[universal song]

res, I'll have to come up with something for this

[park.]

marky mark~

[crackerbox_palace]

mark

[Yuroshi]

Username:
Name:
Gender:
Prompt:
Mmmmark

[cyberdragon725]

Possible res

[Snuggle_Bean]

ahaha!!! I always loved this viscet!!

Username: Skyler1515
Name: Pigeon
Gender: Female
Prompt:
Pigeon hopes to get over her fears of the dark creeks and the target markey, (it's a bad organization who steals infants and uses or sells them at the target market as sacrifices, or targets). She was stolen at a young age, she remembers bits and peices, as she gets older. they names her pigeon which means a person who is targeted or Deceived.
She was sold around and used until she was rescued by the angel creeks ( which is an organization for rescued viscets from the target market.) They let them loose in a protective area. Pigeon was relived she was rescued but she joined the wrong group in the protection area that they broke free and she worries every day she would be captured again and entering the trade again.

[dragonstars]

Username:
Name:
Gender:
Prompt:
res :>

[Peyto1217]

Username: Peyto1217
Name: Ace
Gender: male
Prompt:

Wip!

[corgiboy]

Username:
SteampunkVale
Name:
Gender:
Prompt:

[milo.]

| UN: milo. | N: Michael "Mikey" | G/GFBP: male |

They are staring at each other from across their shared space quietly. Where Hannibal is rather neutral in expression, legs crossed and notepad balanced lazily against his knee as he studies the other, Michael is clearly struggling with his thoughts and emotions. Large ears are twitching, brows knit and brilliant greens squinting as he stares at a spot on the table situated between them. He's growing angrier by the second, and though Hannibal senses this he allows the male to be overwhelmed with himself. Michael wishes he had something to focus on aside from his anger and frustration-- a stain in the carpet or a ring left by a coffee mug on the glass of the table. Anything. He lacks disorder in this otherwise pristine office space, and after a few more rhythmic ticks of the clock on the far wall, Michael jumps to his feet with a growl.

Hannibal looks all too pleased with himself as the two-toned male begins to pace with arms thrown up over his head in frustration.

"Wha'dya want me t'say, Doc, huh? My life is boring now! Utterly boring! Retirement is supposed to be relaxing, and yet all I'm left doin' at the end of the day is pickin' up the pieces of my broken marriage, breakin' up fights between my kids and tryin' ta find any semblance of peace and quiet like I'd been promised years ago!" Michael's chest is utterly heaving with his stress, his voice fluctuating and rising with each word bitten out between grit fangs. "I had it all, Doc. I had it all. I had a honey at my side and two gorgeous kids, and at the end of it all it was a'posed to be white picket fences and all'at jazz. Y'know? Now what do I got, huh? A wife that would rather anyone else but me, and two kids that don't even know I exist! Is that what my life has come to? Is that what I'm destined to live with the rest of my days? A family that don't give no care 'bout one another? Fancy houses and fancy cars are great, but this is... this is just unsatisfactory, Doc. I don't wish this on nobody."

Hannibal hums quietly in his throat, a paw lifting so he may scribble on his notepad. Michael watches with eyes like a hawk, ears slicking back against his skull as he tries to make out just what the therapist is writing down. Michael had always been sort of prone to rants and raves-- he claimed that his therapy sessions never helped him, but at the end of the day, it was the simple fact he could let it all out and talk to someone that helped him exponentially. Michael couldn't reveal the whole truth. Despite the fact he'd been promised that anything between them would stay between them, the retired criminal couldn't take that chance. He'd faked his own death after all, and it wouldn't be so simple coming back from the dead if Hannibal were to reveal that information to anyone and it got leaked somehow. No, no. He'd have to lie through his teeth. Tell him the basics of his personal life, but leave his true history out of it. Perhaps that was why he was still so angry.. so wound up. He couldn't be honest with anyone in his life.

It was frustrating. It was boring. It was routine.

"What do you want, Michael?" Hannibal's melodic and heavily accented voice finally breaks the tense silence between them and Michael tilts his head to gaze at the other with question in his expression. The older male offers a tight smile, body shifting so he may lean more comfortably back in his seat. Michael hesitantly seats himself again, feeling a little silly for having stood and displayed dramatics with his rant. The tuxedo male shakes his head, an empty laugh accompanying the action. Hannibal tilts his head as well to mirror the other, eyes sharp on him and intense. "It is a simple question, Michael. What do you want? What does your ideal future hold?"

