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Description
Z looked over his shoulder at the intruder into his room. He was half-way through getting dressed for the evening, his shirt still off. Immediately, his hand went to cover something on his right bicep. His skin was pale as a sheet, his hair as blond as naturally possible, and his eyes were a sharper blue than ice.

Around his room there hung pictures of all sorts. Paintings, sketches, drawings. Mostly of female vampyres in little to no clothing draping themselves over thrones, graves or alters. His bed was so basic, it was almost impossible. Just a simple single bed, a simple metal frame that kept it a foot off the ground. Sheets and pillows were nicely ordered on the bed, freshly made, and so unlike a typical teenager. The curtains on the window were pulled back, basking the room in the dark light of the moon. An easel was set up facing the window, the beginnings of a girl in a large ballgown, dancing in the middle of a stage.

"What are you doing here?" his voice dripping with disdain.

"I..." the intruder starter, staring at his arm, "I would like to invite you down to supper."

"Go away, Becca," Z growled, "I'm going out, and you should know by now, that I refuse to eat at the same table as my dearest uncle."

Of course, his comment was sarcastic. Becca winced slightly, sighing and turning around. Her long black hair flowed in a straight line, a typical vampiric trait to have perfectly straight, silky hair. Her eyes were also black as night, and while sometimes they looked sharp and demonic, whenever she looked at her cousin, they softened and looked sad. Pale as the moon, she was a vampire in every traditional way.

She closed the door while she walked out, glancing back at it and shaking her head. He would accept it at some point. At some point, he would have to accept their family.

Z put his shirt around his shoulders, buttoning it up swiftly. He fixed the collar and ran a hand through his hair. Two golden rings glinted on his fingers, family heirlooms, which he grudgingly wears. As cliche` as it was, tonight he chose a black theme for his clothing. Black slacks and a black button-up shirt with silver buttons. Turning away from the window out which he stared, he started across the room to pick up his coat before leaving for the evening. He had a meeting to attend at a local underage night club. A new customer wanted to discuss a painting commission, and Z had to make a personal appearance for it.

Description
Z looked over his shoulder at the intruder into his room. He was half-way through getting dressed for the evening, his shirt still off. Immediately, his hand went to cover something on his right bicep. His skin was pale as a sheet, his hair as blond as naturally possible, and his eyes were a sharper blue than ice.

Around his room there hung pictures of all sorts. Paintings, sketches, drawings. Mostly of female vampyres in little to no clothing draping themselves over thrones, graves or alters. His bed was so basic, it was almost impossible. Just a simple single bed, a simple metal frame that kept it a foot off the ground. Sheets and pillows were nicely ordered on the bed, freshly made, and so unlike a typical teenager. The curtains on the window were pulled back, basking the room in the dark light of the moon. An easel was set up facing the window, the beginnings of a girl in a large ballgown, dancing in the middle of a stage.

"What are you doing here?" his voice dripping with disdain.

"I..." the intruder starter, staring at his arm, "I would like to invite you down to supper."

"Go away, Becca," Z growled, "I'm going out, and you should know by now, that I refuse to eat at the same table as my dearest uncle."

Of course, his comment was sarcastic. Becca winced slightly, sighing and turning around. Her long black hair flowed in a straight line, a typical vampiric trait to have perfectly straight, silky hair. Her eyes were also black as night, and while sometimes they looked sharp and demonic, whenever she looked at her cousin, they softened and looked sad. Pale as the moon, she was a vampire in every traditional way.

She closed the door while she walked out, glancing back at it and shaking her head. He would accept it at some point. At some point, he would have to accept their family.

Z put his shirt around his shoulders, buttoning it up swiftly. He fixed the collar and ran a hand through his hair. Two golden rings glinted on his fingers, family heirlooms, which he grudgingly wears. As cliche` as it was, tonight he chose a black theme for his clothing. Black slacks and a black button-up shirt with silver buttons. Turning away from the window out which he stared, he started across the room to pick up his coat before leaving for the evening. He had a meeting to attend at a local underage night club. A new customer wanted to discuss a painting commission, and Z had to make a personal appearance for it.