gotta do the cooking by the book

[buttpatting]

WHO: Frederick Chilton (Doctor!!!!) and Hannibal Lecter (Doctor x 2!!!!)
WHERE: Hannibal's place at the MAC
WHEN: Saturday, November 30th, 6:30-ish
WARNINGS: This is the first proper dinner he's made in the City. Which, of course, means it's a cannibal dinner. There will be references to messy murder business. And probably talk of unethical, questionable psychiatric care.
SUMMARY: Nothing but a gourmet dinner between two old best buddies chums super friends.
FORMAT: Prose!





The MAC. Hardly suitable to the needs of a man like Hannibal Lecter, not just because of the way the housing is laid out. Not just because the kitchen is less than desirable. He can adjust to it, but he simply doesn't like having to. He'd spent a great deal of his life learning, teaching, making a name for himself that could never be tarnished. To have that all taken away from him, to have the rug yanked out violently from underneath him...it was quite insulting, he couldn't pretend otherwise. Not only to have the reputation taken away, but to have the privacy he'd earned and required in order to make a proper meal.

It couldn't last forever, he knew. He hardly wanted it to. He'd been in the City long enough to learn its basic outline. Doing his business in private was nothing he wasn't used to, of course. Fortunately, a man bringing in grocery bags clearly full of vegetables later followed by a cooler hadn't raised any suspicions, perhaps because Hannibal had been nothing but friendly and accommodating to his neighbors. There hadn't been any questions. No one had later come to his door to ask what he was cooking, because man if it didn't smell wonderful.

Establishing himself as available had done a world of good, as he well predicted.

One of his last meals with him had involved lamb, and Frederick had been none the wiser. Another meal with lamb as the center point seemed the most obvious road to take, though there was no tongue this time. A Greek lamb stew, though with spices and the usual accoutrements being as rare as he could make them, as expensive and worthy of his table as he could make them. The whole day was spent preparing, having a few glasses of wine, and making sure what he had paired to it well. Of course, he had a stock of beer as well, considering Frederick seemed to enjoy it.

Something he had in common with Alana, though Hannibal wasn't about to let either of them know as much.

He was prepared ten minutes before the set time for arrival. More than prepared. Dressed in his best, as he always way, he left the food at a temperature designed to keep it simply warm, dessert resting in the oven for when it was later needed. Sparing no expense was not beyond him, and this was, most definitely, the first real meal he'd been able to share with anyone since he'd been there.

There was not much to do afterwards that wash his hands as well as he could, dry them off, and apply a light lotion to keep them from feeling chafed and dry at a very uncomfortable level. Then it was simply to wait, definitely hoping that nothing had occurred and he hadn't been informed, because that? Was really quite rude.

Comments

[slightlyoffchilt]

Frederick Chilton couldn't possibly arrive late, given the fact that he resided in the same facility at Hannibal did. He had groomed and suited up well in advance -- so far in advance, in fact, that he had to murder some minutes (lest he arrive much too early, as that would be quite the faux pas).

So he waited, he dawdled. He thought of Christine -- considered calling her (again). His throat caught his own heart at every inkling. Declining to capture that opportunity, Chilton set his mind to focus on Hannibal. There, he knew, he would enjoy a foundation of solid, informed conversation. A nourishment of mind and body, that sort of thing.

He tried to leave his giddiness, his anxiety, behind him.

Right at the designated minute, Chilton knocked upon Hannibal's door.

[buttpatting]

Nourishment of the mind and body was something Hannibal certainly liked to provide. Of course, his idea of nourishment was a little different than most, but if a belly was full and taste buds were pleased, what else mattered?

Things better left to be said from behind bars, naturally.

Hannibal was, of course, prepared on time as well, having just rolled his sleeves down and disposed of his apron moments prior to the knock on his door. Smoothing out a cuff and turning the cufflink to its exact place, he quickly made his way to the door and opened it without bothering to look through the peep hole. He knew who it was. It could only be one person, unless Will Graham had actually been abducted, escaped, and was coming to him for him aid.

"Frederick." The smile that crossed his face appeared completely genuine, a man pleased at finding an old friend on his doorstep yet again. "So glad to see you again. Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable."

Stepping aside to let him do just that, Hannibal was well aware that he hadn't given him the invitation to make himself at home. He wasn't welcome to that, if only because this wasn't Hannibal's home. Hopefully he wouldn't think to ask.

