AN-So there ya go. 'throws glitter into the air'
Not Beta Read.
Title is from Imagine Dragons cause I like the song and am too lazy to look for appropriate classical music.

OoOoO

Tonight on the eve of the Hunter's moon, the clans were meeting like they always did and always had since the beginning when the first vampire rose from out of the earth to reach for the night sky with blood stained hands. It was to celebrate the First of their kind, the Mother of Hours, she who thwarted the advances of time and made Death her servant. She who slept deep in the cold earth again by her own volition, arising again some day to feast upon the world like an open vein. Until that fateful night to end all, her children met with one another to keep the peace, to preen, and make alliances and enemies alike. Eternity was so dull without either of the latter.

Not that Hannibal would know of such things. True, he was well acquainted with enemies, attempting to make them as frequent as possible, but even more so with boredom. In all his centuries though, he had yet to find another worthy enough to call 'friend'. Like he had done time and time again, Hannibal dressed for the Court of the Timeless in his finest, cladding his pale body in an armor of knotted silk, slick satin, and the finest wool, cotton, and leather humanity had to offer. He needed no other protection.

With age came power for their kind and so few could claim Hannibal's wealth of years. It was believed that he was among her first children, one of the few vampires to have ever laid eyes on the Mother of Hours. It was a rumor he neither confirmed or denied, letting others come to their own conclusions, most of which were foolish. The truth was so much more than whatever tripe they came up with and far more valuable as a secret, one that Hannibal would probably take to the end of his existence without whispering a hint of it to another soul.

With age though also came a certain kind of loneliness, one even unique for his kind. Vampires were a strange sort of predator that valued their solitude and viciously guarded territory yet sought its own kind's company despite all those instincts. Hence the practice of keeping a coven in a clan of fickle killers.

The leader of the coven was often its creator, that vampire the master of his progeny through advanced age, power, and control of the blood that flowed through their veins. Many of the lasting covens, the ones that survived all the backbiting and inner treachery, were named and represented by their crest at the Court of Hours.

The Murder of Crows belonged to Jack and Bella Crawford, the pair as steadfastly married in undeath as they were in life. Between them, the husband and wife due lead one of the clans that controlled most of the Northeast, their base of operations in Quantico. Their clan served the court as its version of police, carrying out the law of their kind. Though their number was many, three lieutenants were often seen at court with the Crawfords. From what little he knew of trio, Hannibal found that he was actually quite fond of Beverly Katz, the vampire young but spirited, though he loathed Zeller and found Price quite dull. As an advisor to this coven, Hannibal got along well enough with the Crows, Crawford calling upon the older vampire for advice in when certain matters that arose, ones that needed a delicate touch and more experienced insight.

Bedelia Du Maurier was a closer associate of Hannibal's as well as the leader of the Parliament of Owls. This clan ruled over the rest as much as one could. Controlling vampires was much like herding cats, so close ties and alliances were formed between the Crows and Owls, as much out of necessity as survival. Their territories ran parallel with the Crow's own with Virginia, Maryland, and DC as their places of power. Bedelia was supported by her favored children. Clarice Starling, Alana Bloom, and Abigail Hobbs were frequent faces at court, the daughters of midnight all grace, beauty, and shrewd cunning that hid fangs and strange venom that killed painfully slow.

The Wake of Vultures would be there as well, much to Hannibal's distaste. Chilton with his despicable children Abel Gideon, Freddie Lounds, and Miggs in tow always drew ire from the ancient vampire though he kept it hidden well. He realized that their existence was a necessary thing though, the same way that indoor plumbing was needed to move excrement away from where one ate. Their positions in the world of living were medical and media professions, keeping the vampire's existence hidden. Their base of operations was the Baltimore State Hospital of the Criminally Insane.

When people needed to be removed with extreme prejudice or they just needed some entertainment, the enforcers of the clans were called upon. The Unkindness of Ravens were only two vampires, but that was more than enough. Considered savage brutes by all, Buffalo Bill and the Tooth Fairy were seldom seen in person, but their brand of destruction and madness was clear as the daylight none of them could tolerate.

Known by all, but apart of none, Hannibal Lecter was the Lone Wolf, the Pack of None. A devil even among other sinners, Hannibal was unique, grotesquely so to his own kind. He was an eater of the dead, feasting upon the flesh of his victim instead of living off their pulse, that crimson nectar that flowed through the living. A king without a throne, reviled yet honored and recognized by all, Hannibal claimed the city of Baltimore as his territory making a name for himself among the mortals there as the Chesapeake Killer.

