The dining room feels haunted.
It's oppressive, utterly consuming and dark, oh so dark. A large chandelier hangs above the table, its halogen bulbs glowing listlessly. There is a mural of a forest splayed across one wall, something violent and unamused, all thorns and branches. Deep blue wallpaper is stuck to the other three walls, its vertical stripes drawing the eye off into perturbing nothingness.
The fire is roaring but the room feels, distinctly cold. Its jewel-toned tablecloth and carpeted flooring are too homely for a place so extravagant. It feels like a set, something built for the gaze of others, pure performance.
Hannibal guides Damien to his seat, right in the middle of the table on the side furthest from the entrance. Abigale is sat across from him, hands placed in placid timidity beneath the table. Her jaw set in a mild frown; shoulders once again stiff. He sits down, his thin clothing compressing his body against the cold wood of his chair. His place is already set for him, food portioned out neatly on his plate. He isn't sure what it is. He'd grown used to the bland yet filling hospital food he could barely stomach, this seemed, too much for him.
He watches as Hannibal takes his place at the head of the table. A voyeuristic position. Close enough to be polite but far enough to watch the way Damien and Abigail interact with each other. Another display of his implicit dominance over the situation. How completely in control this man is of the things he chooses to keep in his life.
'What is this Hannibal?'
Abigail's voice has lost the nerve it had earlier, her small confidence retreating back into her quietly. Tired. Apprehensive maybe? He isn't sure but her eyes are flickering between Hannibal and him, glassy and unfocused. An implicit question. A conversation he isn't allowed to listen in on. Something special.
'A simple beef pie Abigail, I thought it best to ease Damien into my gourmand nature. Lest I scare him early on with exotic names and meats.' He looks away from the young woman and towards Damien, noticing his uncertain expression, 'Ah I can still assure you of its quality, I oversaw the collection of the cut myself. It was their time to go.'
Damien looks down at the steaming dish, a delicately pressed pastry decorated with subtle lace-like indentations. The scent of well-seasoned beef wafted off the demure dish beautifully. He doesn't take a bite yet, his fingers resting loosely against the still-unused fork. The lightly roasted greens taunted him from their location on his plate.
'Are you okay Damien? Is the meal not to your liking?'
'No, no it's not that. I'm sorry if it seemed that way.' He pauses to move his gaze from his plate and up to the other man, his expectant eyes boring their way through his still-weak body. 'I just feel a little bit out of my depth here. I don't want to be ungrateful... But... I'm just struggling to wrap my head around all of this Dr Lecter.'
'Ah, don't be nervous Damien. I understand that this is a lot to take in. Especially so soon after your mother's passing. I do not desire to overwhelm you. Please, eat if you can, but if you can't I will not mind.'
'Thank you.'
'Of course Damien, you are my guest. Whatever you do in my home is up to you, within reason.'
The conversation lulls between the two men, Hannibal's attention shifting towards Abigail as she begins discussing her day with him. Damien begins to eat. Light pastry breaking against his teeth, the molten hot filling flooding his mouth with flavour. Deliciously supple gravy danced across his tongue and slid its way towards his throat. His stomach welcomed the filling as it made a home within him. He could almost moan at the taste. It is so dense and simple yet so unforgettable.
YOU ARE READING
mother dearest | hannigram x oc
Fanficgod loves you- but not enough to save you. he's been a ghost in his own home for years, clinging to the last breaths of the american dream, but when tragedy arrives at his doorstep once again, he'll find himself reborn through violence.
