Dante Rodrigo Estevez rose from his sleep just before the sun set, and already he was agitated. His "colleagues" were bringing a needed shipment of new bloodletters to the coven that evening, which meant he had to deal with the insects. He grimaced as he rose, stark naked, from the four-poster bed with its soft pillows and silken sheets. His personal bloodletter, Dominique, still slept next to him, as nocturnal as her master. Her gentle, steady breathing was the only sound in the room, and to the centuries-old vampire, was very audible. He resisted the urge to wake her... it could wait.<br/><br/>The Spaniard slipped through the doorway towards the bathroom, silent as a shadow. The room was furbished in porcelain, marble, polished cherry, and glass; a study in cleanliness. Water cascaded from the shower head as he opened the glass door, reached inside, and turned the handle to "hot." He stepped back, letting the water warm for a moment. There were few pleasures the leader of this particular Los Angeles coven still shared with humankind, but a hot shower was one of them; and he appreciated it all the more for living centuries without so much as a concept of the word plumbing.<br/><br/>With a sigh, the pale-skinned vampire stepped into the steam of the shower, the water falling down his slender form in rivulets. His snow white hair clung to his head as the water soaked it, obscuring his eyes and turning to a shade of grey. He reached for a bottle of shampoo, squirting some of the gel into his palm and working it into the pale locks. He moved as slowly as a normal human, taking his time, enjoying the sensation of the hot, clean water. He moved no faster as he reached for a white bar of soap, lathering his body in the white foam. Those falling streams erased everything, and after ten to fifteen minutes he stepped back into the now hot, humid bathroom, the mirrors fogged from the steam. He grabbed a pristine white towel off a rack within arm's reach, drying himself off and rubbing his hair until it could be described as little more than damp.<br/><br/>Dante turned the handle labeled "C" at the sink, the cold water splashing into the brightly polished bowl of the sink. He reached for his toothbrush, spreading some toothpaste over the bristles and bringing it to his mouth. His fangs extended with a sharp, clicking sound. In this, he used the speed living for eight-and-a-half centuries had given him, and within ten seconds, his mouth and teeth were clean. He retracted his fangs as he spat into the sink, cupping his hands to fill them with water and rinse out his mouth. Snatching up a comb, he ran it through his hair, styling it straight back before applying a tiny amount of gel for hold. He applied his favorite cologne before relinquishing the bathroom, turning off the lights on his way out.<br/><br/>Without a sound, Dante went back into his room, heading straight for the closet. He flicked the lights witch before grabbing a pair of boxers from a cubby set in the wall. There had been plenty of fashions to emerge over the decades and centuries that the vampire disliked, but never once had he been disappointed with an advancement in underwear. He slipped on the undergarments, then turned to the clothing hung along one wall. The various articles displayed there could have been in a museum's "evolution of fashion" exhibit; he had held on to pieces from each of the nine centuries he had lived through. Still, the majority of it was from the Victorian era; those styles had never aged, to him. However, when dealing with humans, it was best to wear modern clothing, so he chose a black tuxedo, first slipping on the white shirt before adding the jet-black, pinstripe slacks, blood-red tie and vest, and matching, black jacket. He finished the look with black socks and leather shoes, shimmering red pocket silk, and soft, snug white gloves.<br/><br/>Still, the last thing he added could not be described as modern garb no matter what he paired it with. He slid the exquisite, Italian leather, silver-buckled black belt around his waist, then clipped the scabbard of his antique longsword to it. The weapon could only be described as an antique because of its age, however; Dante had taken extremely good care of it over the centuries, and it had been made in the first place to kill, not to adorn. It was a relic from his days as a knight, as a holy crusader; one of the few things that still reminded him of his life as a human. The only change he had made to the blade his lover had given him when he joined the Order was to strike off the cross on the pommel and have it replaced with the likeness of a snarling wolf; he could not bear the sight of the cross anymore. The hilt was golden, wrapped in soft, brown leather, with a straight guard that resembled the sides of a german cross. The wolf head's eyes were tiny pieces of onyx, but the blade was ancient, castle-forged steel, chemically silvered centuries later to be more effective against other vampires, the only things he really needed the weapon against. The scabbard matched its weapon, the wooden core covered with high-quality leather and banded in gold.<br/><br/>He walked next to his nightstand, slipping his cell phone into one pocket and his wallet into the other, before he put his gold watch on his wrist, stopping to catch the time. The humans would have arrived ten or fifteen minutes ago. Good; the insects could wait on their betters. The coven leader descended the steps to the first floor slowly, his heels clicking on the hardwood floor, before he stopped in the living room, where all of the humans were kneeling on the soft, thick carpet to await his leisure. The Spaniard made a show of sweeping his gaze over all of them, but it took less than a second for his nose to tell him which two he should keep.<br/><br/>"Leave all of them," Dante told the handlers, dismissing them with a wave of his hand, "your payment will be transferred to your account." While he certainly did not want all of them, all of these humans could potentially know the location of his coven. Those that did not stay as bloodletters would be... disposed of by Lolita and her enforcers. Dante waited until the disguised policemen left, until his keen hearing could not make out the sound of the truck.<br/><br/>The vampire stepped forward, tearing the blindfolds and gags off the black-haired girl and the drunken male, the two he actually wanted. "My name is Dante Rodrigo Estevez," he informed them, pronouncing the name with perfect inflection, "but you will know me as either 'Master' or 'My Lord.' And if you wish to continue living, you will follow me." With that, he spun on his heel, heading through the kitchen to the basement door, where the unclaimed bloodletters (and those whose claimants did not care to keep them anywhere else) were housed.