(Book!verse) Dexter Morgan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darkly_dreaming) wrote2016-12-30 02:27 pm
darkly_dreaming) wrote2016-12-30 02:27 pm
Log [Dexter and Hannibal]
WHO: Hannibal Lecter (NBC's Hannibal) and Dexter Morgan (Dexter Novels)
WHAT: Hannibal gets sent to Miami as a consultant and decides to kick back and relax with some mocking copycat murders. Dexter catches wind of him.
WHERE: Miami
WARNINGS: Probably mentions of cannibalism, murder, serial killers, etc...
To almost everyone who worked busily at Miami's Police Department, this day was as normal as any other. There were fresh murders to investigate, there was awful coffee in the employee area in back, and as per usual Dexter had brought a box of donuts to work in order to placate the simple minds of his co-workers. Serial killers were not kind enough to bring everyone donuts, you see.
But to Dexter Morgan, today was a very strange day indeed. There were files the inbox, which sat in his own little office; this is par for the course for most days. But then diligent Dexter noticed something a touch peculiar. The victim in his file was something more than a drunken jealous murder by amateurs; this body was interesting...
There were drilled holes in the bones, for one. It wasn't random torture, though. Dexter had in fact seen these exact drill marks before, from a killer who used to string his victims up like marionettes.
Problem being, Dexter had already murdered that guy and dumped his dissected carcass into the ocean. So it was extremely unlikely that the same man had done this. Of course, he couldn't exactly share this information with anyone, so Dexter had to let the detectives chase thier tails on this, not that it really bothered him.
What did bother him though, were the subtle little differences in the body...
So it was that with a stack of glossy photos Dexter vacated his office in favor of sitting somewhere with apt table space. His search led to a conference room that was currently open for use (and by some fantastic coincidence, it was also the room that housed his half empty box of delicious donuts), so Dexter strolled in, whistling brightly as he dropped the photos on the lacquered table.
Now, about those differences...
Dexter sorted the shots for easy comparison, using both the photos of one of Pupito's (the marionette killer) victims as well as photos of his apparent new victim. Minutes flaked away in the air conditioned room with Dexter carefully looking between the shots of each victim. For one thing... whomever this copycat was, he had a much better sense of how the human body worked than Pupito did. The drill-holes were placed in slightly better positions on the body, if the end goal was moving it around like a puppet. The tools used were of higher quality too, cutting cleanly into the bone, while the previous victim showed more signs of trauma round the drill holes.
For a moment, Dexter cannot help but wonder what kind of drill was used. He could always go for buying some new toys... a slightly dreamy smile touched his face-- though it was stained dark, and not at all like a smile should look. But in barely a moment the look is gone, and Dexter replaces his Happy Worker mask with ease. He remembered that there was a new consultant on staff, on loan from the Baltimore sect of the FBI. He supposed he ought to politely introduce himself and put out some feelers; it wasn't too long ago he'd been caught in the cross-hairs of an FBI agent's suspicions. Though if he wanted to fake optimism, Dexter could always guess the new hire was due to the staggering number of unsolved murders cropping up as of late.
And yes, Dexter could have solved a good portion of them. He simply chose not to, still on the coattails of his terrible love affair with internet fame. The calls for interviews and appearances had slowed to a trickle, and with any luck, they'd be gone completely in a week or two. Reporters can have dreadfully short attention spans with so many murders flying about. Hopefully everyone would forget about the handsome lab geek that could solve crimes with his killer mind. Old news is old news, right?
A careful talon pokes Dexter's shoulder, and a cold whisper breaths against his ear.
'What?' Dexter wonders, glancing first back to the photos, and then towards the doorway.
Had someone snuck in for a donut while he'd been mulling this over?
WHAT: Hannibal gets sent to Miami as a consultant and decides to kick back and relax with some mocking copycat murders. Dexter catches wind of him.
WHERE: Miami
WARNINGS: Probably mentions of cannibalism, murder, serial killers, etc...
To almost everyone who worked busily at Miami's Police Department, this day was as normal as any other. There were fresh murders to investigate, there was awful coffee in the employee area in back, and as per usual Dexter had brought a box of donuts to work in order to placate the simple minds of his co-workers. Serial killers were not kind enough to bring everyone donuts, you see.
But to Dexter Morgan, today was a very strange day indeed. There were files the inbox, which sat in his own little office; this is par for the course for most days. But then diligent Dexter noticed something a touch peculiar. The victim in his file was something more than a drunken jealous murder by amateurs; this body was interesting...
There were drilled holes in the bones, for one. It wasn't random torture, though. Dexter had in fact seen these exact drill marks before, from a killer who used to string his victims up like marionettes.
Problem being, Dexter had already murdered that guy and dumped his dissected carcass into the ocean. So it was extremely unlikely that the same man had done this. Of course, he couldn't exactly share this information with anyone, so Dexter had to let the detectives chase thier tails on this, not that it really bothered him.
What did bother him though, were the subtle little differences in the body...
