Zakhar knew the sun was dropping the moment it began to perform its daily ritual, the sunset; aptly named, and was always worth the irritation to go and watch. Granted, the last time he had saw it was when he was falling off of a cliff, but that was for another day; today was not the past, but the present. The only time to dwell on the past was for history and information gathering, not for a livelyhood. But he was getting off topic, as he would sometimes. In reality, Zakhar had been up an hour before the sun began to fall, but the term 'up' was being used loosely. While many would consider the term up as meaning awake in the morning, Zakhar meant it as his time for meditation. His eyes were closed, and his body remained still, but his brain was active in its thoughts. Every so often, he would open his eyes and see the pages of the novel he had been reading that night before shutting them again.
The sounds of shuffling were what made Zak decide that it would be best to 'awaken' from his state of peace and embrace the day; not that he was complaining, as the present always brought such interesting adventures. It just so happened that his excitement in waking up had increased when they arrived at the wooden home of the werewolves, unlike many of the Coven. While many of them saw it as a burden and a joke, he saw it as a learning experience and knowledge exploitation. Out of his many years, Zakhar had only met a handful of werewolves, and only one had decided to talk to him at all. Granted, he didn't need to be attached to the... dissapointing wolf that he did; according to their hierarchial system, Zakhar understood that he was paired with the Beta. However, in comparison to his blood brother, the 'Alpha', the Beta - named Ryder from his investigations - was a weak imitation. The boy screamed juvinile, even if he was still. His heart and mind were in the right place, Zakhar supposed.
After Jack decided to check on him - which irked Zakhar everso slightly - Zakhar finally sat up from his bed, only to find himself staring up at the ceiling, and his own adjustments to his little alcove. See, the area of the floor would simply not do for a man like Zakhar, who liked to keep a shelf of books and have places to move. He did notice that there was quite a bit of vertical volume, however, as the walls reached above the roof and created its own little space above. Being Zakhar, in no time he had created a 'second floor' if you will, where a bar hung so he could read in his obscure ways, or house his books up above. Of course, he had it all installed after he found out the waking hours of the wolves, since he really didn't need them yelling about how he was disturbing them. Pathetic creatures, but they had their benefits after all.
Needless to say, Zakhar finally became mobile. He grabbed a shirt, it didn't matter the colour, and a pair of jeans and headed towards the bathroom after he knew that Jack had left. While it was quite evident that the two before him - yes, he knew that Astrid would be up and awake by this time, as she always had been - liked their showers hot, Zakhar enjoyed them cold. A shower of cold water reminded him of the better days at sea, and while the water tasted bland and unlike salt in every way, it was nice to remember. After his frigid shower, Zakhar completed his dress code with the relics of his past; the rings on his right hand were placed, the earring hung from only one ear (it is a pirate custom) and his beard was trimmed fabulously. The final adjustment was his coat, which he snatched- er, took the design from a museum after his last coat wore out of the numerous years he had worn it. With everything in order, Zakhar grabbed another novel and headed towards the kitchen.
What novel, you may ask? Voltaire's Micromégas, a personal favourite of his. It wasn't much of a book, really, as it was quite short; but it being the very first considered 'science fiction' coupled with a lovely French writing style makes it always a good read. Back to the present time, Zakhar pulled out a black book from his jacket as he transversed the stairs to the guest kitchen. While the black book did contain the names of sexual partners he had been with - as the term now suggested - it also contained hundreds of research notes from his travels. While books were known to crumble, he would replace and rewrite everything from the book if it were to decay: for the record, this was only his 3rd book, as his first was nearly ripped to shreds and his second lasted roughly a hundred odd years before wearing out. He mused over a few of his writings, particularly his partially empty section on werewolves and their anatomy and history. While he couldn't draw, little sketches outlined some of the pages that were mostly covered in descriptions that he had seen.
Finally in the guest kitchen, Zakhar removed the book from the sight of all and placed it back within his inner jacket pocket, retrieving his original novel to grab a few more words before he hit his liquor stash, which he placed in a little shelf in the wine cellar. Unlike a lot of vampires, who liked the wines and such, Zakhar was more of unrefined in that sense, and sided with spirits; to him, however, nothing started a morning off better than blood bumbo. Sure, the name was a little odd, but the name said nothing about the drink. Back in his olden days, bumbo was the best damn drink in the isles, since that navy garbage was just that. With fluid motion, Zakhar brought up a bottle of Naval Rum -Sailor Jerry to be precise - and went to work. In the glass went in cold blood - to replace the water - the rum, a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg. In no time at all, Zakhar was enjoying his bumbo, and then acknowledged those that shared the same room as him.
"Good evening to you both, Astrid and Jack." His eyes remained on the book, and his tone sounded casually interested. If they began to engage in conversation with him, however, more times than not Zakhar would actually close his reading and pay attention to them. It was a weird flaw to his personality: while he rarely cared for interactions unless he had something to gain, he would always give his full, undivided attention to the speaker if they decided he was worth their time, or if it was worth his.