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IC - INBOX/VOICEMAIL/TEXT/THREATENING LETTER
Please leave all IC correspondence for Dr Hannibal Lecter here.
Oh, there was one of those as well. Hannibal was covering as many bases as he possibly could.]
Certainly - and you only need to remove your short to put the electrodes on, but you can cover yourself back up again. [Hannibal assured him, handing over the electrodes that were all attached to thin, red wires.]
Certainly - and you only need to remove your short to put the electrodes on, but you can cover yourself back up again. [Hannibal assured him, handing over the electrodes that were all attached to thin, red wires.]
Right...
[Jon hesitates before unbuttoning his shirt. The circular scars on his face and neck extend down over his chest and belly, if Hannibal happens to be watching. Jon will apply the electrodes as directed, feeling utterly silly and very much like he's about to take some sort of polygraph test.]
What exactly does all of this measure?
[Jon hesitates before unbuttoning his shirt. The circular scars on his face and neck extend down over his chest and belly, if Hannibal happens to be watching. Jon will apply the electrodes as directed, feeling utterly silly and very much like he's about to take some sort of polygraph test.]
What exactly does all of this measure?
Heart-rate. The ones that you will put on your forehead will measure brain-wave activity.
[Hannibal made sure all the connections were inputted directly, before going to slid a blood pressure cuff around the other man's arm.] I am going to take your resting heart rate now, so we have a good base.
[Hannibal made sure all the connections were inputted directly, before going to slid a blood pressure cuff around the other man's arm.] I am going to take your resting heart rate now, so we have a good base.
[His resting heart rate is 'this is too many machines and wires and I'm going to be shocked, aren't I?' so it might read as being rather faster than a normal person's. Hannibal would likely be able to see the mild anxiety radiating off the Archivist though. He pulls out his tape recorder to play with in one hand and that seems to settle him at least a little bit as he applies the last of the electrodes to his chest and buttons back up on a few buttons. Though, not all the way. He leaves his waistcoat open and hanging.]
Is this the sort of thing they use for lie detectors?
Is this the sort of thing they use for lie detectors?
Yes, but they also use several different patterns. It is why you can beat a lie detector test, but you cannot fool an EKG.
[Hannibal moved behind the ancient monitors, and took out a notepad and pen. Poising it over the paper, he looked at the Archivist.]
Whenever you are ready to begin.
[Hannibal moved behind the ancient monitors, and took out a notepad and pen. Poising it over the paper, he looked at the Archivist.]
Whenever you are ready to begin.
Whenever he's ready. Right. Jon eyes the monitors that he can't see, the wires hooked up. His chest rises and falls quickly. Calm down. He needs to calm down. He licks his lips before taking up the file and opening it. He sets his tape recorder down on the nearby table.]
Statement of Henry Rathbone regarding... his unusual experiences at the Chester Music Hall in Duplicity. [Hannibal might notice that Jon's not actually reading anything as he offers that summation. He's gazing at the page, but there's nothing written at the top. This is also where there is the first marked change in the Archivist. He calms down significantly, focuses.] Original Statement given 9th of August, 2018. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. Statement begins.
[His vital signs show a further move toward a meditative state, although he's more outwardly agitated, taking on a peculiar tick of tugging at one of his ears as he reads. His accent shifts, as does his cadence, his voice notching up just a hair in pitch. When he begins to read, it's as though there's someone else speaking through him.]
It's a funny old thing working at a music hall when you're deaf. My hearing friends ask me why I'd want to work in a place like that, the way things are, like it'd make any difference to me. I just tell 'em I like the ambiance. Nice-looking people dressed up all pretty. Nice-looking instruments. It's one of the best places I've ever worked lights, I can tell you. Get all the cues I need from the conductors, and the vibrations from the drums around the hall, so it's not like I can't do my job.
... Not like I couldn't do my job. Not until last week.
We have performances practically every day. Sometimes three or four things going on in the summer when the musicians are really doing the rounds. But that day, it was just one matinee, then nothing.
I ain't got family much to speak of, no Sub to look after, neither, so on those days, I usually volunteer to close everything down. Nice bit of extra money in the pocket for something fun. And my mates appreciate it well enough. I'm not as wild as I used to be. No hardship missing out on the clubs I've never been able to hear, anyway.