[slightlyoffchilt]

"Luckily, I can say that the trek over wasn't much of an ordeal," he spoke lightly, smiling boyishly as he talked. That airy giddiness, it was unusual for a man of his more acerbic demeanor. Surely the gaiety wasn't lost on Hannibal himself.

A pleasant concoction amplified Chilton's enjoyment: first, Christine. He was infatuated with Christine, and understood the feeling to be mutual (an understanding that might evolve in time). Second, Hannibal. The other man had such a quality about him, it took only effortless moments for Chilton to feel as if they both connected on a level of gentlemanly substance.

Chilton kept himself as pristine as ever, even when invited to cross the threshold. His "comfortable" was maintaining an image.

Chilton had never been one for romance, or for fraternity. To now possess a sense of both (albeit, with two difference individuals) was his elation.

"So! I'm glad this isn't proving inconvenient -- or awkward, mind. This time, these holidays especially, surely they infuse others with a sense of loss, a yearning for back home."

But not him, no, not Chilton.

[buttpatting]

Oh no, the difference in demeanor was hardly lost on Hannibal. Granted, the last meal they had had was one of gravity, and the last he'd known of him before the City? He was laid up in a hospital, medical professionals doing their damnedest to make sure his organs took back to their original places like they had never left and, most likely, being unable to move much without feeling significant amounts of pain. He had sent a card, though he was never truly sure if it had made it. He hadn't delivered it himself, instead given into a friendly nurse who promised to put it in his room. As far as he'd been told, Frederick wasn't aware of anything, so what was the point in making an appearance if he wouldn't even be seen? That was the point, Frederick knowing his old friend Hannibal was worried about him. If a card go lost, so be it. But once he was certain Will was thought of as insane without a doubt and said old friend was awake, a little visit wouldn't be so amiss.

Particularly not when he came with such wonderful news.

"Most likely," he replied, shutting the door and leading the way, gesturing to the kitchen—so meager in comparison to Hannibal's own—for him to find his way to the small table. Such a pity, really. "I took up citizenship in America long ago, but Thanksgiving never held much for me, I am afraid. I cooked some meals for friends, certainly, but I never really celebrated it myself. So it was not such a terrible thing to me. Turkey is not at all my favorite fowl." The smile he gave him as he moved to the refrigerator was nothing short of contented, as though he had been looking forward to seeing him all day long. "Are you feeling beer or wine tonight? I've got as best of both as I could."

He had wondered, briefly, how Frederick and Alana would both react to being beer people, even in the presence of someone who carried wine that must have been enough to make even the biggest sommelier's taste buds shoot straight to heaven. A little something that made them similar, what sort of reaction would they have to that knowledge?

[slightlyoffchilt]

"A lager, if you have it. Red wine otherwise." He adjusted his tie, easing into the atmosphere. He had high hopes for the lager, preferably one pale -- but Chilton wasn't so weeded to muck the detail. Any beer of Hannibal's would be well crafted -- but at least he appeared versatile. The offer of drink was well received, and Chilton found himself enjoying the idea of being waited upon, once more, by Hannibal.

There was something special about that sentiment. Something he wasn't about to analyze before a mirror.

"I've missed ventures like this. Civilized discussion."

The comment might have seemed out of the blue, if not for the unspoken context: Hannibal knew about Chilton's work life, of course, considering that the doctor worked in the same facility. And Hannibal would likely surmise that Chilton had rather limited social interaction outside of work proper. It would then be logical to deduce that the brunt of the man's tangent rest with some daily ritual. Namely, Danger.

"I never had to deal with such contrarians in any hospital, back home," he said, confirming the possible suspicion. "Not regularly, anyway."

A slight nod to Will Graham and Alana, of course.

Chilton took it upon himself to stroll around the main room, observing Hannibal's habitat.

[buttpatting]

People had always enjoyed being served by him, and he knew exactly why. Not only was the food guaranteed to be splendid, but the man serving it? Well, there weren't many men like him. He was polished and refined, cultured, he took pride in his work and did his work very, very well. He was impressive in every single way, and the idea that he found another person worthy of his time, so much so that he made them special meals, refused to let them help with either garnish or clean up? How could that not make the recipient feel anything but joyous? They were, for a little while, being waited on hand and foot by a man with a resume so long it was almost unbelievable. That someone like Hannibal Lecter would be humble and kind enough to keep a person seated while he did everything to be a proper host? Well. He couldn't say he didn't bank on that exact line of thought to get what he wanted from time to time.

