Jack didn't have the need to eat or sleep, not like most creatures in this school. He was a banshee. Immortal, in some senses of the world. Not immortal like Ms. Menides was immortal, not forever the way she was. But he had his strengths. He had his wits, of course, his tenaciousness, and the voice. Always the voice.
And so, Jack only slept and ate when he remembered to, out of habit. Because habits were what made you human. And if Jack wanted to be any good at what he did -- at being a teacher; at being a ferry-man for the souls of his clan -- then he needed to remember what it was like to be human. Meeting with Mr. Weatherby wasn't an inconvenience, simply because Jack didn't technically need to sleep.
"Mr. Weatherby," Jack said as he opened the door, sounding almost convivial. He ushered the vampire into his office, which was probably the most conservative of the teacher's offices at the school. An old-fashioned desk, two arm-chairs for visitors, and plenty of bookcases, filled with old books and paraphernalia. Old arrow-heads. A zootrope. Small chests and little decorated boxes, filled with only-Jack-knew-what.
"Take a seat," he said. "Would you like something to drink? I only have coffee -- I'm never sure where your kind stands on that."