It was as I was up in the rafters checking everything was set for the next day, I felt this... weird vibration. It's hard to explain it, but there's just a sense I get when doors are opening or closing in a space. Everyone else had left, far as I knew, but when I looked down, I saw a woman walking across the stage. She was carrying a violin and bow, and I thought maybe it was one of the musicians, come back for her instrument. I didn't recognize her, though. She wasn't one of the regulars, and she wasn't one of the visiting players we'd had earlier that day. I'm good with faces. Don't expect yours is hard to forget, all those little scars, but you come see me in five years, I'll remember you, sure as you like.
Any case, I watched her walking along and was about to call down when she stopped in the middle of the stage and set up like she was gonna start playing. There were more vibrations, and I realized it weren't just her. Cello, viola, and a second violin came out. They were all women, Subs, pretty as you like. They were all wearing gowns, too, silver ones with sequins.
And then they started to play. They must have done... That has to be what they were doing because I... heard it. I heard that music they were playing. I heard it and I was crying almost as soon as it was in my head. I ain't never heard nothing before. That shouldn't've been possible. I was born this way.
It was like seeing colors for the first time, like making love to your first sweetheart. It was... beautiful. As pretty as them that were making it. I couldn't look away. I needed to get down there. I needed to be with them in the audience. I needed it more than I'd ever needed anything in my life. But first... I needed one of my wrenches.
That was important, too. There were more vibrations. It wasn't just the quartet anymore. There was an audience, a proper one. One I needed to be a part of. I didn't care how they'd got in, how any of them got in. I just knew it was a once in a lifetime chance to listen to something.
I made it down to the stage and took a jump off it onto a man twice my size. Only took a few good hits with the wrench to crack his skull open. He'd been choking a woman, so I finished her off before moving onto the next one. It was beautiful what we were doing here, the dance, the blood, the music. I thought it was at the time, anyway. It was ecstasy. I was terrified it was so good, so perfect. I looked up at the stage, and they kept playing. A man tried to claw my eyes out, but I got him good with kick to the stomach before I took him down, too.
By the time they'd finished their set I was covered in blood and it was just me and one other man left. We were grinning at each other, I could feel his joy, the same as mine, as we fell on each other. He clocked me good straight out with a right hook, but I managed to shove him backward over a chair. I got my fingers into his guts, and he shrieked loud enough for me to feel it in the air, the vibrations filling up the hall.
And then the music stopped. Everything was silent and I jerked around. The quartet was leaving the stage, not a drop of blood on 'em. And the hall was filled with bodies. There must have been 20 of us. I just stood there and watched 'em leave, the cold sinking in, the quiet. Everything smelled like blood, nothing moved.
I don't know how long I stood there. Long enough I was stiff as hell by the time I got to moving. It must've been hours. It could've been days. I didn't know what to do. I'd just murdered half a dozen people and the rest had murdered each other.
So, I left. I scrubbed myself as clean as I could, changed into my street clothes and ran back home. I didn't know how I was going to explain it. How do you explain something like that to the police? To anyone? You said you take weird stories. But that's not even the strangest part.
Tony Fields, my boss, texted me the next morning. I almost didn't look. I knew what it would say. I knew the police would be coming for me. But when I checked, it was just him asking if I'd rigged up the color lights for tonight's performance last night at the close. I told him no, and that was it. I went into work early, thinking there had to be something wrong. Maybe he hadn't been into the hall? But someone had to have been.
When I got there, weren't no police, no people panicking, nothing. It was just the hall, same as always. No blood, no carnage.
I asked Tony if he knew about a string quartet we were scheduled to have playing. He just looked at me blankly signed there wasn't anything like that planned for a while. It was all full orchestras.
I didn't know what to do, so I just started work, but the moment the orchestra started playing that night, I heard it in my head, the music. Their music. I left. I just walked out at the start of the performance, quit on the spot. I don't know what I'll do if I keep listening to it, if I keep hearing it. I can't be around anyone playing music again, it's too risky. I don't know who those other people at the hall were that night, but if they're somehow still alive... you might want to talk to them, too.
Statement ends.
[Jon draws in a deep breath and sighs, his voice shifting back to its ordinary tone and accent. He's still off in his own world, though, barely looking at Hannibal. His vitals continue to show clear signs of that meditative state as he closes the Statement file and looks contemplative.]
