MEDIEVAL.tired eyes. coffee stains on the table. listening to the bustle of the city. unmade beds. loose ponytails. sunlight seeping through the curtains. chapped lips. walking barefoot across the floorboards. dusty dictionaries. black and white reruns. huge sweaters. the ticking of the clock. hearing birds in the morning. fireplaces. falling asleep during class.
RENAISSANCE.freckles. the sun rising. watching the sea. taking shots of the city. historical museums. bright eyes. looking up at the clouds. walls covered in artworks. drawing in the middle of lessons. tracing your fingers on the sand. painting for hours. staying in uncrowded coffee-shops. worn paperbacks. messy braids. going to bed with your socks on.
BAROQUE. dark hair.a little sophisticated. always observing the world around you. intricate designs. high ceilings. extravagant musical pieces. dim lights. colourless photographs. fancy furniture. pale skin. hearing soft footfalls coming from outside the room. mischievous looks. bitten nails. candlelight dinners. dark shades of lipstick.
CLASSICAL. chandeliers. the clinking of a teacup. laced clothing. modern architecture. light hair. watching the view from the terrace. hidden birthmarks. drinking tea in the morning. wandering about in an empty building. botanical gardens. old films. ancient marble sculptures.expensive perfume.breakfasts in bed. reading about mythology.
ROMANTIC. compassion. short writings on scraps of paper. blushed cheeks. a bouquet of roses. reading collections of poetry late at night. loose hair. carpeted floors. attending operas. faint music playing in the background. staying under the covers until midday. the night sky. streetlights. picking flowers. dancing around in silk dresses. scented candles.
Send me “DOWNPOUR” for my muse to show up on your muse’s doorstep during a rainstorm, drenched and shaking from the cold. / @nightmareunderthepillow
Clarice Starling feels a sense of loss as she drives to Will’s house. Her badge is gone, her guns are gone, and her boot knife is gone, too. She has John Brigham’s badge and guns in her closet, but she has no need for those yet.
The rain tries to do a number on her Mustang, but she manages to drive through the off-roads fairly decently. It’s when she gets out of her car that she really feels the impact of the weather, but one of Will’s dogs that runs up to her clears away some of her agitation. She bends down for a moment and lets it lick her cheek, unable to resist an amused grin when it jumps onto her knees and leaves mud all over her clothes.
She doesn’t give a shit.
Within a few moments, she’s on her feet again and walking alongside the drenched dog to Will’s front door. While she waits after knocking, she tries to remember how many dogs Will said he has. Seven…?
“Nothing, indeed,” Clarice responds, finishing the last bite of her dessert.
In their home, the servants are denied access to the dining area after the first course of their nightly meals. This way, they may finish their evenings in whichever way they’d please.
It appears that tonight they retreat to the past, never an indecorous subject within the household. They both hold on to those who once died: a night watchman and a little girl who loved the color purple. Still, these figures are seen as what they truly are: figments of once-hopeful imaginations… Never truly gone, they live on in the respective mind palaces — sharing some walls — of Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling. The former, no longer looking to place Mischa within the bounds of Clarice Starling; the latter, no longer looking to her father for her ideas of justice and injustice.
Starling’s jaw hardens at the thought. She’s sure that Hannibal can sense the defensiveness bubbling within her, too, which almost makes her want to smack him. ( She would never do such a thing, but she has one reassuring thought: he can’t read minds. )
Starling briefly pulls away from Hannibal and questions him with a hard gaze. She obliges his request, however, by settling for walking side-by-side–- not too closely, of course. They could be friends, lovers, or some other kind of label that passersby push onto them, especially judging by the impassivity of Starling’s face.
“Safe?” she mutters, not looking at him for purposes related to appearance. “I’m pretty damn sure safe hasn’t been in my vocabulary since we met.”
It may strike a chord within him, Starling referencing a sense of precariousness. Of course it’s true; being on the run with a world-famous cannibal isn’t the safest life path. Still, they’ve managed for enough months, and, at the thought, she almost regrets her sharp commentary.
They have, thus far, done the best that they can do.
“Well, I still want my Italian lessons,” she continues, walking beside him. “That would help, wouldn’t it?” With security and an incognito appearance, she means. No one would ever assume Clarice M. Starling would learn Italian.
Between the two women lies the National Tattler’s already-infamous tabloid: “DEATH ANGEL: CLARICE STARLING, THE FBI’S KILLING MACHINE.” Neither of them has touched it since the younger one placed it upon the table in the first place. The older one has already scrutinized a street-cart’s copy—- before she crumbled it and threw it into a trash can a few feet away.
“ You chose life.”
Only for a few moments do her steely eyes deign to flicker over and away from the images accompanying the article. Her thin lips flatten into almost nothing and she shrugs her elbows onto the table, effectively covering some of the print.
