A night spent, and then what? (Active)
Characters: Sam Henderson, whomever he meets later
Content: A fight for a meal, then a return to normal
Setting: At and a decent distance away from the fountain
Warnings: A bit of gore, vampires don't exactly feed daintily
Never before arriving at this place had Sam ever been so far out of his element. He'd had to adapt to things much more quickly than he'd ever been forced to at home. First, he could apparently walk in what passed for sunlight without instantly incinerating. Second, walking in this sunlight drained him more quickly than he'd thought possible, and while his skin reddened, at the end of his journey from the hospital to the fountain, he'd felt as though he hadn't fed in weeks. The only pint of blood he'd had on him didn't do the job. So here he was, slipping out of the home of his gracious host, unarmed, without his jacket, and only in his pants and the t-shirt he wore under his dress shirt. His blond hair hung loose around his shoulders, as well.
If there had been one benefit to their unfortunate discovery of Ahime's dear friend, it was that he now knew the scent of the local wildlife, and as long as there was nothing about the blood he didn't know about, then it should do. Using some of his natural traits to his advantage, he slipped away from where most of the people had taken up residence, hopefully without being seen.
He had to walk some distance before he caught even the faintest scent. Trailing it, he allowed his claws to come out of his fingers, and his joints to contort from that of your average human, into those capable of rending flesh. He hated having to do this on his own. He'd never considered himself particularly good at it, and if only he had a spare set of clothes he could do this in, he'd feel better about it. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain random blood stains. The network of blood banks and even, in a pinch, the artificial stuff Professor Crawford was working on was so much better. He felt like a domesticated cat set loose in the wild and expected to survive with trimmed claws. But he'd have to rely on the killing instincts he so feared. If only Jared were here, he'd be able to take care of this for the both of them. But there was no one but himself to rely upon, and he'd have to either suck it up or die of starvation. Based on the stories he'd heard from Lord and Lady Ruthwen about others of their kind that had met that fate, he wasn't about to let it happen. Besides, he had Angelina to return home to.
He placed the palm of his hand on the curved lump that his cell phone made in his pocket. That small token of home, and the faces of those he loved smiling within its memory helped to quell his anxiety. Even though, practically speaking, it was useless, having it in the same place he always kept it made him more comfortable. So, as he tracked his quarry carefully, he was able to focus on the task at hand.
Jared had described the instincts as something automatic that took over once you stopped thinking. Well, that sounded simple, but with as many doubts and fears that Sam carried, it didn't seem too simple. It was like when he was human, and despite his best efforts, he just couldn't shut his mind down enough to sleep most nights out of the week. That was when he either got his studying done, or snuck out to go meet girls. He crept around yet another pile of debris, to find the scent he'd been tracking intensified. Either it was close, or there was more than one.
Bounding feet presented a third possibility: it had found him first. He whirled around in time to see a gimacat hurtling toward him. It leapt. Sam had no time to think about it. Instead, the instincts took over. He jumped away from it, crouching down on one knee, placing a hand on the ground. His adversary hit the ground and leapt again, but this time, Sam was ready. He leaned away, and swiped out with a claw, tearing long, deep holes into its ribs. He received a matching group across his forearm. They didn't heal up right away like they should, yet another testament to the affect this place had on him. The cat hit the ground, and it was slower to get up. But he was on it more quickly, gripping its jaws with one hand to hold them closed, and jerked the skull upward. He sank his fangs in where he expected the jugular to be, right below the edge of the skull. He drank deeply from it, ignoring the flailing forelegs of the creature, despite their occasional blows to his shoulders and arms.
Soon, it stilled. A minute or so later, Sam lifted his head from its neck, and wiped the blood from his face. Dammit, he'd have to deal with this somehow. Looking down at himself, he figured he'd fared alright. His undershirt was lost, though. His wounds were closed, but the blood remained. He pulled it off, and wiped down his biceps, neck and face. He pulled his hair around in front, and did his best to wipe the blood out of it, though it was still sticky. He tossed the shirt to the side, and started back the way he came, keeping his ears and nose pricked for any signs that a pack was headed his way.
Overall, he'd felt better for it. He supposed he did have this hunting thing in him after all. He just hoped this wouldn't have to be a nightly occurrence. By the increasing heat on his skin, it seemed daytime was coming. He picked up the pace, finally allowing his hands to return to normal.
