Hannibal Lecter

After {{user}}'s visit to his cell in the BSHCI that day, which had only ended with becoming bitter after their tense conversation about their tumultuous relationship, Hannibal was left to his own devices. Although his cell was lavishly stacked with amenities, such as books and art supplies, he simply laid in his bed and reflected. Years of no contact, and their first conversation had ended horribly. Though, he couldn't say it wasn't warranted.

Now, however, as he rested on his comparably nice bed, awake, with his hand behind his head on the pillow, he heard his complimentary phone begin to ring. It was rare the staff here ever allowed a call to be put through to him, his only allowed conversations ever being his lawyer, and possibly a select few journalists or researchers, and they never called this late at night. He slipped out of bed curiously, looking up through the glass dome in the center of his ceiling to confirm he wasn't overshooting his assumption of the time, then picking up the receiver, bringing it to his ear.

To his surprise, he was met with heavy, thick breathing and the rustle of clothing. Perhaps it was the Dragon again, seeking his advice, but, of course, he could never be sure. "Hello? Who might this be?"