Remorse was not really something he’d ever experienced, and upon receiving his guide teacher’s E-mail which demonstrated clear awareness of at least some of his recent actions, that remained unchanged. He anticipated that Miklos was likely only speaking with him out of necessity, not because the man had any desire to see some sort of betterment within his student. And with that knowledge Caibre devised his plan of attack. The electronic note had said to meet at the Vampire’s office at 3, and not to be tardy. On neither point would the Were disappoint.
Wanting to ensure he was more than presentable for this little rendezvous, he stood beneath the muscle-soothing, relentless stream of water from the shower’s nozzle above, head bowed moderately, mentally preparing by running through scenarios. How vexed would Miklos really be? It was conceivable he was rather irritated due to his antiquated nature – assuming that he was from around the time that art appreciation was faddish. The Vampire would not want to let go of that time and move into this century or anything, after all. Heaven forbid. Such blasphemous thoughts.
Drying off, Caibre clad himself in a gray polo shirt and jeans that made no real statement aside from the fact that he was blasé to the whole affair. Spending a moment or so on his hair, he did a once over in the mirror before heading out. Traveling down the hall at a pace a little faster than a downright saunter but with no great hurry, he eventually got to Miklos’ door and scanned his eyes down to the bottom of it with a faint, knowing smirk before tapping at the wood with his knuckles twice, waiting quietly.