((OOC: Anyone is welcome to have seen him, run into him, etc. 8D))
Content: A fight for a meal, then a return to normal
Setting: At and a decent distance away from the fountain
Warnings: A bit of gore, vampires don't exactly feed daintily
Never before arriving at this place had Sam ever been so far out of his element. He'd had to adapt to things much more quickly than he'd ever been forced to at home. First, he could apparently walk in what passed for sunlight without instantly incinerating. Second, walking in this sunlight drained him more quickly than he'd thought possible, and while his skin reddened, at the end of his journey from the hospital to the fountain, he'd felt as though he hadn't fed in weeks. The only pint of blood he'd had on him didn't do the job. So here he was, slipping out of the home of his gracious host, unarmed, without his jacket, and only in his pants and the t-shirt he wore under his dress shirt. His blond hair hung loose around his shoulders, as well.
If there had been one benefit to their unfortunate discovery of Ahime's dear friend, it was that he now knew the scent of the local wildlife, and as long as there was nothing about the blood he didn't know about, then it should do. Using some of his natural traits to his advantage, he slipped away from where most of the people had taken up residence, hopefully without being seen.
He had to walk some distance before he caught even the faintest scent. Trailing it, he allowed his claws to come out of his fingers, and his joints to contort from that of your average human, into those capable of rending flesh. He hated having to do this on his own. He'd never considered himself particularly good at it, and if only he had a spare set of clothes he could do this in, he'd feel better about it. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain random blood stains. The network of blood banks and even, in a pinch, the artificial stuff Professor Crawford was working on was so much better. He felt like a domesticated cat set loose in the wild and expected to survive with trimmed claws. But he'd have to rely on the killing instincts he so feared. If only Jared were here, he'd be able to take care of this for the both of them. But there was no one but himself to rely upon, and he'd have to either suck it up or die of starvation. Based on the stories he'd heard from Lord and Lady Ruthwen about others of their kind that had met that fate, he wasn't about to let it happen. Besides, he had Angelina to return home to.
He placed the palm of his hand on the curved lump that his cell phone made in his pocket. That small token of home, and the faces of those he loved smiling within its memory helped to quell his anxiety. Even though, practically speaking, it was useless, having it in the same place he always kept it made him more comfortable. So, as he tracked his quarry carefully, he was able to focus on the task at hand.
Jared had described the instincts as something automatic that took over once you stopped thinking. Well, that sounded simple, but with as many doubts and fears that Sam carried, it didn't seem too simple. It was like when he was human, and despite his best efforts, he just couldn't shut his mind down enough to sleep most nights out of the week. That was when he either got his studying done, or snuck out to go meet girls. He crept around yet another pile of debris, to find the scent he'd been tracking intensified. Either it was close, or there was more than one.
Bounding feet presented a third possibility: it had found him first. He whirled around in time to see a gimacat hurtling toward him. It leapt. Sam had no time to think about it. Instead, the instincts took over. He jumped away from it, crouching down on one knee, placing a hand on the ground. His adversary hit the ground and leapt again, but this time, Sam was ready. He leaned away, and swiped out with a claw, tearing long, deep holes into its ribs. He received a matching group across his forearm. They didn't heal up right away like they should, yet another testament to the affect this place had on him. The cat hit the ground, and it was slower to get up. But he was on it more quickly, gripping its jaws with one hand to hold them closed, and jerked the skull upward. He sank his fangs in where he expected the jugular to be, right below the edge of the skull. He drank deeply from it, ignoring the flailing forelegs of the creature, despite their occasional blows to his shoulders and arms.
Soon, it stilled. A minute or so later, Sam lifted his head from its neck, and wiped the blood from his face. Dammit, he'd have to deal with this somehow. Looking down at himself, he figured he'd fared alright. His undershirt was lost, though. His wounds were closed, but the blood remained. He pulled it off, and wiped down his biceps, neck and face. He pulled his hair around in front, and did his best to wipe the blood out of it, though it was still sticky. He tossed the shirt to the side, and started back the way he came, keeping his ears and nose pricked for any signs that a pack was headed his way.
Overall, he'd felt better for it. He supposed he did have this hunting thing in him after all. He just hoped this wouldn't have to be a nightly occurrence. By the increasing heat on his skin, it seemed daytime was coming. He picked up the pace, finally allowing his hands to return to normal.
((OOC: Anyone is welcome to have seen him, run into him, etc. 8D))