A couple of nights ago, Hannibal came to visit. He staggered in and fell onto my bed looking like death warmed over. Well, more than usual. He normally looks like someone who would play some sort of demonic, horned, scythe weilding bad ass, if he were an actor. His usual near phosophorescent glow had been replaced by a matte pallor. He could barely breathe, and I wondered how he managed to drive here. Power of will I suppose. This was the first time I’ve seen him looking and sounding mortal.
With a little quizzing, I figured out that he’s probably got the grippa. He wasn’t kidding when he said that he’s very ill. He will be so for a month still, if he survives.