Even the deaf aren't immune to the Slaughter's merry tune, then. Fascinating... Troubling, as well. I think I might recommend Mr. Graham and his colleagues keep a close watch on Mr. Rathbone and his activities. I expect his attempts to avoid all musical performances might we'll be in vain. Those who hear the song are rarely long for this world. And the joy and terror he felt in that carnage... I expect he'll find it difficult to resist.
We all have our vices, though, don't we? Things we fear, things we love, things that have a grip on us so tight it's impossible to imagine life without them. Alcohol, cigarettes, violence... [He scoffs at himself.] Statements. Some are just more destructive. For ourselves or for others.
I'm interested in this Silver String Quartet, though. Possibly another manifestation of Grifter's Bone? A group to keep an eye out for in other Statements. I doubt this was their only performance. Cross reference to Statement #0131103, when possible. I expect I'll find records of multiple violent deaths in the area of Chester Music Hall if I go looking, as Ms. Lang did in her own investigation of her encounter with Grifter's Bone. There won't be any absolute evidence to find, of course. There never is. It's almost certain every person Mr. Rathbone saw and murdered that night had already died.
I'm only surprised the quartet didn't wait for a full house.
End recording.
[Jon turns off the recorder and lets out a deeply satisfied breath as he runs his fingers through his hair. It's not as good as if he'd taken a Statement verbally, but the visceral nature of this one is still pleasurable in its own way. It feels very true to his own world, as well. It fills him up a little bit, like a real Statement about the Slaughter would. There's a spike in his pulse, his pupils dilate, and he sits back in his chair, looking just a little like he's just taken some sort of drug... or possibly just came off.]
Statement of Henry Rathbone regarding... his unusual experiences at the Chester Music Hall in Duplicity. [Hannibal might notice that Jon's not actually reading anything as he offers that summation. He's gazing at the page, but there's nothing written at the top. This is also where there is the first marked change in the Archivist. He calms down significantly, focuses.] Original Statement given 9th of August, 2018. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. Statement begins.
[His vital signs show a further move toward a meditative state, although he's more outwardly agitated, taking on a peculiar tick of tugging at one of his ears as he reads. His accent shifts, as does his cadence, his voice notching up just a hair in pitch. When he begins to read, it's as though there's someone else speaking through him.]
It's a funny old thing working at a music hall when you're deaf. My hearing friends ask me why I'd want to work in a place like that, the way things are, like it'd make any difference to me. I just tell 'em I like the ambiance. Nice-looking people dressed up all pretty. Nice-looking instruments. It's one of the best places I've ever worked lights, I can tell you. Get all the cues I need from the conductors, and the vibrations from the drums around the hall, so it's not like I can't do my job.
... Not like I couldn't do my job. Not until last week.
We have performances practically every day. Sometimes three or four things going on in the summer when the musicians are really doing the rounds. But that day, it was just one matinee, then nothing.
I ain't got family much to speak of, no Sub to look after, neither, so on those days, I usually volunteer to close everything down. Nice bit of extra money in the pocket for something fun. And my mates appreciate it well enough. I'm not as wild as I used to be. No hardship missing out on the clubs I've never been able to hear, anyway.
It was as I was up in the rafters checking everything was set for the next day, I felt this... weird vibration. It's hard to explain it, but there's just a sense I get when doors are opening or closing in a space. Everyone else had left, far as I knew, but when I looked down, I saw a woman walking across the stage. She was carrying a violin and bow, and I thought maybe it was one of the musicians, come back for her instrument. I didn't recognize her, though. She wasn't one of the regulars, and she wasn't one of the visiting players we'd had earlier that day. I'm good with faces. Don't expect yours is hard to forget, all those little scars, but you come see me in five years, I'll remember you, sure as you like.
Any case, I watched her walking along and was about to call down when she stopped in the middle of the stage and set up like she was gonna start playing. There were more vibrations, and I realized it weren't just her. Cello, viola, and a second violin came out. They were all women, Subs, pretty as you like. They were all wearing gowns, too, silver ones with sequins.
And then they started to play. They must have done... That has to be what they were doing because I... heard it. I heard that music they were playing. I heard it and I was crying almost as soon as it was in my head. I ain't never heard nothing before. That shouldn't've been possible. I was born this way.
