snowblindrpg | [network] @hotstud_xxx; Day 314; audio [open] (cw: there may be graphic discussion of illness)

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[network] @hotstud_xxx; Day 314; audio [open] (cw: there may be graphic discussion of illness)

[This is Christmas. House's idea of Christmas, anyway. Sudden onset of deadly illnesses with disjointed and impossible progression of symptoms, and him not affected? Christmas! Someone out there loves him. Granted, he might not be able to help anyone get better and that's lame, but answers. Answers are something he is particularly prepared to provide. House is also curious if there's some psychosomatic effect at work here that might let him influence people. He goes on audio for this, and someone sounds almost gleeful.]

Hello, sick people! Dr. House here. I am a board certified medical professional and tenured professor of diagnostics at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in Princeton, New Jersey. I have a double specialty infectious disease and nephrology and head the only Department of Diagnostic Medicine in the world in my universe.

All that said... tell me what ails you, Snowhell. Details required. Pics if you need them. Allow me to diagnose you. This service is free of charge for today only! Or however long this whole thing lasts. I'll even prescribe you meds if they're relevant to your condition. Step right up, then! Don't be shy.

It should go without saying, but I am limited to identification and diagnosis of Earth-based diseases. So if you've got a different name in your universe for the measels, I'm still calling them the measels.

((OOC: While House is an ace diagnostician, I am very much not. It would be helpful for me if you could indicate the disease or diseases your character is suffering from for the event or indicate that the constellation of symptoms was pulled at random/non-Earth-based.))

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[ Strange, for a man who tried to hard to avoid social situations, but Will continued to talk with surprising ease. He began to paint with his words. ]

Randall Tier was the first, the initial tear in the chrysalis. Mischa's killer was every inch a representation of the emergence. He was where I solidified what I would call my design. I know you would have liked to have been there, but the moment was too precious to let it slip.

For me it's not so much about the actual kill, but about the chance to put those deserving of righteous violence on display. For me, for those who might consider engaging in their transgressions, and for those too blind to have been able to capture them, before I did.

It was my design, that saw you freed, set up Dolarhyde and positioned us for that plunge off the cliff. Killing is easy, too easy. The power doesn't stay with you long enough. But the art of it, the grotesque beauty of putting them on display and burning that image into the mind ... that's power.

Edited 2018-01-13 04:34 (UTC)

[The words themselves might not take hold in Hannibal's unconscious mind, but what suffuses his subconscious is a feeling of safety. It might seem strange, considering that the words whispered in his ear were of murder. However, Hannibal had spent his whole life relying on no one but himself. He planned everything so carefully because he enjoyed the mental exercise, but also because it had long been necessary that he be utterly in control for his own well being, his own safety. So it was deeply significant that he was utterly vulnerable, completely at the mercy of this man whose arms his unconscious body lay in, and yet he was safe, suffused with trust and comfort, even as his body was slowly starving for oxygen.]

[ It was odd to see Hannibal like this.

The man did not do vulnerable. Whether he was bound in a psychiatric hospital, or even with a gut wound from Dolarhyde, Hannibal was always in control. It Will was honest with himself, it was terrifying and he suspected that some of his steady patter was as much to distract his own mind from producing horrific scenarios, as it was to entertain Hannibal.

Regardless, he continued to talk, whispering about how it felt when he let go of his own civilized nature and tore a chunk out of Cordell's face. A raw, savage action and the first time Will had allowed himself to taste the hot flow of fresh, raw blood. ]

[Hannibal rested, warm and safe, in the arms of the man he loved, his subconscious stirred with the images his friend painted, while his body slowly suffocated from the blood filling his lungs. His lips slowly turned blue and his face pale as each breath became more and more shallow. His body was well on its way to succumbing entirely when the paralysis descended upon them both.]

[ He's experienced the paralysis before.

He didn't like it then and he doesn't like it now, even if -in the wake of the sharp prick to his skin- he feels the pain in his head subside and his body goes from too hot to too cold in a flash.

Falling back, Will growls a little but then almost immediately he rolls towards Hannibal's body. ]

Hannibal?

