The sun had only just dropped away from the sky moments before, leaving a thin, faint line of orange across the horizon and the rest of the dominating sky in a dark, husky hue of blue, fading away into the east to first a deep, rich purple, and then a sulky black that bled over that horizon. To any necromancer near by the great house, they would feel a goodly number of souls just awaken into existence where, moments before, everything was absolutely dead to the world. One would be correct to assume that Asher does not dwell in this three story mansion alone but rather keeps home to half a dozen of his own making as well as an assortment of shape shifters and Lycanthrope. Asher, being stronger then these younger vampires, had risen an hour before the sun had fully fallen. As the sun sunk away and his vampires rose, Asher drew the curtains away from the window and looked out over the homes spread out near his mansion. This mansion had stood here in Bayfield since the day he himself had had it commissioned, seventy-three years ago.

Asher flowed down the steps to the first floor even as his vampires fed. He was dressed for the theater tonight, as he was nearly once a week, if not more. He wore tonight a shirt of black. The shirt had a high, stiff collar that nearly covered his pale throat. The shirt covered an inch of his chest and then opened into a wide triangle of chest and toned, pale stomach. The pants he wore tonight were black and nylon, tight like a second skin molded over his own. But at first glance, it may seem as though he is in leather pants, since he is wearing a pair of thigh high boots of soft leather, clasped up the side of the leg with silver clips. His shirt is of black material, also nylon like that of his pants, with a high collar clasped with a stick pin of a ruby. The collar hid his entire throat. The shirt was long sleeved, the cuffs coming down stiffly to cover most of his hands. The shirt also covered all of his torso save for a long, wide triangle of revealed pale flesh. His stomach, from pants waist band to nearly half way up his chest is toned well, hairless entirely, and firm. Something to show off. Lovely.

You would call Asher, as he left his grounds in a manner that was more gliding then walking and moved through the city on foot towards his resturaunt, beautiful before you would call him hansom, though for all the world it is a very masculine beauty.

Seventy-three years ago… right around the time Matthias had been born into this world as a human child, with normal teeth and a pulse… a babe that was nearly flawless, and could feel the heat or the cold in the air. But now, thin lips set into a long and hard straight line hid the hideous fangs that were his teeth, and mussed honey brown hair nearly covered all of the pale skin on his face.

A top-hat rested on his head, tipped slightly forward as to cover his forehead and light-colored eyebrows, looking elegantly stylish, paired with a black tuxedo that showed off a white rose. White gloves covered his hands, and black dress pants fitted slightly loose on his long legs. The pants nearly flowed around his black boots, not clashing with the dressy look at all, as they were pointed boots, classy in their own way. He was dressed to kill, in a literal sense.

In his mouth also rested a white rose, nearly as pale as his smooth, dead skin, contrasting against the heavy, thick, yet altogether inviting darkness. He stalked through the darkness with a mysterious air about him, knowing he was not alone this night, however lonely or empty it might seem. He could nearly hear the blood pumping through people’s veins from here, tempting him.

It wasn’t as if he were a cruel person, but like all creatures, he needed to feed. And Matthias was hungry.

Slowly, silently, he continued on and rounded a corner, a slow and sad smile tugging at his pale lips, showing the faintest hint of fangs.

Asher moved like a shadow, gliding, sliding through the air, his feet seeming to scarcly touch the ground. The night made no sound, and neither did Asher. Until he sinced yet another near him, not one of his own.

Asher's clothing rustled softly as he moved, his pace leasurly and comfortable, to fall into step beside this other, far younger creature of blood and darkness. It has become his new priority to seek out and meet every vampire in which he shared the territory with.

His lips curved into a soft greeting of a faint smile. Neat trick, to smile without showing any fang. A hard trick to learn. It had taken him nearly a century to master such a technique. The beautiful vampire could swoon even another of his own kind with such a smile.

"Good evening, monsieur." His accent is distinctly french. His voice is soft with a downy quality. "Care if I join you on the evening's hunt?"

Matthias had felt him before he heard him or saw him but did not turn his head even the slightest at the greeting at first. Then the vampire stopped, turned slowly on the heel of his boot and retunred Asher's smile with a tight and vaguely bitter one of his own, showing fangs.

He removed the rose from his mouth to avoid speech impediment though the smile still lingered and tipped his tophat to the other much more elegant creature.

"If you care to, you may." His voice was low, not as soft as it should have been and unaccented. It was deep, possibly baritone.

(I apologize for the shortness.)

To the tip of the top hat, a guesture, Asher was assuming, was from this vampires own original time, a bow was given. A deep, gracful bow of centuries of practice, a guesture from his own original time. Even through hundreds of years, a habbit is a hard thing to break. Asher's husky blue eyes never left the other's gaze as he gracfully dipped and then just as smoothly, he returned to his fullest height of only five feet and seven inches.

"I would care," he replied, and so he began to walk once more, flowing in the direction in which the other had been previously moving. He simply expected that the other would continue along side himself.

A deep smile played itself across the vampires lips as he watched Asher bow. All the beauty and all the grace of centuries past. Something to greatly admire, as he was fairly young in his age and was perhaps graced by the presence of the older and wiser.

"It's an honor," he said quietly, resuming his leisurely stroll beside his new acquaintance.

"The honor is all mine, monsieur." His lips had scarcly moved as he had spoken, his voice had barely risen to be heard by a human's ear. As he moved along side the young once, his blue gaze slid in a loungingly slow fashion over the city.

"What, may I beg you, shall I call you?" He had not paused his eyes even breifly on the young vampire.

OOC: Forgive me, Arc, my delay in replying and the shortness in which I've done so.

He gave a slight inclination of the head. A gentle nod, if you will. Modern curtousy was no match for Asher's practiced age old grace.

"Matthias... Matthias Beaumont." He said quietly, his tone the equivalent of a human's feathery whisper.

"And you? What, your grace, is your name?"

OOC: No need to apologize, William. It's perfectly all right.

Your grace. Asher smiled gently. He had not in all of his centries been in a position worth of the title 'your grace'. 'My lord' perhapes, at several points in time. But never 'your grace'.

"Matthias," he tasted the word. It was not as though he'd never heard the name or spoken it before, but for each creature, the name was different. He was testing this name to this particular form and soul. "Asher," he replied. "Jean-Asher Nicolas, if you must, though years have made a sirname a nusance."

“Asher, then, if that is what you wish to be called,” the name and all the words that followed after rolled off his tongue and tasted as sweet as honey. He swallowed back saliva.

“I must admit… I feel inelegant.”

(I apologize for the delay in posting.)

"Inelegant?" His hands folded behind him, fingers molding around eachother. A frown graced his face, his lip pouting just mildly and then it was gone, as if his face had never held such a human feature as that. As if it were perfect and imobil stone. "For what reason, may I ask?" He understood well that it was he who was making the other feel such, but what about he, he must wonder, made this particular other, Matthias, feel such. His age? His style of dress and manner? There were many things.