Alistair

It was very important for Alistair to look impeccable. Standing in front of the mirror, he added a dab of eyeliner, pulled out the powder again-- his skin just wasn't pale enough no matter how little sun he saw, a source of constant frustration. He bared his teeth experimentally. Still as white as ever; now those he worked hard on. His hair was starting to thin, unfortunately, although color wasn't a problem. Naturally brown-haired, he used black dye to perfect his look.

Of course it couldn't appear too contrived; that would ruin the whole thing. His reputation was staked on his professional looks, really. Alistair Morgan, always... impeccable. "Impeccable," he said thoughtfully, relishing the word. He looked, he decided, good enough. The hard part was that he had to stay subtle, or people would write him off as a crazy man. The way he looked now was good. Not perfect, but almost.

Satisfied, Alistair swirled out of his house and drove to the bar. "A very Bloody Mary on the rocks. As usual." He examined his nails; they had healthy white margins still. He was improving.

"How's it hangin', Al?" said the bartender, Dominic, handing over the drink and noting Alistair's appearance with approval.

"Well," said Alistair loftily, sucking on the straw's tip. "I must say this drink is rather good, Dominic. Better than your usual."

"Well, we got a B-type. Much rarer than the O's, and more gourmet."

Alistair was impressed.