22 Phoenix Place, Monday

Hannibal woke up, stretched, and sighed. It had been another one of those weekends, hadn't it.

He got up and got dressed, then fired off a quick series of e-mail and text messages before making breakfast. They all said pretty much the same thing:

I trust you're doing well after this weekend. I have a well-stocked wine cellar and liquor cabinet to go with dinner tonight, if you're interested.



[OOC: If you think you got one, you got one! Any friends, colleagues, and friends-of are welcome to RSVP or just show up; I'll put a dinner post up later today. This post open for anyone dropping by in the morning.]

[ETA: Now with new correct day!]

22 Phoenix Place, Monday evening

Hannibal had settled on an impromptu dinner party mostly out of curiosity as to what had happened to everybody else this weekend. He hadn't had much time to prepare, of course, but his "last minute meals" were anyone else's gourmet, so he wasn't too worried.

He set the food out around the room more or less buffet style, opened the bar, and set out good bottles of wine and home-brewed beer. It was a fairly educated guess that some of his guests would need it.

[OOC: If Hannibal knows you, you're invited for dinner. NM, no OCD or I'll never get this up for looking at food. Mod gourmet things and mingle!]