“ You chose life and these images don’t show that. Your men probably won’t believe you, either. Crawford, maybe. Brigham would’ve, too.” The latter’s name sits wistfully in the air for a moment, his grossly premature death an elephant standing in the room. “But Krendler and the others… I don’t know how this’ll work. But I do know one thing: not at all. I’m not disappointed at all. And you surely shouldn’t be.”
More of a question that should be asked in a class of grade school students than posed between professionals - but the basement office’s entire supply of yellow #2s are currently stuck in the ceiling, well out of the diminutive agent’s reach.
[ They killed him. ] ✕✕
Clear eyes dart to the ceiling as thin lips simultaneously twitch for but a moment into the ghost of a smile. Starling has been ac- quainted with Fox Mulder and is not surprised by the cluster of #2 pencils out of reach.
Nonetheless, sharp chin lowers so that gaze is fixed upon figure opposite ( a tiny thing, just like herself ).
And lithe hand, in response, ( she managed seventy-four with her left; ninety with her right. “Get serious, Starling, you’re not good enough either. I want to see that left hand over ninety before you graduate.”) reaches into shirt pocket to unfasten a mechanical pencil from the deep blue hem.
The woman wordlessly proffers Scully the requested item.
“Have you seen him lately?” He won’t say the name. She knows who he means. “I’m sure he’s enjoying the hospital food.”
[ They killed him. ] ✕✕
By odd, minute chance, an animated expression had been lining Starling’s angular visage. All of such disintegrates into a deadpan expression once current position of the acclaimed ‘Good Doctor’ is mentioned.
… I have. Of course he hates the food. Of course I’m not here to talk about him. God damnit, Will Graham. I’m not here to make you talk about your past.
“He speaks highly of it.” She will not mention the fact that she saw that man but a day ago.
One thing before proceeding: I am a full-time university student with a full-time job. As a rule of thumb, I will not respond to threads in a timely manner. I only post replies when I have some free time outside of my other hobbies, which is not often. If this turns you off to writing with me, that’s okay. I just want to make this clear in advance!
…ONWARDS!
I. Default verse: during- and post-TSOTL.
The default verse for this blog is set after The Silence of the Lambs, during which Clarice is a Special Agent of the FBI. However, I have also read Hannibal, so I can ( and would love to ) write in that verse as well! There is a remarkable difference in Starling’s character between The Silence of the Lambs and Hannibal—- if you would like a specific verse, please tell me.
Please note that I prefer book and movie canon to show canon; however, I can adapt Clarice to said canon without problems.
II. Small, private blog.
I tend to follow a very small amount of people only because I tend to interact with a small amount of people. I also prefer a smaller audience to read my writing, to be honest. This is not personal.
Thus, mutuals-only with regard to all interaction.
III. Ask prompts, reblog karma, etc.
Feel free to send in memes or questions at any time. I am more than happy to write multiple threads, and accept and send multiple ask prompts.
I tend to send in multiple ask prompts when I am close with another writer. This is not me pressuring you! It’s just me exploring our characters’ dynamic(s).
After all, we’re all here for one thing: to explore our characters!
IV. Shipping.
I will never force a ship on you, despite personal biases! ( I.e., Clannibal. )
V. Multi-verse, mains, exclusives.
There are massive quantities of AUs on this blog!
I am also very keen on the notion of exclusivity and mains, so feel free to drop me a line if we’ve talked enough ic or ooc. It’s really great to build solid relationships between characters when we have lots of threads going with each other. It’s the shit.
VI. Violence, god modding, etc.
God modding is not chill. Killing or causing serious harm to Clarice is considered god modding to me, but do not sacrifice your character’s personality for ‘nice’ interactions! Pushing, shoving, yelling — all fine. Just nothing serious unless you consult with me first hand.
VII. Discord info.
My Discord (forjustice #4751 ) is always available for threads outside of Tumblr. I tend to write more often via Discord since I am not on my laptop that often. Feel free to exchange user IDs with me so we can write or chat, or do a bit of both! Just let me know your URL when you do!
VIII. Triggers.
I have no triggers, save for screamers, and I will gladly tag triggers for you. This is what a trigger tag looks like: ‘ abuse // '
IX. Lastly...
Please keep in mind that roleplaying is a hobby and not a job.
* Protocol sounds tough, but it’s really not! As long as we read each other’s and generally abide by it, all will run smoothly. I’m an extremely gregarious person and I always welcome ic and/or ooc interaction! Never feel scared to send in an IM or message or anything of the like. We’re all here to write together, anyway!
** Please do not steal any graphics or any writing that you see on this blog. Unless otherwise stated, it is all of my creation.
*** This blog is in no way affiliated with Jodie Foster, Clarice Starling, or Thomas Harris.
