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The man looks brave upon his table, staring challenging at him. This man was so insurmountably rude and, although he admired the sentiment, foolish. Trying to prevent another kill. Approaching at the moment the woman started to fade. A mistake soon fixed by a few blows and dealt with. Perhaps he would make Will a large dinner, or perhaps a small dinner party. Abigail's birthday was coming up after all.
A muffled shout caught Hannibal from his reverie. The man glared hateful and vicious. Hannibal carefully peeled off the tape, allowing for no marks to come to the surface and the man to speak. The man began to shout and Hannibal grimaced.
He searched his tools to find a way to silence the angry bull. A glint caught his eye and lept into his awaiting hands. He handed the spreader with steady hands, opening the mouth and displaying the meat within. He gripped the tongue lightly but firmly and with a delicate grace of only the finest surgeons, slid the knife into a shallow slit width wide. He allowed the blood to flow and the man tried to thrash against the unending tide of his life going down his throat. More pressure, a deeper fissure and the meat was severed. He places the cut in a dish, gentle as not to damage the meat farther. He moves to the chest cavity and begins to cut a deep Y in the barrel, along the collarbone, down the sternum. It makes less noise now, chocking and gurgling. He peels the skin back, spreads the ribs with a brute show of strength and he gathers organs like corn in a field, plucking firmly but gentle and he prepares to make his feast.
Sometimes, one can afford cowardice.