[log] Nice to Meat You [closed]

[jumpthegun]

Characters: John Watson, Mina Murray, Sherlock Holmes, Jared Rhys, and Hannibal Lecter
Location: Building 58
Date: Day 345
Summary: Attempted murder and a bloody cannibal.
Warnings: Hannibal canon-levels of violence.

Building 58
[ A simple single-story building, the snow weighs uneasily on it, and it creaks and groans under the strain at the best of times. It's very dark, and only the kitchen and living room are intact. The couch has been ripped open, leaving it a mess of framing and foam stuffing. The kitchen has a back door. Two snowmen have been built outside. A message has been written on the wall in blue ink: "Don't wreck the snowmen! That's super mean!"]

Comments

OTA Pre-Hannibal Shenanigans

[jumpthegun]

[The hospital is drawing John's attention once more. With the Admin's message that medications are low, he's keen to pick up as much as they can before heading off toward the Industrial Area to see what else they might be able to do over there. He's more restless than usual and has the children's book about a sinister hotel for animals out, taking pictures of the pages to send off to Flynn for his library.

He's on a page that looks like it's about a lamb being placed in a room lined with the busts of game animals.]

[howdull]

[Sherlock has done his own cursory investigation of the house and the immediate surrounding area before coming in, adding some rubble decoration to the snowmen. He makes sure that John is alone before approaching him, this is a conversation to be had in private without other listening ears.]

I believe I have deduced why Mary hasn't returned.

[jumpthegun]

[John really doesn't want to deal with this conversation, but he knows Sherlock is trying to help in his own way.]

What did you deduce?

[howdull]

The majority of people who have been dead for longer than expected and then returned all speak of going home; therefore, it's a logical conclusion that if reanimation fails then the subject is lost to the Admin and gains freedom.

[It's actually a lot less certain than that, but he's trying to comfort rather than inform at the moment.]

She hasn't returned because of Rosie. This was her chance to go back to her, and what mother doesn't choose their child over anyone else? She knew you were needed here, a doctor is more valuable than a spy... or a detective... and Rosie needed at least one parent.

[jumpthegun]

Sherlock... [He really doesn't want to deal with this. John runs a hand over his face before responding.] The resuscitation attempts don't stop. The Admin's told us they don't stop. And there are plenty of people who've been revived that I know would've chosen to stay home, if they could.

[howdull]

No, we have the Admin's word that the resuscitation attempts don't stop, something which I don't believe for a moment.

[They've all seen the bodies stores in the morgue lockers, after all, and it makes no logical sense to continue revival attempts after several failures.]

[jumpthegun]

Then how d'you explain someone waking up 5 months after they died? That's what happened with a bloke named Drake.

[howdull]

[He clicks his tongue in minor irritation; not necessarily with John picking holes in the theory, but with the theory in general.]

Comfort doesn't always take into account hard data, John. I'm attempting to comfort you.

[jumpthegun]

Oh.

[That's... sweet. A little odd the way he's doing it, but that's Sherlock.]

Sorry. Thanks.

[He should be trying for non-monosyllabic words. Sherlock is grieving, as well.]

You don't have to... do this, Sherlock. We both lost her. [They're both a bit of a mess without her. Not that having her kept them entirely from being messes, but...]

[howdull]

[Denying that her death and subsequent failure to revive has had an effect on him would be pointless, not even John would buy that flimsy a lie. So he chooses not to acknowledge it, just rolling his shoulders instead.]

I'm only doing what she asked me to do.

["Save John Watson".

Perhaps comfort through idiotic theories wasn't the most ideal way, but he's doing his best to follow that edict.]

[jumpthegun]

[John closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head slightly.]

Please don't. [He watched that message in full.] She told me she was sorry she made that DVD when she got here, you know?

[howdull]

She did?

[That surprises him. Though he knows Mary has regrets, she's also a very shrewd thinker and wouldn't have made a message like that lightly.]

Did she say why?

[jumpthegun]

Because she found out what happened. Saw what happened and what that order had you do to yourself. She loves you, Sherlock. [Seeing him suffer probably wasn't part of the plan.]