"Simple," Michael spits the word out like a bad taste in his mouth, ears flicking in irritation at the question. Nothing ever came simply to Michael. It was why he had chosen the life he did-- he fought, and fought, and fought some more all his life. Even in his retirement he was still fighting. It was then that the male has a revelation, however. As intense and dangerous as his life had been before retirement, it was never dull. It was never routine. It was something he found pride in, and something he was good at. He wasn't good at raising children, he wasn't good at being a husband, and he was certainly no family man. He was no good to anyone, especially himself, just sitting around the poolside of his manor listening to music and snacking all day long. "Ain't nothin' simple 'bout my life, Doc. 'Specially that question. How am I a'posed to know what I want for my future? It ain't happen yet."

That was a lie, and Hannibal knew it full well. But how could Michael begin to explain that he wanted to get back into heists? He couldn't just casually admit to wanting to rob a bank, or set up some elaborate scheme to rob a jewellery store. Car chases were fun and exciting. Evading the cops was fun and exciting. It was the life he'd lived since adolescence, and honestly it was the life he figured he should still be living. Hannibal was the best of his field for a reason-- he certainly wasn't stupid and he could see through Michael's lies as clear as day. Another hum, and Hannibal uncrosses his legs so he may lean forward and prop his elbows on his knees. Ambers stare at the other at length, the hulking male silent and still as he examines him. Michael can't help but shift under his gaze. He wasn't normally unnerved by others, but Hannibal had an air about him.

"I guess.. I just want excitement again. Y'know?"

Ah, there it was. Hannibal blinks once before leaning back again, satisfied with the admittance. "Very good, Michael. Many of those in retirement do not stay there for long due to boredom. They return to work, or find other work to fill their days. You are still very young, and you have a long life ahead of you. Retiring this early in life is ideal for many, but a means to an end for others; such as yourself."

The tuxedo male huffs a sigh, tail curling around his waist in subconscious self preservation. He felt entirely too open and vulnerable now. "Look, Doc. I just wanna get back into what I know I'm good at. I wanna... I wanna--" The criminal cuts himself off, words trailing off as his hands wave listlessly. Hannibal nods in understanding, tight lipped smile finally parting his maw into a small grin. The porcelain white of his fangs glint dangerously against the black of his greying muzzle.

"You want to get back into the game." Hannibal answers for him, and Michael offers a clipped nod in response.

"I can't stand when people call it that," The two-toned male shoots Hannibal a glare, but not in any real ill fashion. His blood, however, is beginning to boil again. "A game. It ain't no game. There was no shoots and ladders about it. I was at the top, y'know? I was at the top. I want that power again. I ain't got no say in anything that happens in my family, and I'm the man of the house! I want that back, who wouldn't? I want that respect again, I want that thrill. I wanna bust down doors and feel stacks of cash in my paws again. I want jewels and artifacts, I want to live on the wild side! None of this family guy, provider bull--"

Hannibal shifts in his seat and it's enough to make Michael realise he's revealed far more than he wanted to in his tirade. A thick swallow follows his silence, tongue lolling out to lick along his maw nervously. The therapist, however, merely grins more widely and nods languidly. "I believe that is all we have time for today, Michael."

The slighter male glances at the ticking clock, noting it has been one hour right on the button. Hannibal hadn't even looked-- hadn't taken his eyes off Michael once. It causes an anxious shiver to slither up his spine. Instead of answering, however, the male simply drops his muzzle to stare at that spot on the table once more. He's trying to wrap his head around everything that had just happened, what he has just revealed: what he's going to do about it now.

"Michael."

"Yeah, yeah." Michael finally lifts his gaze to meet the therapists, tail uncurling from around himself so he can stand on uneasy paws. "Same time next week, Doc?"

Hannibal nods once more, turning his attention back to his notepad so he may begin writing his notes for the session. Michael stands still a beat longer before making his way around the table, passing by Hannibal's chair and flicking his eyes to the notepad to try and make out anything being written. He's disappointed to see it's being written in a foreign language. Hannibal pauses, and Michael feels himself heating up at the knowledge he's been caught looking-- they lock eyes for a moment before Michael waves his hand at the other lazily, as though completely uninterested in anything he's doing. "See ya later, Doc."

"I look forward to it, Michael. You can tell me all about your heists and robberies next week."

The retired criminal swallows audibly, offering the other a quiet and amused chuckle as he leaves the office-- but he's leaning against the door with heart thudding and face flushing the moment he closes it behind him. "Way t'go, Mikey." he grumbles to himself, rolling his eyes to the ceiling with annoyance in himself. "Real slick."

Hannibal belongs to james.
(1716 words)
headshot by james.