It was like seeing colors for the first time, like making love to your first sweetheart. It was... beautiful. As pretty as them that were making it. I couldn't look away. I needed to get down there. I needed to be with them in the audience. I needed it more than I'd ever needed anything in my life. But first... I needed one of my wrenches.
That was important, too. There were more vibrations. It wasn't just the quartet anymore. There was an audience, a proper one. One I needed to be a part of. I didn't care how they'd got in, how any of them got in. I just knew it was a once in a lifetime chance to listen to something.
I made it down to the stage and took a jump off it onto a man twice my size. Only took a few good hits with the wrench to crack his skull open. He'd been choking a woman, so I finished her off before moving onto the next one. It was beautiful what we were doing here, the dance, the blood, the music. I thought it was at the time, anyway. It was ecstasy. I was terrified it was so good, so perfect. I looked up at the stage, and they kept playing. A man tried to claw my eyes out, but I got him good with kick to the stomach before I took him down, too.
By the time they'd finished their set I was covered in blood and it was just me and one other man left. We were grinning at each other, I could feel his joy, the same as mine, as we fell on each other. He clocked me good straight out with a right hook, but I managed to shove him backward over a chair. I got my fingers into his guts, and he shrieked loud enough for me to feel it in the air, the vibrations filling up the hall.
And then the music stopped. Everything was silent and I jerked around. The quartet was leaving the stage, not a drop of blood on 'em. And the hall was filled with bodies. There must have been 20 of us. I just stood there and watched 'em leave, the cold sinking in, the quiet. Everything smelled like blood, nothing moved.
I don't know how long I stood there. Long enough I was stiff as hell by the time I got to moving. It must've been hours. It could've been days. I didn't know what to do. I'd just murdered half a dozen people and the rest had murdered each other.
So, I left. I scrubbed myself as clean as I could, changed into my street clothes and ran back home. I didn't know how I was going to explain it. How do you explain something like that to the police? To anyone? You said you take weird stories. But that's not even the strangest part.
Tony Fields, my boss, texted me the next morning. I almost didn't look. I knew what it would say. I knew the police would be coming for me. But when I checked, it was just him asking if I'd rigged up the color lights for tonight's performance last night at the close. I told him no, and that was it. I went into work early, thinking there had to be something wrong. Maybe he hadn't been into the hall? But someone had to have been.
When I got there, weren't no police, no people panicking, nothing. It was just the hall, same as always. No blood, no carnage.
I asked Tony if he knew about a string quartet we were scheduled to have playing. He just looked at me blankly signed there wasn't anything like that planned for a while. It was all full orchestras.
I didn't know what to do, so I just started work, but the moment the orchestra started playing that night, I heard it in my head, the music. Their music. I left. I just walked out at the start of the performance, quit on the spot. I don't know what I'll do if I keep listening to it, if I keep hearing it. I can't be around anyone playing music again, it's too risky. I don't know who those other people at the hall were that night, but if they're somehow still alive... you might want to talk to them, too.
Statement ends.
[Jon draws in a deep breath and sighs, his voice shifting back to its ordinary tone and accent. He's still off in his own world, though, barely looking at Hannibal. His vitals continue to show clear signs of that meditative state as he closes the Statement file and looks contemplative.]
Even the deaf aren't immune to the Slaughter's merry tune, then. Fascinating... Troubling, as well. I think I might recommend Mr. Graham and his colleagues keep a close watch on Mr. Rathbone and his activities. I expect his attempts to avoid all musical performances might we'll be in vain. Those who hear the song are rarely long for this world. And the joy and terror he felt in that carnage... I expect he'll find it difficult to resist.
We all have our vices, though, don't we? Things we fear, things we love, things that have a grip on us so tight it's impossible to imagine life without them. Alcohol, cigarettes, violence... [He scoffs at himself.] Statements. Some are just more destructive. For ourselves or for others.
I'm interested in this Silver String Quartet, though. Possibly another manifestation of Grifter's Bone? A group to keep an eye out for in other Statements. I doubt this was their only performance. Cross reference to Statement #0131103, when possible. I expect I'll find records of multiple violent deaths in the area of Chester Music Hall if I go looking, as Ms. Lang did in her own investigation of her encounter with Grifter's Bone. There won't be any absolute evidence to find, of course. There never is. It's almost certain every person Mr. Rathbone saw and murdered that night had already died.