[howdull]

But she also knew what giving that order would mean.

[Mary is far from an idiot, and she's always seen the bigger picture.]

She likely told you she regretted it to spare your feelings.

[jumpthegun]

I think she told me that because she wasn't expecting to be alive to have to witness any of this. [Borrowed time. That's always what this has been, borrowed time.] She's good at what she does... but she's still only human.

[howdull]

Yes, I suppose she is.

[He frowns at that, the idea that she could have been caused more pain is not one he wants to contemplate.]

Perhaps nobody who issues a last wish is ever satisfied if they see how it plays out.

[jumpthegun]

I know you're hurting, too. Try to just... focus on yourself a bit. I know it's hard for you to process all this as much as it is for me.

[He's trying to be sensitive, trying not to make the same mistakes he did when Mary died in their own universe. There's no bottle of alcohol to fall into, at least. And this place being what it is... he can't afford to fall to pieces quite as much.]

[howdull]

Hard?

[He scoffs quietly. But there's nobody here to see him except John, and so after a moment that scoff becomes a sigh.]

Impossible.

[jumpthegun]

I just... If she doesn't come back, you know it's not your fault, right? Properly this time, it's not your fault.

[It's technically not his, either, but he wants to make sure this doesn't get twisted in Sherlock's head.]

[howdull]

[He smiles, thin and unamused.]

Obviously. I wasn't there, it couldn't have been my fault, but I should be able to work out why she hasn't come back yet. Properly, not that fairy story for comfort.

[jumpthegun]

[So, that's how they're each going to spiral downward. John in despair, Sherlock twisting himself into knots about questions that he can't answer. Well. At least, they can say that for all that Norfinbury has put them through, they haven't much changed.]

What information is there for you to use, Sherlock? It seems random, whether or not people get resuscitated. At most, it might be a case of some people being given more efficient nanomachines, and Eve doesn't seem to particularly care about switching out the bad ones.

[howdull]

[John is right, of course. He's right a surprising amount of the time for someone who thinks with his heart rather than his head, but that doesn't mean that Sherlock has to like it.]

It can't be random, there must be a pattern that we can't see. Bad nanomachines can't be it, that would suggest that the people with a degradation in their health due to MN poisoning would be at greater risk for not returning, but we've seen that's not the case.

[jumpthegun]

Have you analyzed all the deaths across time? Sherlock, we don't even know everyone who might have the poisoning because they don't say. And before people knew what it was, they might've called it something different or just put it down to being stuck in the cold and the wet constantly.

[howdull]

[Right again. Sherlock's lips twist up in slightly bitter amusement.]

This is intolerable; Mycroft is right, my mind must be degrading.

[jumpthegun]

No. [John presses the heel of his palm to his eyes and sighs.] You're just trying to be kind. And I'm not really letting you. Thank you, Sherlock. I do appreciate it. We'll... get on with it.

[As needs must. As Mary would want them to. He can at least pretend until the empty space in his heart actually fills in with something.]

wrap here?

[howdull]

[It's because of Mary and John that Sherlock even has the inclination to try and be kind, a legacy they should both be proud of. Not that he'll say as much, he's already exhausted his supply of comforting rhetoric.]

Then we ought to do just that.

[Get on with it.]

[howdull]

[Sherlock keeps mostly to himself once they stop for the night; not out of any sense of a need for isolation, more because he's focused on other things. He can be found intently leaning over his tablet, scrolling through the entries at high speed.

He's so engrossed that he likely won't notice anyone approaching until it's too late.]

[tablewithoutpity]

[Hannibal is covered in blood. That above all else shows he is not himself. Refined Hannibal, the one who cares for appearances, who maintains his person suit, who plans carefully who he will kill and when and how, would not be covered by the blood of his victims.

He comes upon the house, and notices a man inside. A man he does not immediately recognize. Not that it would make any difference.

Refined Hannibal would take the time to see if the man is alone. In his current state, he doesn't bother. He draws a knife, and quietly approaches the man who has his back to him, raising it as he nears, ready to stab him in the neck.]

