Hannibal van Helsing traipsed around the dinner table that evening, looking at every well placed detail. Each thing was set up so that he could have the optimal view of his guests. He wanted to watch them eat, watch them as they devoured his one true form of art. His food. One thing about Hannibal that had stayed with him for over two hundred years was his cooking and creative abilities with the food he made. He was all in all, a culinary savant. However, what he was notorious for was one of the most horrific human acts. Cannibalism. He consumed the flesh of humans, drank the blood of his victims. And yet, he saw good in his acts. As if, in a twisted way, he were a vigilante. Inhaling, he could smell the food he made perched beneath his nose. It made him almost ecstatic. Clenching his jaw, the immortal cannibal calmed himself before sauntering out into the main room, where his guests awaited him. "Ladies and gentlemen, dinner... is served."