Echo was still smiling cheekily when he redrew the curtains, leaving the quadret of Vampires to bellow in rage. No doubt the street residents were going to be subject to some terrible nightmares for a while now. Fortunatly no one had ventured outside to investigate the racket. Sometimes remaining hidden beneth the covers was the wisest decision to be made.<br/><br/>He turned back to the blonde Witch, his head cocked curiously. 'Did they wrong you?' he asked in relation to her coven. His eyes them trailed to the floor, where a double set of bloodied tracks had been printed onto the surface from the front door to the chair, then back to the window. Echo wrinkled his nose, tugging dismally as his grey undershirt. Well, it has been grey; now it was red, and had glued itself to his torso like a second skin.<br/><br/>'I think so, yes,' he said, shrugging off his duster. He didn't specify whether he was verifying her status as a Vampire target or her lack of sanity. He held the tattered leather garment out at arms length, examining it critically. The back had been torn open where Avgust had caught him briefly, and though the coat was littered with obvious signs of repair, Echo thought it was beyond salvation now. He pouted miserably. 'I have had this for over forty five years,' he sulked, though he looked only to be in his early thirtys. He paced back across the room and tossed the duster over the back of the chair he'd sat in, which was already smudged with reddish-brown stains.<br/><br/>'It is quite simple, really', he started easily, as if he might simply have been commenting on the weather. 'I am not a Vampire, but my father is. And he didn't take kindly to finding out he'd sired anything less than pure.' He shrugged, smiling charmingly. 'Unfortunately for him, I am not yet ready to die. And unfortunately for Avgust, Diomedes won't let him back into Russia without my head.'