anamusebouche (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
anamusebouche) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
londoncallingrpg2015-09-03 09:50 am
anamusebouche) wrote in londoncallingrpg2015-09-03 09:50 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Ellard Doyle was a sad little man. No doubt his youth had something to do with this. Abused and used, he was one of Emmett Whitfordshire’s many victims – and many more men besides him.
He’d bravely crawled out of that life, changed his name, died his hair, but he was never able to leave behind the nightmares of his past. He worked in IT, kept mostly to himself, suffered various nervous ticks and was known as a loner bordering the anti-social.
Most importantly, though, he wasn’t Alcuin and he wasn’t Felix.
One thing Hannibal was not going to allow was Alcuin spending the rest of his life in fear he might be guilty of the murder of Whitfordshire. His mental state was too fragile for that still, and he might do something foolish, such as confessing to the crime, to himself, to his friends, or to the police.
Felix, of course, had been an easy option to frame for the murder, but he was a good friend to Alcuin, and an interesting young man Hannibal wasn’t quite willing to part with yet.
Someone else had to do. And that someone was Ellard Doyle.
Framing him was quite easy. He obsessively kept news clippings of Whitfordshire’s murder in his sad little flat, and a digital diary in which he described the hell that was his daily life.
It was easy enter his flat and wait for him there. Killing him would have been easy, but Hannibal had opted to talk to him instead. Their meeting ended with Ellard typing his suicide note and putting a gun to his head to end his misery. It was quite beautiful, to see him relieve himself of the burden of life. And as he pulled the trigger he gave Hannibal a little thankful nod.
All Hannibal did, was to add a confession of murder to the suicide note, and that was it. Ellard Doyle became Whitfordshire’s murderer.
The next day he read about it in the newspaper, over a delicious cup of coffee, in his favourite café. He hoped Alcuin would read it soon too.
He’d bravely crawled out of that life, changed his name, died his hair, but he was never able to leave behind the nightmares of his past. He worked in IT, kept mostly to himself, suffered various nervous ticks and was known as a loner bordering the anti-social.
Most importantly, though, he wasn’t Alcuin and he wasn’t Felix.
One thing Hannibal was not going to allow was Alcuin spending the rest of his life in fear he might be guilty of the murder of Whitfordshire. His mental state was too fragile for that still, and he might do something foolish, such as confessing to the crime, to himself, to his friends, or to the police.
Felix, of course, had been an easy option to frame for the murder, but he was a good friend to Alcuin, and an interesting young man Hannibal wasn’t quite willing to part with yet.
Someone else had to do. And that someone was Ellard Doyle.
Framing him was quite easy. He obsessively kept news clippings of Whitfordshire’s murder in his sad little flat, and a digital diary in which he described the hell that was his daily life.
It was easy enter his flat and wait for him there. Killing him would have been easy, but Hannibal had opted to talk to him instead. Their meeting ended with Ellard typing his suicide note and putting a gun to his head to end his misery. It was quite beautiful, to see him relieve himself of the burden of life. And as he pulled the trigger he gave Hannibal a little thankful nod.
All Hannibal did, was to add a confession of murder to the suicide note, and that was it. Ellard Doyle became Whitfordshire’s murderer.
The next day he read about it in the newspaper, over a delicious cup of coffee, in his favourite café. He hoped Alcuin would read it soon too.
no subject
no subject
"Enjoying a quick and smooth return to the shadows," Hannibal said. "Certain parts of my private life had suddenly become matter of public interest, but I believe the novelty of it finally wore off."
no subject
no subject
"It's not a position I wish to anyone who did not seek it," Hannibal agreed. "Fortunately, that is at an end."
He took a sip of his coffee, then regarded Miss Ives again. "How are your books?"
no subject
no subject
"I'd love to," Hannibal replied, genuinely. "From both a culinary and historical perspective."
no subject
no subject
As if easily charmed, Hannibal smiled. "I will be looking forward to it," he assured. "Would an evening appointment suit? Or should I come by day?"
no subject
no subject
"The time shortly after the vacation season is usually my most busy time. An evening would certainly be preferable. This Friday?" He asked. "And if I find something that begs to be replicated into the 21st century, you will have to allow me to cook it for you some day."
no subject
no subject
"A little peak into the 15th century is more than I could ask for it," Hannibal replied with a kind smile. "It is I who wishes to repay you."
no subject