Cannibal's kiss (( Hannibal X OOC))

Time goes on

                                                                           ~ Ten Years Later ~

                  Time seemed to go on so quick that Hope still couldn't believe the years that had passed since the incident. While no physical scars remained of Hannibal, emotional ones lasted even to this day. The world that once seemed so inviting and full of color was a bit duller and danger was more imminent. While blind trust and borderline naive behavior had once been rampant now a certain caution had settled in. Especially when meeting strangers or patients that were male and incredibly intelligent. None of them met the level of Lecter's but their words echoed in his own and the reminder left a bad taste in her mouth. Through the onslaught of failed relationships and sub par lovers came a friendship. Blossoming from the event and only growing with time. Clarice Starling someone similarly effected by Hannibal was the only one whom Hope dared to trust with the secrets of her true feelings towards the cannibal. At first Clarice was mortified by the idea but with the stories and having first hand witness the charming behavior that he always showed she began to understand the infatuation. Though never admitting to sharing those feelings, in fact quite the opposite. Where Hope felt drawn to the darkness she had been repulsed by it and his affections all the same. Now ten years later their conversations no longer pointed towards where he might but now and why he had grown dormant and were now as mundane as the people in the streets. Discussing work and going over profiles for budding serial killers. Ok maybe not all the dull but quite normal for them in their professions. Today was like any other day, or so it seemed. 

            Hope stepped down the concrete steps from the police station clutching the golden chain of her black leather purse tightly in her knuckles. What was it now? Two dead in the recent killings of the 'Night Stalker'. She had been called in like several times before to review the evidence and provide a profile on who might have perpetrated the crime and while it wasn't an exact science she was already renowned for her skills. Often times compared to Will Graham who possessed a similar skill in creating accurate descriptions. To be congratulated on her work always made her feel uncomfortable. She didn't particularly mind to pour over crime scenes and see crumpled bodies of once living people anymore but more the fact of who had fostered that skill within her. Had it not been for Hannibal she wouldn't have turned to this line of work. A repentance for showing no aid to the two officers he brutally slaughtered in the escape. The memory burned in her mind so engraved that even now she couldn't help but toss and turn in slumber remembering his touch and the bite of his canines sinking into her flesh. It was unfair to keep his memory alive but even now no lover compared to the flutter he had arisen. They left a stale reminder of the feelings that rampaged her heart in his presence. Knowing that, made her bitter beyond reason. 

             "Hope?" She glanced up to catch the hardened dark blue eyes of Detective Starling resting at a sweet cafe just around the corner. Sitting underneath the shade of a wide blue and white striped umbrella firmly attached to a picnic table sat right outside the store. She had aged well, barely a wrinkle in sight on the flawlessly pale skin so alike Hope with the spread of orange freckles that dotted along her cheek and nose. Though their were small frown lines at the dip of her lips and a crease line always appeared in the middle of her forehead when she worried, which was often. Clarice swept a loose strand from her face, hair tied in a tight but low pony tail. Today wearing a more casual outfit which was a faded jean jacket over a white tank top and a pair of baby blue jeans completely free of rips and tatters. It was a welcome difference to see the always formal woman looking so mellow. 

                  Hope eagerly sat on the opposite bench noticing how it creaked and groaned the strip of wood loose and struggling to bear her weight despite her not weighing all that much. The table itself wasn't much to speak of either. Draped in a blue and white checkered table cloth taped down underneath with gray duct tape and dirtied from the last visitor that had failed to swipe away the remaining crumbs. Similar to the seat, the wood was unpainted and old, faded from the once bright colors to a gray and filled with nicks and carvings from teens getting a kick out of signing their names. A pity that such an adorable little cafe seemed to treat their outside furniture so poorly but she brushed it off.