#anthira

@asouthernvampire​, @nuka-blackwell​, @kovu-blackwell​

When one had endless centuries to live, certain rules must be followed. There was a decorum, an order to the life of a vampire, which separated them from  less civilized Magicks--such as brutish werewolves. These rules were for the good of their kind. It meant that they had been bale to survive, flourish, even as other Magicks were mercilessly persecuted. 

If you were a smart vampire, if you followed the rules, you were not in danger.

Zira knew these rules. She had written a few of them herself, they changed over the years to suit their society. For it was a society. One of the highest order.

Which was why she had come to Anthony Coleman’s door. She had known about him for a good while now, both in and out of Swynlake. Just as she knew about the Hauntleys (though, she would not expose herself or her family to them, as they clearly could not keep a secret. Their paths would cross eventually, but until then, Zira was not going to make the first move.) 

The door opened to reveal a man, not unattractive (though, was any of their kind?) Zira smiled warmly. 

“Hello, Anthony Coleman, yes?” She didn’t need an answer, she could hear the stillness of his heart. “My name is Zira Blackwell. These are my sons, Nuka and Kovu. We’ve just moved to town and are planning to stay a while.” 

@asouthernvampire​

Zira was currently seated in Anthony’s living room, a crystalline glass in her hand. The sun was hidden behind clouds, allowing the natural light to flood into the room in a way that was not aggressive. She was so pleased to be back in England for this reason. Los Angeles had been brutal for such things, though Kovu had loved it so much it had been worth it, in her eyes. Plus, they’d tinted all the windows in their house and the cars, so that helped quite a bit. 

It was nice not to have to worry about the brutal sunlight, however. She felt like she could truly relax here.

And she really had come to consider Anthony a friend. There had been few vampires back in LA, and most of them had been young things like darling Kovu, looking to make their way in the big cities and have some fun. Zira was too old for that these days, not that she was above fun, of course. She just had little in common with anyone less than 100. Even Anthony was immature to her in some ways, his impulsiveness surely. Which was the other reason that she was here:

He had a growing brood and it was mildly concerning to Zira. Like the scratch in the back of one’s throat before a cold.

She took a sip of the blood in her glass, licking her lips once. “I’ve noticed a few new scents in your home, dear Anthony,” she told him with a coquettish smile. “Growing yourself a coven?”