Hannibal's house in Baltimore, Sunday evening

The FBI and the local press were scampering about like ants whose hill had been disturbed. Hannibal supposed one presumed-dead agent returned to life, a convicted murderer gone missing, and a nearly convicted insane man proved innocent would do that.

For the moment, though, he'd taken a break from watching the amusing chaos in order to ready one of his guest rooms, stock his beer, and make a hearty and relatively simple - for him - dinner. He was rather looking forward to hearing what Sparkle had thought of the drama workshops.


[OOC: for one, but open for phone or whatnot; NFB due to distance!]