Is he really? Maybe he's just trying to find out whether or not Lecter's interest in him is, ah, healthy for Cordell.] Most of my tests are done in labs; I like to keep it there.

[ You'll figure it out, Cordell. After all the years you spent helping Mason try to stalk him, you must have picked up on at least some of his tastes, what magazines or medical journals he reads regularly....

Clarice Starling asks Barney, his orderly for all the years he spent in Chilton's dungeon, how he had survived Lecter when many other authorities that handled him ended up dead. She couldn't believe it could be as simple as civility.

Hannibal finds himself occasionally amused by how people try to work around the fact they're terrified of him. ]

Is that where you'll go next? A lab? After being made to adapt to living in the dark, I shouldn't be surprised if you shy from sunlight and the blare of white light.

Edited 2013-05-03 02:54 (UTC)

[Cordell can be civil. It's odd to see him, it's odd to think of what in the hell he must of think of him after seeing him push a man who wholly relied on him into a pit of starving and vicious boars, it's odd that he found himself caring what Lecter thought of him in the first place.

He's not sure if he's terrified by the fact of the matter that Hannibal has done what he's done and is what he is, or if he's terrified because he actually cares in some way what a monster thinks of him in the first place.

Once, he'd cared what Verger thought of him. Then he learned just how despicable a creature he was, and he couldn't tell if he stopped caring or just grew to believe that Verger didn't care about—and then, weren't they back to his original questioning?]

You keep asking after me, Doctor Lecter. I'm fine. I wasn't left anything in the will, so I'm more than fine. Are you doing well, though? In this...whatever this all is?

I apologize if my interest in your health and well-being after an emotionally traumatic event offends you.

[ Hannibal has a way of getting under the skin, it seems. Call him what you like, but he's harmed and helped people. Hannibal would like to know what Cordell thinks of him, how he sees him now. What did he look like, muzzled by the mask, striding so calmly through the boars meant to be his demise while their handlers and commissioner screamed through the crunch of their bones? What does Cordell think became of the unconscious woman he carried, away from the carnage, in his arms?

He's curious, though the other man's opinion of him really is inconsequential to his self-esteem. His smile broadens a little, almost looks warm. ]

I'm doing well, thank you. I enjoy meeting new people and being able to chat with old acquaintances I wouldn't otherwise be able to, outside a cell.

I've even spent some time talking with alternate versions of people I once knew.

Edited 2013-05-03 03:50 (UTC)

[Cordell tries not to think about it too much. But, just like the underlying lilt of Verger's voice whenever he's called by name (he prefers Doctor over anything else, and not because he took all those years of school and earned the title), it's not something that stays away for very long. There's a lot of things slowly eating away at him, things that he tried to ignore for years, and sometimes...well.

Sometimes he wonders what would have happened if he tossed himself into that pit after he pushed his patient in.]

Does your mundane let you out often? Are they one of those types to want to shoehorn you into a game?

[ Having a sense of guilt, or sympathy, is hard on a person, Hannibal's observed. ]

I'm not caged, and when it comes to the 'games', as you say, a prison is still a prison, hence their other colloquialism: jamjar.

We both agree we'd rather be free-range and open to the occasional house call.

Why? Is that something you're worried about?

Edited (stop spelling whyyy) 2013-05-03 04:10 (UTC)

[So is greed. And greed gets a person into tight spots, and sometimes they can't really get themselves out...

Until they hear their name called in a different way than usual and—well, what was he supposed to do? Leave him there to watch, who would care for (in the physical sense) Verger then? Everyone was dead or dying, screaming bloody boar murder. If he had just left him there, he would have been as good as dead. He would have died from thirst or hunger unless someone found him.

He knew without a doubt he'd never have wheeled himself into it. He thought too much of himself to commit suicide, even if it was a mercy.]

They have some strange lingo, I agree. Particularly when they're outraged about something or another.

[He wants to quip: Why would you being placed in a game worry me, Doctor Lecter? It's got nothing to do with me. But that's...he's already treading thin ice. He can feel it, even if it doesn't seem obvious. There's no need to start a fire in the middle of a frozen lake that's already sloshing about as it gets back to its usual, liquid state.]

Free-range is always good. You get your best meat and poultry from cattle and chickens that haven't been cooped up [No pun intended] and kept in conditions of misery their entire lives. Nothing wrong with wanting to see the view outside as long as you can and as much as you can.

Edited 2013-05-03 04:25 (UTC)

[ Sometimes, greed gets you thrown from a balcony, not knowing which you'll die from first: a broken neck or from feeling your bowls spill out into a public square. At least it wasn't that kind of greed for you, Cordell.

At the double entendre, he side-eyes the other with some dark amusement. ]

Did you humor his iniquities as well? You must have; it's easier to cope if you're able to laugh about it.

Perhaps I mistook you, though - you did leave out pig.

[Is it okay if Cordell and Hannibal only ever meant in one-story buildings? Without basements, too. Just. Big, public, one-story places? He's grateful, you see, but he's still aware of who (what?) he's dealing with.]

I don't eat pigs, I'm afraid. [He's seen footage from things like running with the bulls; he knows they can gore people, he's not stupid. But he's never seen it himself. After watching boars bred to, essentially, feast on human flesh? He's not so keen on anything to do with them.

Even Babe alarms him to some degree.]

You'll find [if they continue to speak, of course, here or anywhere else] that my vocabulary has changed considerably. Why say something if you'd rather have no contact with it in general, does that make sense?

[He's not crazy, right?]

[ Hannibal is usually indulgent, if requests are made civil enough. He doesn't mind letting others think they're secure from him until a reason arises to prove them wrong. He doesn't need to be violent in order to hurt someone. ]

Mm. Like Mason Verger?

mason you are tearing me apart

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