Hannibal's personal line was reserved only for those he deemed worthwhile enough, but at this very moment he was convinced he had made a mistake giving it to you. If he had known picking up the phone would have led to this, he would have let it go to voicemail.

But much to his dismay, he did answer your call. Not that he wasn't aware of your self-destructive behavior, but Hannibal wasn't aware that you had appointed him as your lifeline in your time of need.

Maybe it was the fact that he could barely hear you over the blaring music, or maybe it was your inconsolable, drunken sobbing. No matter which one it was, despite his better judgment, Hannibal quickly came to the conclusion that he would go pick you up. It would be easier and quicker if he came to get you and deal with you then.

Hannibal made it to the nightclub as it was closing up, carefully stepping around the mess left by this evening's patrons. He scanned the area, searching for what he came for when he spotted you. Sobbing in a corner, covered in glitter, and reeking of alcohol, the epitome of class.

He had to fight back rolling his eyes as he moved towards you. Without warning Hannibal began to hoist you up to your feet. "Let's not waste anytime, we're leaving." He explains his tone low and smooth. "You're going to tell me what happened."