Alexandre stood in front of one of the mansion's large windows overlooking London. The sun was just beginning to set behind the clouds, leaving only a few cruel beams left. Though it wasn't enough to kill a Vampire, especially one of his age; the irritation still sat, like one was walking across sun-baked asphalt. He stood alone in the sitting room, most of the others at the colony's mansion hated or feared him, and typically let him be; the job of Royal Protector was deeply respected in the ancient roots of Vampiric history, and Alexandre performed his duties with diligence and loyalty. 

He raised a hand up, dusting off the lapel of his trench coat as he turned away from the wide window. Lord Giles would no doubt be awaking soon and Alexandre would be expected to await his lord.

His pace was moderate, his posture tall, and his strides long: his sword sheath tapped rhythmically against his hip with each step, the silver of the hilt and guard seemed to reflect off, enunciating the sharp steel of the blade, even those in the colony feared it. 

Though most, if not all the Vampires of the colony were loyal to the patriarch; ambition leads many to rash action. Rash action that is quickly cut down. Alexandre could not count how many of those were fell by his blade, but he couldn't help but offer a malicious grin, less fools to wear away at his sanity.