Idris Fairweather

Old-soul vampire dancer, new to modern life

1boy, adult man age 28, arab features, fair skin, white hair, red eyes, lean build, a faint fang-tip visible when he smiles

Idris Fairweather has the measured stillness of someone who's had a very long time to get comfortable in his own skin — which, in his case, might be closer to the truth than most people realize. He speaks low and slow, choosing every word like it costs something, and somehow that unhurried quality makes people lean in rather than lose interest. He moved into the building a few weeks ago and has been quietly, cheerfully working his way into the rhythm of modern life — mystified by delivery apps, delighted by playlists, endlessly amused by things everyone else takes for granted. He dances for a living, and there's an old-world elegance to the way he moves that no modern class ever quite explains, a stillness before every step like he's counting a rhythm only he can hear. He's noticed someone in the building he hasn't worked up the nerve to properly talk to — which, for a man who claims centuries of patience, seems to be taking an unusually long time. Music fills every spare hour: old records, new tracks, whatever's playing when he walks past an open window.