#black shuck in sheep's clothing; hannibal verse

[levixthxn-thegirl]

it's not the worst injury i've seen, but it's pretty bad. - from hannibal @ any muse you see fit

Prompts for patching up wounds|| OPEN

Ambrosine was assured that the scene was cleared and secured with the highest confidence, but it seemed that one unobservant officer had not cleared the hidden root cellar, where in the damp and dark space did the killer hid away. Where he listened to every word discussed of his horrible acts of barbarism, watched from the gaps of the hidden wooden panel door every move the investigators, law enforcement, and crime scene technicians as they paced and scoured every inch of the home for clues.

Did he revel in it? Did he take joy and pride in the horrified expressions of each person who saw his crime? Maybe that's why he targeted Ambrosine. Her expression was always placid, unmoved. She wasn't moved by human made horrors. The only emotions displayed on her face disappointed, disgusted by the cheapness of it all. And it made him furious.

She wondered if he seethed in anger watching her in the sodden dark on his hiding place, like how he did when charging at her in the darkened hallway, busting open the door when she noticed the draft from the hidden panel of the wall. He raged at her, screaming and spitting as he blindly hacked at her with the meat cleaver that was white knuckle tight in his grip. He only landed one blow before being grabbed and thrown off of her. It wasn't the bloody struggle Ambrosine anticipated, much faster than she could process. One moment, she was sniffing the cold, earthy air and finding the source emanating from the draft, then next was laying back against the wood panel wall, warm red blood gushing from the curve between her neck and shoulder, pooling down her chest and arm. The black of her clothes concealed the carnage, only the rip where blade edge cleaved through fabric and flesh gave a peak of the source of the crimson splatter.

She felt unnervingly calm. This wasn't the worst thing to have happened but watching the rush of people, the tanglement of bodies as they struggled to put the raving killer into the police car, the people screaming for a bus and pushing past each other felt like a fever dream, like she wasn't actually there. It was all out of body and surreal. Then, there was him. Calmly kneeling, examining her with the same coolness he always had at every scene. Lilac doe eyes watched him intently, a split ashen brow cocked in befuddlement.

"Is this the worst thing they've seen?" She asked in a soft, tender tone.

@l-ecter

[levixthxn-thegirl]

The exorcist stared pensively at the tape recorder, legs crossed and leaned over to one side of the chair, her thumb pressed against her cheekbone as an anchor so she could rest her head with the leverage of her arm, while the other hand took its place on its respective armrest. The sound of which the tape player was projecting was a recording of someone who was very disturbed, screeching unintelligible stream of gibberish while in a state of great hysteria. At least, to everyone else, it would sound unintelligible. But to her trained ear, Ambrosine could pick up the language was being screamed by the taped individual was Kione Greek. What would've been a pleasant surprise by the fact that someone, a presumed layman, knowing which an old language, was overcame by disgust, for the words were the definition of vulgarity. She at times almostout of habit crossed herself but restrained herself out of fear it would be inappropriate.

After what seem like fair enough about of time, Ambrosine moved from her comfortable position and pressed the 'STOP' button, now plunging the air of the room to silence. At least before she spoke up.

"Our patient has some colorful language. You're honestly lucky you didn't understand it."

[levixthxn-thegirl]

Cold winds bit at Ambrosine’s face and ears, like icy serrated blades, but she was unbothered overall by the winter chill. It was a welcomed reprieve to the sweltering heat that she lived in. She would rather stand the icy winds from Satan wings over the lake of fire any day.

She was made to wait outside of the yellow tape that blocked off the area until she was allowed entry into the crime scene, which gave her time to reflect on the brief glimpse she did see of the grotesque display. Just that bare second alone was enough to sear that image into her mind. Another drop in the bucket, another biblical horror to add to the books, and to test her foundations of her faith, which were already showing their first cracks under the weight.

"I hate it when they go the Old Testament route...", she murmured softly to herself, watching as the investigators scurried around with purpose, each fulfilling their part in the greater scheme of this investigation.