Tholo found his way home in the suburbs on the outskirts of the city. His home was a two story house, with a basement, upon entering there was a living room off to the right with a pair of stairs ascending and descending on the right. Past the living room was a dining area that was rarely used yet was also meticulously clean with a kitchen off to the right. An office was down the hall on the left of the dining area where many hours were spent either trying to write a new book under an alias name to keep himself under the radar of fans or working on metal work designs with one of his prize creations inside the office. Despite his hatred for silver and its effectiveness to kill him and others like him, his best creation was a pair of intricate detailed knives made from silver. They had made him sick while working on them but they were his greatest creations for metal work, to show that despite his hatred for it he could still bend it to his will.

He removed his coat and placed it in a closet that was under the stairs that went up and headed for the kitchen grabbing a steak and heating it only slightly in a microwave before eating it, still mostly raw, in the kitchen. He placed the plate in the dishwasher once finished and made his way downstairs removing his shirt and throwing it into a laundry pile near a pair of washer and dryer. the basement consisted of a workout area and another room which was his den. As he began to do his workout he looked down at the scars on his body, there were three prominent ones. The bite mark on his right shoulder, the reminder of the attack that made him what he was along with some of the claw marks on his left arm. Then the large gash that began on his left hip and extended to the middle of the lower torso, the battle scar from his fight with the woodsman who began the stupid fairytale of little red by paying off some other family to play the roles. Poor bastard was lynched when the town learned it was fake but the fairytale remained. He then began his workout with the punching bag in the center of the room, in his mind it changed from different people. First it was the vampire who betrayed his original pack centuries ago, the woodsman who cut him open, a random person who attacked his pack, one of the hunters when he was called Jean Baptiste, and then Trixy. Even in his solitude his mind somehow decided to focus on her. 

He stopped with the punching bag and did a variety of other tasks, ending a few hours later and returned back up the stairs and then headed to the second floor where the master bedroom resided with a bathroom halfway down the hall and a guest bedroom on the other side that was never used. As he prepared for bed he looked outside his wood into the backyard where a rather large shed could be seen. The shed was his forge area, the place he now worked on his metal and kept his original job of blacksmith many centuries before. Now he merely made pieces that would hang in some house or be used for today's cosplayers, remembering he once made them for more sinister tasks.

"Eh I guess I'll work on some of those projects I need to get down tomorrow," he said to himself and went to the bed, turning on a TV on the other side of the room. He hardly payed attention to what was on however since he soon succumbed to slumber.