[Bruce is not doing well, and it pleases Hannibal to see: not out of spite or anger, but because it will make this all the easier. When he smiles, he doesn't let it reach his eyes, and there is the barest hint of mockery in the corners of his mouth.

He saw what Bruce had to say to Maladicta, his body claims - and he didn't like it. It's a carefully measured display.]

I rarely joke about food. [except for his repertoire of cannibal puns

He pulls the cloth from the plate. It's not as fine as his usual fare, but he did not cook this. He did manage to make it presentable and fully balanced, with a not-immediately identifiable meat as the center point. A fork and knife lay carefully balanced on the plate; there is another fork hidden carefully up his sleeve, should that become necessary.]

I notice you rarely take the time for sleep and nourishment. As a fellow doctor, [he adds the barest hint of emphasis, furthering his charade delicately so as not to appear out of character,] I am compelled to make certain you are at least eating.

[The fork and knife don't so much as clack when Hannibal offers the plate to him.]

You will enjoy this, I think. I found the aftertaste to be quite magical.

[His smile widens.]