Wesley was born into royalty, as many of the born vampires were but he'd never really been made for royalty. With a starving artist heart and a gentleness to his eyes, he'd been kind of a shame since the day he was born. His parents had been high nobles, very cruel and very sharp, as had his brother and sister. It had been just shy of the early 1800s when the young man had aged and he had taken to following his older brother around everywhere, drawn by the way they both interacted with humans. He'd heard a lot of rumors about his family and many who just assumed that their palor was due to some family illness. Oh the poor darling children! They had grown used to stares and they had discovered ways to feed without leaving a trail. That was the hardest part, feeding. They had developed many ways but they couldn't linger long in any one place without rousing suspicion from the locals. Especially with the way his siblings seemed to be developing with time. 

His brother, a man of dark curls and hazel eyes, a man with a quick silver smile and a hooked nose. He'd taken a path of killing to survive, rather than sticking to the occasional meal and then a few dinners of very raw meat. He'd watched his brother grow brutal over time, coming home with his chin dripping black and his eyes burning in the night. He'd watched his beautiful face become something twisted and grotesque, and yet still somehow too beautiful for words. That was the trouble with vampirism, nothing destroyed the beauty trapped in your features. He'd watched the council become aware of his actions and he'd watched them take him away, kicking and screaming and snarling like a caged tiger. He'd never seen his brother again after that but his darling sister was a different story. 

His sister, soft blonde hair and very playful golden-brown eyes. Often flouncing around in beautiful dresses and gaudy jewelry, she loved to show off. She was too stunning for anyone to not allow her the right, long legs and soft skin, flushed only with pink along her cheekbones. Men had loved her, and he had been constantly worried that she would dance with the wrong person and he would discover her secret. She fell in love easily, a soft heart for a soft girl but she often chose the worst men, men with loud voices and big hands. The red tint of alcohol left on their faces, crude words and brisk movements. She'd been enthralled by them, some soft words about how she thought that humanity really showed itself in these people and he'd been disgusted. 

She had gotten married though for a century or two, he'd painted their portraits at their wedding for her and now they hung above her banister. Sometimes she called him, her voice floating in and out of the receiver like a ghost. She said sad things, complained about being alive for so long and sometimes told him she could hear her husband whispering to her. Honestly, it made him sad for her but he'd long since stopped visiting her. Her house was big and empty and dust cloaked everything. Rotten food filled the fridge and sometimes he'd find a lone rat scavenging for a morsel or two. It was too much for him to bother with. He had a job now, he couldn't worry about his older sister and the sadness that seemed to cling to her. It was ridiculous to let her occupy his thoughts. Upon entering the building, he straightened his tie over the white silk shirt that he had chosen. The gray over shirt was casual and the dark dress pants were a mistake, his dress shoes were brown, honestly it was surprise that over the years he had been alive, he still hadn't learned to dress himself. 

Adjusting his gray tie a few times, he caught sight of the economics teacher. The lower demon, her name was [i]uhhh? Ira. Ira![/i] Her classroom door shut just as he remembered and he blinked at it, gathering his courage and straightening his shoulders. He strolled into the room with his somewhat ridiculous attire and a smile gracing his face, he'd only ever seen her in passing and it wasn't like him to just leave a person all on their own. "Hello. Ira, isn't it? We haven't really ever talked much." a soft laugh, nervous. "I'm Wesley, I teach art."

A gesture at his outfit as if that explained, being an art teacher was no excuse for that vomit-worthy garb but he seemed to want to blame it. "I thought maybe you could use some company."