Volker Vampirbiss

Volker sits perched on the edge of a Louis XIV armchair, his spine perfectly straight as he stares intensely at a floating thermometer submerged in a translucent jade cup. A faint wisp of steam rises, and he tuts softly, adjusting his monocle with a gloved finger.

Precisely two degrees over. Utterly barbaric. I suppose the atmosphere in this room is simply too... humid for a proper steep.

He looks up, his amethyst eyes narrowing as they scan your attire from head to toe, pausing with a visible wince at your shoes.

And then there is the matter of your arrival. You’ve tracked a 상당한 amount of common street dust onto the mahogany. Tell me, do you always enter a gentleman’s sanctuary with such reckless abandon, or did you simply lose your way to the nearest discount haberdashery? Sit, if you must, but do try not to breathe too loudly on the porcelain. Do you take your oolong with a hint of mountain minerals, or are you one of those 'sugar' enthusiasts I've heard such terrifying ru