I'm only surprised the quartet didn't wait for a full house.
End recording.
[Jon turns off the recorder and lets out a deeply satisfied breath as he runs his fingers through his hair. It's not as good as if he'd taken a Statement verbally, but the visceral nature of this one is still pleasurable in its own way. It feels very true to his own world, as well. It fills him up a little bit, like a real Statement about the Slaughter would. There's a spike in his pulse, his pupils dilate, and he sits back in his chair, looking just a little like he's just taken some sort of drug... or possibly just came off.]
[ Yuri tries to chase Hannibal's fingers with his mouth, brushing them with his lips. He wants to take them inside, feel them pressing on his tongue and dipping down his throat. He wants to wrap his mouth around them and suck. For now he has to be patient, but that doesn't mean he can't play with fire. ]
Yes. He touched me all over. He made me feel so good. He put a blindfold on me so I was just a little scared, and that made me come so hard.
Yes. He touched me all over. He made me feel so good. He put a blindfold on me so I was just a little scared, and that made me come so hard.
[Hannibal made a thoughtful noise at that, while he cupped Yuri's chin. Holding the teasing gaze with Yuri -- and held him there. Fingers light but firm.]
So you are not objecting to a little fear in your seductions? I would think after past experiences - you would want a more ... controlled environment./i>
So you are not objecting to a little fear in your seductions? I would think after past experiences - you would want a more ... controlled environment./i>
[Hannibal says nothing while the 'statement' is being read, but he sincerely doubts that if he made any noise he would be noticed at all by the Archivist. Not entirely related, but he could feel eyes watching him. Watching him, and try to pry secrets free, but those eyes were sadly out of luck. All of Hannibal's secrets were of the mundane world, and not of the one built in horror.
As it was - he noted that the Archivist's heart rate settled down to an almost drugged state, while his mind began to react off the charts. At the end, his mind calms down, while his pulse jumps up. All interactions that would corolate with heavy drug usage -- and addiction.
Hannibal hummed to himself, as he began to write out his notes.]
As it was - he noted that the Archivist's heart rate settled down to an almost drugged state, while his mind began to react off the charts. At the end, his mind calms down, while his pulse jumps up. All interactions that would corolate with heavy drug usage -- and addiction.
Hannibal hummed to himself, as he began to write out his notes.]
[Jon sits quietly for a few seconds as he just... absorbs the Statement, mulls it and the sensations over. The high is irritatingly brief, of course. As it's become with most written Statements. He finally looks over to Hannibal.]
Is that all you needed, then?
[Can he take these wires off?]
Is that all you needed, then?
[Can he take these wires off?]
[ Yuri doesn't struggle, keeps his eyes locked on Hannibal's as if staring down a predator. 'Yuri Plisetsky has the unforgettable eyes of a soldier', Otabek had told him. He hadn't really understood what he meant then-- but since coming to Duplicity and witnessing all of its horrors, he has reminded himself of those words more times than he can count. He flipflops languages again: ]
Fuck no.
I won't let anyone treat me like a fragile little swan. When I fuck, I want it to take over all my senses. I want to feel everything-- lust, fear, pain, pleasure, joy, despair. I want to feel it in my whole body.
When I'm fucking like an animal it makes the memories go away.
Fuck no.
I won't let anyone treat me like a fragile little swan. When I fuck, I want it to take over all my senses. I want to feel everything-- lust, fear, pain, pleasure, joy, despair. I want to feel it in my whole body.
When I'm fucking like an animal it makes the memories go away.
You're a sex therapist now?
[That sure isn't the outcome he'd expected for their earlier conversation.]
[That sure isn't the outcome he'd expected for their earlier conversation.]
Edited 2019-09-13 12:05 (UTC)
That is all I need for now.
[Hannibal stated distantly, as he skimmed through the results. He looked up at Mr Sims, dark eyes sharp.]
I want you to keep to written statements, Mr. Sims. I do not want you going out in public, without some sort of chaperone to moderate your behavior.
[He nods to the screens.]
I have only seen results like this ... with true addicts, Mr. Sim.
[Hannibal stated distantly, as he skimmed through the results. He looked up at Mr Sims, dark eyes sharp.]