So it was that with a stack of glossy photos Dexter vacated his office in favor of sitting somewhere with apt table space. His search led to a conference room that was currently open for use (and by some fantastic coincidence, it was also the room that housed his half empty box of delicious donuts), so Dexter strolled in, whistling brightly as he dropped the photos on the lacquered table.
Now, about those differences...
Dexter sorted the shots for easy comparison, using both the photos of one of Pupito's (the marionette killer) victims as well as photos of his apparent new victim. Minutes flaked away in the air conditioned room with Dexter carefully looking between the shots of each victim. For one thing... whomever this copycat was, he had a much better sense of how the human body worked than Pupito did. The drill-holes were placed in slightly better positions on the body, if the end goal was moving it around like a puppet. The tools used were of higher quality too, cutting cleanly into the bone, while the previous victim showed more signs of trauma round the drill holes.
For a moment, Dexter cannot help but wonder what kind of drill was used. He could always go for buying some new toys... a slightly dreamy smile touched his face-- though it was stained dark, and not at all like a smile should look. But in barely a moment the look is gone, and Dexter replaces his Happy Worker mask with ease. He remembered that there was a new consultant on staff, on loan from the Baltimore sect of the FBI. He supposed he ought to politely introduce himself and put out some feelers; it wasn't too long ago he'd been caught in the cross-hairs of an FBI agent's suspicions. Though if he wanted to fake optimism, Dexter could always guess the new hire was due to the staggering number of unsolved murders cropping up as of late.
And yes, Dexter could have solved a good portion of them. He simply chose not to, still on the coattails of his terrible love affair with internet fame. The calls for interviews and appearances had slowed to a trickle, and with any luck, they'd be gone completely in a week or two. Reporters can have dreadfully short attention spans with so many murders flying about. Hopefully everyone would forget about the handsome lab geek that could solve crimes with his killer mind. Old news is old news, right?
A careful talon pokes Dexter's shoulder, and a cold whisper breaths against his ear.
'What?' Dexter wonders, glancing first back to the photos, and then towards the doorway.
Had someone snuck in for a donut while he'd been mulling this over?
no subject
No, but something is happening. Hannibal is, to all external appearances, merely politely interested and waiting, but internally he has eyes only for the tableau in front of him and most specifically for Dexter. He sees Dexter's human mask slip a little, offering only a tantalizing hint that there's something beneath, but that hint tells him that dear Mr. Morgan is much more interesting than he'd initially thought.
He makes a note to find out where Dexter lives.
Particularly when the man finally homes in on the detail that really matters. All this from some pressure from his sister and a few minutes of an almost meditative re-examination of the photos?
He maintains his polite silence until Deborah includes him in the discussion, then he takes up the photo and examines, mentally critiquing its artistic composition rather than searching for some detail he'd missed before. It's actually quite lovely in its precision and he enjoys it for its gory whimsy, but he wears a neutral mask when he looks away from it to Deborah. "I think that your brother is correct that there is tissue missing. Based on what I have seen of the other crime scene photographs, it's possible that the flesh was taken in the interest of improving movement, but it's also possible that your perpetrator is now taking trophies."
Or ingredients...
no subject
"You you think there's a chance Dex might be right?" Deborah sounds slightly incredulous, but not as though she's completely dismissing the idea. Her hard gaze cuts to her brother and she sticks her chin out slightly. "You done with your loser streak, Dex?"
Dexter holds up his hands in defense and adapts a look of hurt.
"Deborah, I always inform you to the best of my ability. Maybe I'm just not as talented as you think." This is a lovely conversation to have with the FBI's consultant on hand; see? all this fuss and fanfare streamed across the blogosphere about Dexter is overblown, silly conjecture.
Still, his younger sister gives him a little snarl and pins him with what is certainly a Tough Cop gaze.
"Don't bullshit me, Dex. I know you've got these sick fucks all figured out. Just hope you've finally decided to stop dicking around." Deborah swings her attention back to Hannibal, fiercely assessing him for a few moments. "Thanks," she finally says with a curt little nod. "Guess if you think there's half a chance he's not crazy, we can check it out. I'll call the morgue and get the lab geeks on this."
And she's gone, stalking off elsewhere into the station.
"My dearest sister," Dexter's care and irritation are portioned evenly into his voice. "Charming, isn't she?" he's also an expert with faintly applied sarcasm. He would rather not have had that conversation in front of someone else, but Deborah bulldozed right through that preference. "Our father was also a cop; he didn't exactly stress subtly."
Dexter sits back a little in his chair, covering a clinical scan with a look of friendly attentiveness. Whatever Hannibal's reaction was, he kept it under a wrap of subtly. Should he be cautious, he wonders?
"It was very nice to have a little back up," he adds, manually warming his smile a few degrees. "Now we just have to figure out what someone wanted with several discrete slices of muscle tissue. Assuming, of course, that I'm correct." That cheery desensitization has to be because he sees death every day, right? Oh, totally correct. Dexter is already certain he's right, but since he doesn't really want to get into the 'how' of it, he keeps the boasting toned down.