The clans tended to frown on his flair for the dramatic and need to stage his kills, but there was very little that they could do about it. The way Hannibal transformed his food into art could never be equated to a vampire attack so their secret was safe. Even if they tried, he was also far too powerful for them to move against, though Freddie seemed to take a particular delight in making his art sound as lewd as possible on her little trash news website.

On this fair night bathed beautiful in silver, Hannibal was supposed to join his kind ill met by moonlight. Feeling the cold night air snap uselessly at his frigid skin, the ancient vampire found he couldn't bring himself to do so, wandering where he willed instead. Lost in thought, Hannibal traveled along roads on swift feet that no human could ever hope to follow, his presence a fast moving shade that caused people to shiver and huddle closer when it moved past or over them.

Traveling with no real direction or goal in mind, Hannibal kept this up until he ran out pf pavement, his impromptu journey taking him into fields and woods of rural Virginia. The vampire only bothered to start paying attention again to his surroundings when he came upon the tiny town of Wolf Trap. Usually he would have never bothered to waste his time in such a place, but when a meal presented itself so vividly who was Hannibal to deny it its death.

Hannibal did not understand human's love for drinking mass amounts of alcohol which essentially poisoned them, and then making the decision to drive while intoxicated. He did know that killing as defenseless animal out of spiteful pleasure and not out of need for food was crass behavior, his sharp eyes studying the drunk's gleeful face after the man intentionally hit a stray dog in the road. The vampire followed the swerving vehicle easily enough as the driver drove further into the dark and deep forests of Virginia, down lonely, unlit back roads.

Running ahead of the truck, Hannibal decided to end this man's life at an empty crossroads, the vampire liking the symbolism of it. Apparently another did as well.

A slight movement in the forest's gloom stayed Hannibal long enough to keep him still as his intended prey was killed by another. The drunk's truck was struck as he ran the crossroad's stop sign, the force of the attack flipping the vehicle like it were a tinker toy. The sturdy frame of the truck saved the driver, but did little to protect stunned man from the creature that tore him out of his seatbelt and through his side window screaming.

What interested Hannibal was that it did not appear to be another vampire or even a werewolf, which were more common in these parts than one would think. Of all creatures great and small, mostly unlikely of all was a wendigo, a nightmare made real claiming Hannibal's dinner for its own.

Pulling night around him to hide in plain sight, Hannibal studied the wicked creature who seemed to be taking great joy in slowly murdering the drunk by breaking all of his bones one by one. It started with his toes and fingers, all the time moving inwardly until the man's torso was cracked wide open ruby and ivory as a pomegranate.

A wendigo was a true rarity even to the children of the night. They were created, not born, much like a vampire. Unlike a vampire who needed only an exchange of blood in the moment of death, wendigos were humans transformed into Other through cannibalism and a kind of necromancy that was supposedly long forgotten. They were an anomaly that humans, Others and everything in between preferred not to deal with, the wendigo a monster forever alone even among the supernatural. Due to being the world's pariah, their powers and strengths were undefined, and their weaknesses were basically unknown, which made them all the more dangerous.

That last thought held a certain appeal to it, Hannibal revealing himself, but keeping a distance between them. He was curious, not foolish.

"Good evening." Hannibal announced himself when it became obvious that the wendigo was more intent on playing with its food than paying attention to its surroundings. His words made the wendigo reel back hissing, its front covered wetly in the drunk's blood, arterial spray dripping from its antlers like strange rain.

Its posturing gave Hannibal the opportunity to openly study the creature. The wendigo's feet looked like that of a deer's, its cloven hooves barely making a sound to even Hannibal's honed ears. Unlike a fawn though, the fur ended at the ankles giving way to skin as black as pitch and shiny as a raven's wing. The creature's body was all smooth surfaces looking made of carved black marble, the angles of its body sharp with lithe muscle laid out over a jagged bone structure. Its smooth flaccid cock hung thick and heavy between its thighs, like strange midnight fruit.

A magnificent pair of antlers grew from its glossy head, the points of bone black and looking sharp to the touch. The only color other the wendigo held in its being other than smoke and ink seemed to be contained in the wet red of its tongue, the gleaming white of its fangs, and the silvery blue of its glowing eyes, like pools of molten metal that glared at him. When it continued to hiss in answer, it occurred belated to Hannibal that the wendigo may be incapable of speech, lacking the mental facilities for it.

"That was terribly rude….stealing my pig like that. Not even a 'please', 'thank you', or a 'hello' for taking what was mine." Hannibal sighed at it. He hated lost causes, sources of amusement few and far between for him. Debating with himself on whether or not he should kill the wendigo, Hannibal came to the decision that he might as well try to capture it first. It might be fun for a time to keep it as a pet. He could always kill it later on if it bored him.