Hannibal always got what he wanted, whether or not anyone realized it at the time.

Just like that, Frederick says what he wants and Hannibal immediately reacts. It's not a rushed movement, but one that speaks to how seriously he takes his hosting duties, pulling out two glasses and a bottles from the refrigerator without any delay. He wants a lager, a lager he will have, and heaven help the person that comes between Hannibal Lecter and him pouring it.

"You had a staff of your own choosing back in the Baltimore we know," he said, carefully measuring the drink so that the glasses were full on the same level. "Here, you do not. It is simply another thing you must adapt to. An obstacle. You are not in the same position of authority you once were." And never should have been, if Hannibal had anything to say about it. "Nor am I." Putting the bottles to the side, he looked up, wondering what it was he was seeing in Hannibal's home, not at all as furnished as his old one once was. "We will come out perfectly fine, in the end. Men like us always do. It simply takes time."

Coming around, he moved to play both drinks down, Frederick's before his own. Proper hosting, the guest always came first. The guest's chair was always pulled out by the host, too, and Hannibal could not have looked more delighted to be, yes, waiting on his dear old friend.

[slightlyoffchilt]

Chilton assumed his position, slithering into his chair, his back to Hannibal. The warm of the atmosphere, the invitation, it all possessed a strong allure -- the environment proved suitable for a careful, cautious discussion of his qualms. Raising his drink to toast the host, as Hannibal came back around, he then took a ponderous sip of his drink. His greatest obstacle, Chilton concluded, was Danger. But Chilton had experienced a plethora of professional rivalry before (one doesn't achieve Chief of Staff without making a few enemies), and he had artfully disposed of those barricades. While Chilton might have shortcomings as a professional healer, he pushed his strength as a manipulator and underminer, exploiting the politics of any given institution to his own benefit. The current administrator of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane enjoyed Chilton's flattering company, and valued the man's insight.

How could he achieve his position, if that weren't the case?

"Of course," he intoned. Chilton adjusted his tie, sure to keep the shining pin attached symmetrical. "Though it would be nice to spread one's adaptive wings on more of the given populace. Nothing against our dear Harvey, but even he isn't fond of singular numbers."

Another sip of the brew, and he exhaled.

"Do you agree that there are some individuals worthy of psychological analysis, who haven't seemed to seek any? Those we have privy to on this Network, I mean."

[buttpatting]

Hannibal knew that Frederick must have had some connections, not only to get where he was but to remain where he was. One didn't become chief of staff without being able to schmooze, as it was so often called. There were negative connotations behind that, though, and after seeing Frederick's reaction to things with negative connotations, he determined to choose his words even carefuller than usual. They had power, could drive an agenda, could do such a great deal of harm and help alike.

"There are some who have proven worth such interest, yes," he agreed without hesitation. To have a man like Hannibal readily agreeing with him would be seen as a good thing, he knew. He'd deferred to him before, and if he could keep that going in the City... "We shared lamb's tongue once before, so I thought a different sort of recipe involving lamb would be pleasing. It is a Greek lamb stew," and he went into great detail, detail about the kind of lamb, how they were raised, treated, how their keepers kept them, following it all with a few technical culinary terms and a list of what other foods could be found on the plate. He did as much, even, while preparing the plates in full view, so Frederick could get a little glimpse of just how much work went into it at all, and how easy Hannibal made it look. Just as he always did, both plates were picked up as soon as everything came together perfectly, and Frederick's was the first to be put down. Hannibal could finally sit, unrolling his napkin-bound utensils and giving him quite the pleased smile. "Shall we say bon appétit, for old time's sake?"

[slightlyoffchilt]

"Greek lamb stew?"

His interest glowed behind those conniving eyes set in his skull. The additional information proved an appropriate appetizer: it's what Chilton craved more than food itself. Information was, after all the slickest key to power -- so spoke his experience. All the while Hannibal spoke, Chilton grew sated. The words, the smells, the atmosphere -- it all proved pleasing to his senses.

Hannibal was indeed one of the ultimate sensory experiences. The second Chilton thought that, he flushed, hoping the man before him couldn't read (innocuous!) thoughts.

"Bon appétit," he said, raising his glass along. His voice was rushed, cracking just slightly under the strain, likely betraying his embarrassment over those seconds-born thoughts.

When he dipped into his stew, he kept his sight on Hannibal.

"This is utterly fantastic, Hannibal. You've outdone yourself."