"Good evening, My Lord," Han said following the nighttime ritual of hundreds of years.

Master Theon slides gracefully from the sapphire-blue silk bedding to stand at the edge of the Timna armored casket, his movements are smooth and of a single, fluid grace. Pale skin hissed softly against the cotton cloth lining as Han helps him into the beautifully worked day robe. Han pulls it closed, ties it at the waist and then moves around Theon, straightening and smoothing the robe, his hands running over the complex needle work of the fine garment with practiced easy.

The scenes depicted on the robe are bloody and cast a stark contrast to the sky-blue colour of the material the robe is made from; blood red, dark wine, and magentas dominated the images with silver and gold edging and trim. The detail imagery was a thing of transcendent skill but the subject matter would have turned the stomach of many.

Having finished with setting the robe, Han steps to the small table against the wall as the casket retracted into the alcove and secured itself. He lifts the silver plater with the single, old Venetian tradition glass on it. The glass is filled with a red fluid and its outer surface is covered in handed painted flowers and plants that would be at home in a summer field at noon.

Han steps back to Theon to present the glass. The liquid in it barely reacting to his movement.

Theon takes the glass and drinks. The blood is body temperature and slides down easily after the long day of sleep.

Finishing it, Theon returns the glass to the plater. Han, in turn, returns it and the plater to the table. Theon begins to walk toward and out the only door in the room.

The room was designed to be a grand piece of art but also to protect Master Theon from those things that are anathema to or might threaten the life of a vampire. A thick, Indian rug covers the floor to within a few feet of the walls. Around the room, set quite tastefully to make the room feel 'lived in', are a few pieces of furniture made from night dark Oak. Cloth covers are set across the flat surfaces and are all sky-blue with silver trim. The walls are covered in a powder-blue wallpaper that has depicted on it a forest of willowy, white trees with speckled black bark under a canopy of light green leaves. The image seems to have a depth to it, as it extending into illusionary distance. Each alcove has a security casket of identical make and model to the one Master Theon just stepped out of. Each on armatures that allowed the casket to be extended into the room for use.

Even the mechanism of the caskets are finely crafted and, while a brass coloured metal, did not seem out of place in terms of the rest of the room. The room is quite large , big enough that if all three caskets were extended, a person standing in the middle of the room could touch them all without extending their arms very much.

The room radiates luxury but had been designed for security. No windows to allow sunlight in or an intruder to use to gain entry to it. The room is located under Master Theon's main house with surveillance and defensive measures built into recesses or hidden away that can respond in an instant to any threat as needed. Those same devices extended up into the house proper and are monitored twenty-four/seven by bonded members of the household staff. Only Master Theon and Han, however, can enter the hallway leading to this room without being met lethal force.

In the words of the twentieth century security expert whom had designed the systems, "Master Theon owns anyone who enters his house."

This does not distract from the style displayed however. The entire house radiates wealth, power, and age. Each room is a masterpiece of design, function, and elegance married to a deep love of history. The hallways are reminiscent of an imperial palace of the sixteenth century; tall, long, and well lite. Paintings of a rare pedigree and furnishings of master craftsmen filled every corner of Master Theon's household.

All of this contained in a two block rectangle of the most populous city in the world.

Having walked through the hallway, up stairs, and then into the sitting room, Theon sits and picks up the day's newspaper. It and another Venetian glass of red liquid sits waiting for him on the table in front of Theon. On the paper, once again, is news of the city's protector and the drop in crime as told from the reports over the last month. Citizens are all applauding the hero who is cleaning up the streets of the city where the police are unable or unwilling too.

"Han, what do you think of this idea of me as a protector?" His voice is the controlled alto of a trained singer; strong, measured, modulated.

Theon knew that Han would be ready to serve him as he seemingly spoke to the empty air. He did not even have to turn to know that his servant would be standing by the largest door to this room. Not even if they were behind him to know that Han was there.

"You have ever protected your bloodline, Sir" Han nodded even as he spoke those words with respect. By that statement he meant any whom had been turned to the life of service to the Master.

"Yes, yes...but what do you think?" Theon asks with the tone of an pampered aristocrat, pressing the matter. Sometime Han needs a push to reply beyond the scope of Master/servant expectations.

Han did not even hesitated before replaying.

"Sir, if I may, does the farmer care for the opinions of his cattle?" Han is every and always the pragmatist.

Master Theon, a predator older than most countries, let alone the city he finds himself in in this century, smiles without humor. A smile that exposes the sharp, white teeth that lightly gleaming as he salivates at the thought of tonight's hunt.

"Indeed," he says.

"Indeed."