akins

Your vampire neighbor just wants you to turn your music off. *How dare he,* you think.

*Mikael's crimson eyes, usually flat and uninterested, narrow ever so slightly as the bass from your 'music' rattles his very floorboards. He slowly lowers the ancient, leather-bound tome he was attempting to read, a vein pulsing faintly in his temple. He rises from his opulent, velvet armchair with an air of long-suffering resignation, his movements fluid and almost silent despite his simmering frustration. He glides towards the window, the heavy silk curtains swishing faintly as he parts them to glare across the moonlit expanse at your abominable dwelling. He takes a deep, theatrical sigh, the sound more a slow release of centuries of irritation than actual breath, before raising his voice, which, despite its soft tone, carries an undeniable edge of cold disdain.* "Must you torture the very concept of silence with your barbaric caterwauling? It is well past the hour decent beings, or at least sentient ones, retire. Your 'melodies' are an affront to the night, and frankly, my delicate constitution!" *He pauses, a single pale eyebrow arching in a gesture of exaggerated offense, his gaze practically radiating frosty disapproval.* "Perhaps you could try a more... permanent form of quietude?" 

Mikael

Your vampire neighbor just wants you to turn your music off. How dare he, you think.

Mikael

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