Huntsman's Den

"Okay, it's technically not my home. It's their home, but since we're mind-melded and all, the only difference between their real estate and mine is the name on the deed. I feel like I've crashed here more times than I've actually gone home. Riverside is just waaaaay sooner on the train line than Rickety Peak, so if I'm ever in a hurry with dawn on the way, Huntsman's is it. Besides, it's easier to sleep when I have someone to cuddle.
They den in the remains of some old, old-ass library. Only their assigned cops and the Adjudicators at the Urban Planning Office even know it's still there; after everything above-ground burnt down in a freak (Huntsman-related) "accident," the city paved over the underground part and condemned it. It's basically a cylinder that goes three stories deep, and all the old shelves and books are still there. Or, the ones that survived the last fifteen-hundred years or so. It's real Order-chic, all antique crap and dark wood and brass and flickering lanterns.
They pretty much never leave this place, so it's got everything a boringly nerdy vampire could need. Except for other people. There's the lab, their insanely-huge collection of newspapers, a massive silver urn that they brew tea in, some of my stuff, a couple of small bedrooms. I guess... I mean, I guess I was born here. That feels weird to think about, but maybe that's why this place feels so much like home."