"I didn't see your name on him." was the surprising enough answer, making Hannibal regard the wendigo with an almost open stare, which was about as close to surprise as he got. His sanguine eyes was met tentatively by icy silvery blue orbs that were piercing in their intelligence but wandered in their wary nature. Having stated that, the wendigo made no move to reclaim its prize or speak further with him.

"What's done is done. One can't lament over spilled blood." Hannibal fought to keep his delight off of his face. His new pet was proving itself to be interesting after all.

"You didn't expect me to talk. You're practically giddy about it though. Why is that?" the wendigo snorted in what sounded like disgust at Hannibal, the mixture of contempt and dark humor palpable. The wendigo hadn't been expecting a lot out of the vampire, but the fact he was talking to him when no other would was worth sticking around for a little bit. It wasn't often he got to be sociable.

"How did you know that?" Hannibal didn't bother with the little games he would usually play with other creatures. This being merited his directness. He also didn't like it that this wendigo could peek behind his mask without even seeming to try.

"I can read you like an open book and you're terribly written. All your truths and lies lay just behind your eyes like chapter headings." the wendigo had the audacity to sound bored with him. Hannibal didn't know whether to feel intrigued or murderous about this, the vampire running his tongue over his bottom lip before following it with his teeth.

"Then you'll know I am sincere when I say I wish to speak with you." Hannibal told the wendigo, changing tactics. That brought the creature up short.

"Why would you want to do that?" the wendigo asked, clearly baffled. He couldn't even remember a time where anything wanted to do such a thing. Fae fled from him, shifters tended to attack him on sight, the undead usually ignored him, and humans were a mixed bag of reactions ranging from disbelief to open horror with firearms sometimes involved in that somewhere.

"Let us start again. I am Count Hannibal Lector, the Wolf and Ripper of Baltimore." Hannibal introduced himself formally to be met with dead silence from the wendigo.

"And your name?" He prompted to watch the wendigo shift as if in pain, the creature clearly uncomfortable.

"I don't have a name. Not anymore." the wendigo muttered, stamping its hooves in irritation. He could only remember his life as a human in bits and pieces, sometimes in dreams, but never clearly. He knew that he had like fishing, maybe…or had been a fisherman at some point. That and he liked dogs, felt very protective of them. Case in point, the bag of broken meat that had once been a person cooling beside them. "To become what I am, you have to give it up. That's the price you pay for becoming fear."

"What do others call you then?" Hannibal tried to have the wendigo turn to leave his presence, clearly irritated. The vampire moved quickly to intersect it before the wendigo could escape.

"There are no others. I'll remind you that my kind is shunned. No one speaks to a wendigo." the creature growled, lowering its antlers menacingly at Hannibal. He didn't want to fight the vampire. He could tell it was older than dirt, and in vampire terms, that meant power. As far as the wendigo knew, so was he….old that is. He had walked this earth for far longer than he cared to remember or admit aloud. If they fought, it would be long and bloody. The wendigo knew that they would be well matched, too much so.

"Except for me?" Hannibal smile, slow and wicked, his point hitting home better than any physical blow. The wendigo stepping back was proof enough of that.

"Expect for you." the wendigo conceded, looking weary and sour about it. He tried to decide if the vampire was insane, bored, or both. He was betting on both.

"I would like to continue to do so. How may I address you?" Hannibal practically purred the words so that his accent made them honey to the ear. He couldn't have his new plaything running off just yet, not when it was just starting to become truly interesting.

"I don't care. Call me whatever you want." the wendigo snapped, unsure how they had gotten to this point. Most anything else either avoided him or ignored his existence all together so he couldn't understand why this vampire was even deigning to talk to him, other than to mock or kill him. He could feel and see the power Hannibal carried within him, ancient and potent, and wondered what his motive could be for all this.

"How you do feel about the name William?" Hannibal said after a moment of thought on the matter. He had been close personal friends with Shakespeare, and he had a feeling that the Bard would approve. Puck would have also been appropriate, but William seemed somehow more fitting for the wendigo.

"I like Will better. William sounds too formal." the wendigo nodded slowly, warming up to the idea of having a name after all this time. He knew it had been a while, but trees, animals, and dirt had little use for such things so he hadn't cared.

"Very well. Will it is then." Hannibal agreed, willing to make allowances in the matter if it helped him continue this conversation. "Are you hungry, Will?"