[sleight_of_fate]

[One of the interesting things about Norfinbury is that there's no tech. There's no people. No ambient noise, not like at home. Quiet is so much more profound here.

He's not quite sure what attracts his attention in the other room, stirs the shadowy thing in the back of his mind. The house already creaks, but maybe there's a groan a little out of pattern. Maybe there's a smell, a sound, a shift of cloth, but something in his brain makes him blink, look up, and unfold his legs, rising to standing in a single fluid movement.]

Sherlock? Someone there?

[howdull]

[Sherlock doesn't hear the tread of Hannibal's footsteps, but he smells the blood. It's a scent he's very familiar with after the many years of dealing with crime scenes and corpses, but it takes a few seconds to permeate his consciousness as something that he probably shouldn't be smelling.

That realisation comes almost at the same time as Rhys calls his name, and he twists slightly to look around. And that... that is definitely a man covered in blood with a knife.]

VATICAN CAMEOS!

[The shout is sudden and probably nonsensical to most people in the house, but Sherlock accompanies it by swinging his tablet towards Hannibal's face.]

[tablewithoutpity]

[Hannibal puts up his arm to block the tablet, but then pauses, just for a moment, the words the man shouted piquing his curiosity. Not enough to stay his hand entirely, but enough to lengthen the time before he moves to stab the man in the neck.

That tiny pause probably saves Sherlock's life.]

[jumpthegun]

[John glances up from where he's seated at the kitchen table when Rhys gets up and goes to check on something in the other room. Sherlock's shout gets him moving immediately, though. He all but leaps to the entrance of the other room and sees Hannibal, of all people, covered in blood and swinging a knife at his friend. The doctor's world narrows to two objectives:

Stop that knife and get that man away from Sherlock.]

Rhys! Torso!

[Rhys is the bigger man. He'll be able to haul Hannibal more easily than John. The doctor lunges for Hannibal's arm, aiming to catch any part of it and grapple to get the knife away. He'll have to trust that Sherlock is going to get out of the way.]

[sleight_of_fate]

[Rhys isn't the biggest man in the room or the best trained by any means, but he's not the smallest, either.

He's also in solid shape and very fast. Sherlock's nonsense shout throws him for a second, but his instincts lock on the immediate threat in the room and, a second later, John's directions, and he jumps in like a wrecking ball.

He's got the fireplace poker, but it's just not practical in this sort of melee, unless he wants to risk cracking John in the head. So Rhys barrels into Hannibal with two goals in mind: whatever hit he can manage to slow him down- jaw, eyes, solar plexus - and keep from getting stabbed.]

[howdull]

[That brief pause is enough, thankfully. It's one of the reasons they have such a bizarre code phrase, in that it stymies attackers much more successfully than a banal shout of 'danger' or 'help'. It's not enough to dive out of the way, but he raises his arm defensively to try and take any damage coming in a non-fatal location.

He doesn't get out of the way, though.

He hasn't had a good fight in a while, and so he wades in himself now that Rhys and John are in the mix, trying to deal a punch to Hannibal's stomach with the aim of winding him.]

OTA: Pre-Disaster

[sleight_of_fate]

It's been a couple of days since Rhys has joined the group, and slowly, he's starting to fall into a better, healthier pattern.

He's still quiet. Still lost in thought a lot of the time, still distracted by his exercise and his sketching and his absent-minded toying with bits of wire and twine and other scavenged bits that he carries with him for the end of the day when he's unwinding by sleep.

But he's eating, he's sleeping, at least a little more, he makes eye contact and occasionally, he smiles, even if it's faint. There's animation there, and a purpose now that he has things to do besides wander around aimlessly.

At the end of the day, in a particularly dark and not especially comfortable place to settle down, he's taken out his yoga mat and laid it down to sit on, crosslegged with his tablet in his lap and his fireplace poker by his side. Half a small bag of almonds has almost disappeared already, the plastic making small crinkling noises in the otherwise quiet space.

If it's requested, he'll even spare a precious hour of candlelight to ease the dark. Just another quiet night in Snowhell. Almost domestic, even.