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I'm still kind of proud of it. Though maybe I shouldn't be.

A bit of backstory: Hannibal Niccals, older brother of Murdoc Niccals. High School AU. He was normally a quiet kid, illiterate and shy. Asthmatic and generally sickly. Tiny. Spooky but not generally violent. There had been some sort of plot device that I don't quite remember (this was years ago and rp is a silly thing at heart) but he became rather...well...American Psycho? I loved this kid and writing this bit of narrative has stuck with me since then. So I found it tonight to post here.

MAHS I'll miss you terribly forever.



Pest Control or "Hannibal Finds a Hobby"

There had been a few homeless people loitering around the shop lately...beggars, filth, worthless...and Hannibal had begun to think that something had to be done about it. It's his shop, his place, and they had no right to be there. They rarely purchased anything, and when they did it was the cheapest item on the menu. That's no way to run a business! Besides, they were scaring away the paying customers.

So at night he puts on his long coat. It was purchased used, admittedly, but it still looked practically new. When something is quality, you can tell. He walks. He can't trust his car to be reliable and the crisp night are feels good in his lungs anyway. His breathing is a bit strained and he finds it disappointing that the treatment couldn't help with his asthma. Still, it's a nice night and he tries not to dwell on it too much; there are bigger things to think about. Hannibal can't help but smile to himself at that.

It takes a while for him to get to the alley behind the shop, but he's in no hurry. In fact, he takes his time, humming softly. This is quite possibly the best mood he's been in in quite some time. He's not sure if it's the treatment or the excitement, but he's almost giddy.

The alleyway is dark and it takes a moment or two for his eyes to adjust. Still, no hurry. His mouth quirks into a grin when he sees them, curled among the rubbish scattered about; huddled in their filth. It's good that they're asleep. Hannibal is small and he knows it. Sleeping, they won't fight back. Fighting back could get...tiresome. A slight hand movement and the hammer comes out of his coat. It feels nice, heavy, solid. He cocks his head to the side, looking strangely young and wide-eyed. Innocent.

A few careful, quiet steps and he's on them. Hannibal is very good at quiet. There's a swift blow to the heads of the two people (and can they really be considered people?) just to make sure they're out. Can't have them waking up and making a racket. Middle Area is a quiet town, after all.

Once precautions have been made, he can do things properly. Doing things properly is important. Straightening for a moment, he surveys his workplace. Good, good. His grip is tightened a bit and he gets to work, bringing down the hammer again and again. The sound of metal crushing bone can be heard and Hannibal is unable to suppress a little giggle. Why didn't he think of doing this before?

When he's certain it's finished, the hammer is placed back in his coat on the little loop put there for just that reason. He'll clean it later, at home. He wipes some blood from his face with the back of his hand and takes a pull from his inhaler before breaking into a low, breathless chuckle. All in all, things went very well. He'll call the police in the morning.

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Bec Martin

May 2017

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