"I'm always hungry. It is in my design to be so." Will shrugged. Despite himself, he found that he liked how his new name sounded when spoken by another. It sparked honesty from him. "I believe vampires are cursed with something similar."

"Yes, but it doesn't mean we can't share the kill. If you have patience, I can create a feast out of the pig you've torn apart." Hannibal offered, already salivating at the thought of it. To have a proper dinner, one where he didn't have to hide his nature in any aspect, with another being would be a rare treasure

"I thought vampires…" Will started to say, gesturing vaguely with inky black claws to the corpse and all the spilled blood soaking into the ground. To any other vampire, this would have been a tragic waste.

"Normally. You will find that I am unique in that regard. Much like yourself." Hannibal allowed. This creature had elevated itself from mere distraction to pet to dining companion all in the course of one conversation. Hannibal wasn't one to give out information but some allowances could be made in this case. It did not get the reaction he wanted though.

"So you are as alone as I am then. Is that why you wanted to speak with me? Misery loves company?" Will rose to his impressive full height to glare down at Hannibal. It was imposing, the wendigo standing well over eight feet tall with his crown of antlers. Hannibal refrained himself from applauding, lest he ruin the effect.

"Perhaps I merely wanted to some companionable dinner conversation." Hannibal back pedaled, hoping the offer of food would appeal, if company did not. It seemed to do the trick, the wendigo relaxing its posture again, looking almost shy in its hesitancy.

"You can do better than me. I've not really the chatty sort…" Will grumbled, his eyes more tracking the patterns in the dirt than Hannibal now. "….or that companionable for that matter."

"Don't belittle yourself. You're doing fine." Hannibal soothed, wanting to run his hands over that strange black skin to see if it were cool as his own dead flesh. He managed to hold back though, Will looking as skittish as the deer he emulated.

"I'm assuming you don't want to eat this jackass in the middle of the road." Will sighed. This was a horrible idea, but Will knew he would regret it if he passed up this chance. When was the last time he had sat down to eat anything with another being in a civil manner? No instance immediately sprang to his mind.

"That would be safe to think that. I don't care for the taste of gravel embedded in my meat." Hannibal said, coming to a decision, one that he rarely offered to another. "I would like to invite you to my home."

"Said the spider to the fly." Will snorted, looking vaguely amused by the invitation. Now he was absolutely certain it was a horrible idea and yet Will knew he was still going to go along with it. The vampire's appearance was a little gaudy in his opinion, but still very appealing and easy on the eyes. Hannibal had been turned a little later in life than most vampires, but Will thought the age worked in the man's favor. It gave Hannibal a gravitas that most vampires seemed to lack.

"Lovely. You're well read then." Hannibal said. He wasn't disappointed by the wendigo's reluctance. It was a smart move on his part, and Hannibal respected him more for it.. One should never trust a monster just because it says 'please' and 'thank you'.

"Oh you think you're charming, don't you?" Will was surprised into laughter, the noise of it rough and disused. He would never admit it aloud, but the vampire's strange nature was rubbing him wrong and right in strange adverse ways. He didn't know if he wanted to keep talking to the vampire, or rip his throat out and chew off his lying lips.

"I may have been told such a thing once or twice." Hannibal smiled. He was unsure of what was happening between them, unfamiliar with this type of levity, but he liked it. It seemed to come naturally while conversing to this creature.

"I don't find you that interesting." Will told him dryly, the lie sounding flat to the both of them.

"You will. Let me cook for you." Hannibal pressed, choosing to walk over to the body to see if Will would follow him. The wendigo did not disappoint.

"Will I have to wear pants?" the vampire heard Will sigh out the question in defeat. The taste of victory was as sweet as freshly seared meat in his fanged mouth.

"I do hold my guests somewhat to a dress code so yes." Hannibal said, slinging the corpse over this shoulder. He would have liked a tarp or plastic sheeting to save his outfit, but he had closet full of suits. The sacrifice would be well worth it though, and good company was far harder to find than clothing, even if that company desperately needed a bath and a pair of pants.

"Fine." Will spit out the word like any agreement with Hannibal was a bitter mouthful of poison.

"Then you'll come." Hannibal said, not bothering to make it a question.

"Yeah, if you want to loan me some clothing." Will grumbled, gesturing down to his nudity like Hannibal could have missed it.

"I would be more than happy to. Follow me then." the vampire couldn't help but grin. The Court of the Timeless be damned, this was the most fun he'd had in a over a century, and the night was still young. "Can you keep up?"

"No idea. Let's find out." Will smirked. Without warning, Hannibal took off, the sound of a second pair of footsteps made by cloven hooves never too far behind his own.