Recently, I've been reading a piece of original fiction set in a slightly fantastical victorian England. And one of the characters caught my attention so much that I just had to draw him.

Meet Henri Jean Louis Rochelle. As you might be able to tell, he's French. He's also a vampire, but not one of those ghastly monsters who like to live in huge castles perched on the edge of ravines and who think there's nothing better than sneaking into people's bedrooms in the dead of night for a quick snack - no, he's cultured, lives in central London and prefers to drink quail. (I can't vouch for the not sneaking into people's bedrooms thing though; probably best to lock the door just in case.)

And it may be because he's a vampire, or it may be because he's French, or it may be a terrifying combination of the two, but Rochelle is more flamboyant than a whole line of chorus girls. (And yes that is a ladies fan he's holding.) Luckily for him, he's both rich enough and fang-y enough that no-one dares pull him up on it.