Application for Dr Hannibal Lecter
Hannibal Lecter pinches the bridge of his nose, somewhat irritably. The last thing he remembers is falling asleep in bed, rather suddenly. Drugged, maybe? All he knows is that he has a rather bad headache coming on.
Mickey coughs theatrically. "'What is your name?'"
He turned sharply, and gives the cartoon mouse a long, piercing, maroon-coloured stare. After a long moment, he smiles. This may be one of the strangest dreams he has ever had, but at least it doesn’t involve snow. He might as well play along. “My name is Doctor Hannibal Lecter.”
"What is your quest?" asks the Cat. It's perched, suddenly, on the roof of one of the gate-stiles.
The Cheshire Cat? Certainly one of his strangest dreams… he makes a mental note to ask Clarice to stop spiking his nightcap. “My quest? What every man considers his quest, or should - fine food and wine, quality of life and love. And, of course, ultimate avoidance of those would attempt to detain me.”
"'What is the average w..?'" Mickey frowns down at the notebook. "You know, I don't really see why that's important." He flips a page. "'If you could be granted three wishes, what would they be?'"
For Mischa to be alive and well... He thinks, then with a sudden shock realizes this to be no dream. Perhaps he has finally gone truly insane, then? No. He is sure he would know if that had happened.
"Or," the Cat says, examining its tail with interest, "if you were a genie and someone you were trying to give three wishes to was trying to trick you into giving him more, what would you say?"
Hannibal merely stares at the cat like it has sprouted feathers.
Mickey looks rather nonplused at the next, but reads, "'When the revolution comes, what skills will you be able to barter for food?'"
“The revolution?” Hannibal looks rather nonplused as well. “Which one would that be? And as far as skills go, I have a PhD in psychology, am an excellent cook, if I do say so myself, and…” he pauses. Some things are better left unsaid, really.
The Cat rolls its eyes in a friendly (and rather disconcertingly out-of-sync) way, and asks, "Milk, dark, or white chocolate?"
“It depends.” He replies shortly. This interrogation is getting rather tiresome.
"'Choose the two coolest: robots, pirates, fairies, bears, ninjas, monkeys, vampires, or humans,'" says Mickey, giggling a bit as he goes through the list. "'Explain.'"
“No.”
"Great!" Mickey flips through the blank pages of the notebook at top, cartoon-y speed. "Well, I think that's just about it! Oh, and I'm supposed to ask, 'for your safety: are you carrying anything sharp?'"
“Unfortunately not.” Hannibal replies calmly, still smiling.
(( This is book!Hannibal - and he has never been through Hogwarts, either. If it suits you, imagine him as a black-haired, red-eyed Anthony Hopkins. Personality-wise, he's about the same, except somewhat more refined and has an actual past and suchlike, tu comprendre? P.S, OOC - this is the same person who plays Mac. Hope that's okay. ))
Mickey coughs theatrically. "'What is your name?'"
He turned sharply, and gives the cartoon mouse a long, piercing, maroon-coloured stare. After a long moment, he smiles. This may be one of the strangest dreams he has ever had, but at least it doesn’t involve snow. He might as well play along. “My name is Doctor Hannibal Lecter.”
"What is your quest?" asks the Cat. It's perched, suddenly, on the roof of one of the gate-stiles.
The Cheshire Cat? Certainly one of his strangest dreams… he makes a mental note to ask Clarice to stop spiking his nightcap. “My quest? What every man considers his quest, or should - fine food and wine, quality of life and love. And, of course, ultimate avoidance of those would attempt to detain me.”
"'What is the average w..?'" Mickey frowns down at the notebook. "You know, I don't really see why that's important." He flips a page. "'If you could be granted three wishes, what would they be?'"
For Mischa to be alive and well... He thinks, then with a sudden shock realizes this to be no dream. Perhaps he has finally gone truly insane, then? No. He is sure he would know if that had happened.
"Or," the Cat says, examining its tail with interest, "if you were a genie and someone you were trying to give three wishes to was trying to trick you into giving him more, what would you say?"
Hannibal merely stares at the cat like it has sprouted feathers.
Mickey looks rather nonplused at the next, but reads, "'When the revolution comes, what skills will you be able to barter for food?'"
“The revolution?” Hannibal looks rather nonplused as well. “Which one would that be? And as far as skills go, I have a PhD in psychology, am an excellent cook, if I do say so myself, and…” he pauses. Some things are better left unsaid, really.
The Cat rolls its eyes in a friendly (and rather disconcertingly out-of-sync) way, and asks, "Milk, dark, or white chocolate?"
“It depends.” He replies shortly. This interrogation is getting rather tiresome.
"'Choose the two coolest: robots, pirates, fairies, bears, ninjas, monkeys, vampires, or humans,'" says Mickey, giggling a bit as he goes through the list. "'Explain.'"
“No.”
"Great!" Mickey flips through the blank pages of the notebook at top, cartoon-y speed. "Well, I think that's just about it! Oh, and I'm supposed to ask, 'for your safety: are you carrying anything sharp?'"
“Unfortunately not.” Hannibal replies calmly, still smiling.
(( This is book!Hannibal - and he has never been through Hogwarts, either. If it suits you, imagine him as a black-haired, red-eyed Anthony Hopkins. Personality-wise, he's about the same, except somewhat more refined and has an actual past and suchlike, tu comprendre? P.S, OOC - this is the same person who plays Mac. Hope that's okay. ))