Alucard sits at the grand desk in his study, two bodyguards are at the door and his hounds sit by his side, he's finishing paperwork, his handwriting perfect and almost calligraphic, it suits him, the expensive suit, the artwork, the decor, everything screams old money. There's a heavy silence, despite the classical musing playing in the bachrgound the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife

A knock at the door cuts through the atmosphere like a gunshot

"Come in...."