[The sharp prick rouses Hannibal, his consciousness restored, his own fever broken, his lungs cleared. He rolls toward Will and touches his face, looks into his eyes, seeing that the signs of his friend's illness are gone as well.

He leans in and kisses him firmly.]

[ Well he still looks like shit on a Ritz, but no more or less so than usual.

Will was trying to stitch together words to explain what happened. Or rather to explain the theories that abound about what may have happened. To say something to help sooth Hannibal.

He should have known better. Hannibal was a survivor, in every sense of the word. He might dress like a dandy, and have refined manners that made a person believe his hands had never seen roughness in their life. But Hannibal was anything but soft, or vulnerable and that firm kiss confirmed it.

Will still murphed a little as their lips met, before he took in a breath and then relaxed, returning the kiss and reaching up to touch the side of Hannibal's face; checking to ensure there was no longer a fever present. ]

[When he had confirmed for himself that they were both somehow better, the most important thing to him had been to express his care and appreciation with that kiss. When the kiss broke, Hannibal stayed close, brushing Will's hair gently back from his forehead.]

Do you know what happened?

[ He couldn't fake resistance. The gentle brush of Hannibal's hand through his hair was familiar, comforting and Will leaned into it. ]

I wish I had an answer for you.

I can offer you speculation, but no definitive explanation.

Speculate for me.

[He gently stroked Will's cheek with his thumb.]

[ Still anchoring himself with a hand on the other man's shoulder, Will closed his eyes and tried to think of everything he'd heard during his time here. ]

That we're not in our actual bodies. That our consciousness is downloaded onto a server and we're functioning through some sort of ... VR or ... faux body. That sometimes there are glitches, and the pinpricks we feel are the spiderbots injecting us with fresh nanites to clear the glitch.

[ Though they were feeling better, physically, Will still leaned his head forward until he could rest it against Hannibal's shoulder. ]

When I first arrived, House was running an experiment with a man called Sherlock Holmes. They took a corpse, withdrew the blood -and the nanites- from Sherlock's body and injected them into the corpse.

I believe what happened is Sherlock's body "died" and when Sherlock's consciousness returned it was in the 'borrowed' body.

[Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will and drew him close, holding him, stroking his hair as he stared past him, at the room where they lay, thinking about the world outside. Thinking about what he had seen and experienced. What he had experienced with this man in his embrace.]

It would explain a few things. Like how we are here to begin with. Maybe we didn't survive that fall. Except what is truly important, what is truly us, is right here, right now. Your mind and mine, regardless of the vehicle it occupies.

[He turned his head and pressed a kiss into Will's hair.]

[ Will allowed himself to be folded into Hannibal's arms, burying his face against the older man's shoulder and closing his eyes. He was trying to, simultaneously, focus and block it all out. ]

There is a lot of evidence that we're not in our actual bodies. That our perceptions are being altered, you saw that in what happened with the video House kept from me.

Even if we didn't survive in our world, there are people here who were living their lives in their worlds, so it's not a case of whatever is grabbing us, capturing a consciousness on the brink of its end.

[Hannibal contemplated that, slowly brushing his fingertips up and down Will's back.]

Our presence here, then, is not definitively indicative of our survival or non-survival of the fall.

Perhaps there is some way that we could test our perceptions? Some grounding exercise?

[He smiled fondly.]

It is ten thirty PM, I am in Norfinbury, and my name is Hannibal Lecter.

[He has no idea what time it actually is, but the specifics don't matter.]

I'd punch you for that if I weren't so comfortable. [ Will grumbled from where he was melting into Hannibal's shoulder. ] And if I hadn't already tried using that exercise at least once in this place.

[ Hannibal would probably be amused to learn how many of his techniques Will had used from memory. Up to and including the damn clock. ]

Sadly, I don't think it will work. I've heard enough and my own experience is still fresh in my mind. Try as hard as I might, I have absolutely no recollection of having mutilated myself with the Prophet brand. I don't remember feeling any compulsion, I don't remember blacking out or losing time, one minute my skin was clear and in the next the brand was in place.

[ Which was why, for the longest time, he'd worked under the assumption that somehow the nanites had responded to the Prophet BS he and House had engaged in and thought he had a lead. A lead that turned out to be false when the truth came out.

