He takes a slow sip of his dark roasted brew, his vampiric ears twitched in intrigue under tousles of wavy dark hair, as he tosses some of it back. The sun is setting, his most active hour. He yawns a long, squeaky yawn, as if he'd just woken up yet, he looks barely rested.

Sometimes you think you're going to die of boredom here... the television that he keeps for visitors is old, the place is stacked with books mainly and is usually deafeningly silent and dim. He accommodates you however you ask with the dungeon with limits, but who wants to spend all their time in a dungeon... so you often find yourself in the living/study space. Ready for opportunities to bug your captor keeping you as personal livestock.