I want you to keep to written statements, Mr. Sims. I do not want you going out in public, without some sort of chaperone to moderate your behavior.
[He nods to the screens.]
I have only seen results like this ... with true addicts, Mr. Sim.
[Jon starts removing the wires, but pauses to bristle at Hannibal.]
I don't need a handler. I've stopped myself ever since I-
[Went on a spree.]
Nothing's happened since we last spoke. I just... need to be more careful.
I don't need a handler. I've stopped myself ever since I-
[Went on a spree.]
Nothing's happened since we last spoke. I just... need to be more careful.
[Well, Yuri was staring down a predator. Just not a sexual one. Hannibal met that gaze without flinching, without fluttering a single eyelash. After a moment, he smiled slowly.]
Then you will not be treated like one. Stand up, Yuri.
[Only after Yuri complied, did Hannibal touched him. He pressed one finger against Yuri's lips, and drew his finger down over his chin, along his throat, and down his chest. Then he taps Yuri in the center of the chest.]
You want it rough.
Then you will not be treated like one. Stand up, Yuri.
[Only after Yuri complied, did Hannibal touched him. He pressed one finger against Yuri's lips, and drew his finger down over his chin, along his throat, and down his chest. Then he taps Yuri in the center of the chest.]
You want it rough.
[The rest of the wires are pulled off. Jon tries to wrap them as neatly as he can. He's annoyed and something of a brat, but he was raised with manners. For a moment, there's absolute defiance in his gaze. Who is this man to demand that from him? Oh, right. The bloody therapist he contacted. Jon drops his gaze, demeanor becoming more submissive as he balls his hands and his sides. His tone is maybe a bit petulant.]
Fine. Yes, I will, Dr. Lecter.
Fine. Yes, I will, Dr. Lecter.
Well, that's certainly dedication, which is... nice? But I'm sure there was something else you could have done.
[There's a lengthy pause before he speaks again.]
That said, I need to make- [The sound of paper being unfolded.] Some appointments.
[There's a lengthy pause before he speaks again.]
That said, I need to make- [The sound of paper being unfolded.] Some appointments.
[Hannibal watched the other man struggle with manners -- dark eyes narrowing in dangerous judgement - before his expression became more sympathetic.]
I realize this is not easy for you, Mr. Sims, but please try to see it from my position. If we were back in ... a normal sort of world, I would held by my patient-doctor agreement not to go to the authorities about you, unless you were a danger to society. No therapist wishes to make that call for someone they are trying to help.
I realize this is not easy for you, Mr. Sims, but please try to see it from my position. If we were back in ... a normal sort of world, I would held by my patient-doctor agreement not to go to the authorities about you, unless you were a danger to society. No therapist wishes to make that call for someone they are trying to help.
[That sounds like a threat. Behave, or I'll have you locked up. Well, as far as threats go, it's not the worst one Jon's faced from people for his... hunger issues. God knows Lilith's threat (and follow through) has been far worse. He grits his teeth, every inch of him telegraphing displeasure.]
I understand. Thank you.
[He collects his file and tape recorder.]
I trust you'll keep the contents of this Statement to yourself?
I understand. Thank you.
[He collects his file and tape recorder.]
I trust you'll keep the contents of this Statement to yourself?
['No fear.' Right.]
Goodbye, then, Dr. Lecter. Maybe avoid any musical performances for a while.
[Jon's still nervous and twitchy as he turns to leave, but the Statement, itself, has helped to settle him marginally. And if nothing else, he can compel whatever secrets he needs to out of the good doctor for collateral if this becomes a... problem.]
Goodbye, then, Dr. Lecter. Maybe avoid any musical performances for a while.
[Jon's still nervous and twitchy as he turns to leave, but the Statement, itself, has helped to settle him marginally. And if nothing else, he can compel whatever secrets he needs to out of the good doctor for collateral if this becomes a... problem.]
Yes, for myself. LIEs seems to think I would benefit, so they've made weekly meetings mandatory for the next few months. They've written a referral letter, but I think we can forgo that.
[It's a horribly embarrassing letter.]
Give me some available dates and times. Past six would be ideal.
[It's a horribly embarrassing letter.]
Give me some available dates and times. Past six would be ideal.
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