Ooooo, he could still punch House in the nose for that. ]

[Hannibal breathed a quiet laugh at the revelation that Will had used the exercise. Hannibal had been manipulating him when he recommended it, and yet at the same time truly sought to help Will discover the beauty of the darkness within him. He turned his head again and nuzzled against Will's hair, enjoying the feeling and the scent of his friend, regardless of how he was experiencing them.]

Perhaps if we were to work together, to share our perceptions, to improve our chances of knowing when our perceptions must be questioned.

[ Will actually chuckled, softly, reaching with one of his arms and anchoring it securely around Hannibal's torso. ]

Hannibal, think about what you're asking here. Do you really want to every rely on my perception? Unless it's to use it as what not to believe?

I can barely manage reality back home, without being messed with by the environment.

[Hannibal smiled warmly, and pulled Will closer, stroking his hair.]

I trust your perceptions more than I trust anyone else's. You have always seen the truth, Will. Even when you have been unable to recognize it yourself.

Would you be able to rely on me, Will? To trust me in this way?

[ Ah, now that was the thousand dollar question, wasn't it?

Will didn't answer immediately, going quiet as he turned inwards to consult his inner demons. He closely weighed what Hannibal was asking, measured it up against the betrayals of the past, and then back again to their current reality.

With a dose of historical context, just for flavor. ]

Strange as this is going to sound, to both of us; yes. [ He said, in a quiet and calm tone. ] You have been dropped into what amounts to a playground for you, but it wouldn't be any fun for you to play here alone.

[Hannibal was silent for a moment as well, absorbing Will's words, his expression of trust coming from the depths of his understanding of Hannibal. It was simultaneously heartening and saddening, that Will knew him so well, yet believed that he would refrain from harming Will merely for his own purposes. Of course what Will said was absolutely true, it was just not entirely true.]

I love you, Will.

[His voice was very quiet, the words a stark, raw honesty.]

I promised I would tell you again, when my fever broke. I don't wish to be without you, not merely because you are a necessary component for my enjoyment, but because you are a necessary component.

[ Will wasn't foolish enough to believe himself immune to the doctor's violent impulses. If Hannibal took it into his head to try to murder him, he would go through with it and be infinitely reasonable about his motivation.

But Will didn't expect Hannibal to pick up the same level of head fuckery as before. The doctor could surprise him, but he expected Hannibal wanted him along for the ride. ]

I love you. [ He responded, without hesitation but also not with careless speed. ] I realized it that day in Bedelia's office. Knew it when I set events in motion to counter Jack's initial plans for you and Dolarhyde.

You will be the death of me, I have no doubt, which makes my affections ... inconvenient [ he gently teased the words from the past back to the older man. ] But none of that has ever kept me from falling in love with you.

[Hannibal closed his eyes, holding Will even tighter. Hannibal had desired to be known by this man, his friend, and what was love but to be known entirely, to be seen and to be accepted? Cherished? He could not be truly loved by those who admired him for his artfully prepared meals, or, on the other end of the spectrum, those who knew what he had done and admired him for his murders. Neither knew him. Not truly. His parents had not been alive long enough to truly know him, and Mischa, whom he had loved, likewise had seen him in the chrysalis, dead too soon to witness the transformation that her very death had precipitated. Was Will, then, the first who had ever truly loved him? Wholly and by choice?

Hannibal swallowed, surprised and yet not to feel a tear slipping down his cheek. He turned his head and pressed his lips to Will's cheek, the tiniest of shudders joining that tear in signalling how deeply Will's admission affected him.]

[ A kiss on the cheek?

That was telling, in a wide variety of ways. Hannibal kissed on the lips, either as a prelude to a sexual encounter -one he was usually mastermining- or even as a subtle expression of dominance; possession. A kiss on the cheek was spontaneous and suggested more about the other man's motivations and his affections than all the words or declarations.

So Will didn't try to insert words into the moment. Instead, he made a small noise of approval and nestled closer, getting his other arm up and around Hannibal to hold him securely. They were going to have to untangle themselves and start moving soon, but for the moment, Will silently offered comfort, for everything Hannibal had just suffered through, as well as accepted comfort. ]

Edited 2018-01-20 04:30 (UTC)

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