#don't mind him he's just hangry about snacktime interruptions

[fanaiceach]

@himncskur​ asked: “ guess we’re both full of surprises. ”

blair witch starters || not accepting 

      It’s been weeks and he still isn’t used to it -- not that he expected a brief and easy adjustment period. Every leech he’s seen crawling out of their own grave has been halfway to mad, and in his experience it’s only been an act of deception when they seem anything close to put together. Their hunger overrides all. That’s what he’s been taught. That’s what he’s witnessed firsthand time and time again. Vampires are shackled to their instincts, their entire existence honed towards the pursuit of blood.

      That he hasn’t attacked one of his own men yet feels like a miracle. Ever since he re-awoke, the self-loathing has nagged at him almost as acutely as the thirst burning in the back of his throat. If he were a true disciple of Carl’s teachings he would have killed himself by now -- and yet something keeps Geoffrey from putting a gun to his head or outing himself to Priwen and letting them take care of the rest. Maybe it’s no more than simple cowardice. Or maybe he’s just kidding himself as much as any other civilized leech in thinking that something about his condition is different. 

      But the truth of the matter is that there is a strangeness to this new state of being. The Guard are well-trained in picking leeches out of a crowd, and yet not a single one of them has given their own recently turned leader a second glance. He can still eat human food -- tasteless as it now seems -- without being sick, and though the sunlight scalds his skin with prolonged exposure it isn’t deadly in an instant. And the hunger... he hasn’t felt it in response to human blood. When he’d fed off Hampton as his first victim, he assumed it was a moment of pure desperation. But now the only ichor that stands as irresistible is that he spills on the hunt. 

      It doesn’t make sense compared to all that he knows, or thought he knew, about vampires. But for now it’s keeping him fed and sane without hurting anyone that matters. In the wake of the epidemic’s peak it’s easy to justify solo patrols. That’s why he finds himself alone now, fangs buried in the meat of a Skal’s neck while they writhe and die under him. Skal blood stands second to Ekon blood, he’s learned, but beggars can’t be choosers. A snarl sounds in his throat when the creature thrashes with one last burst of energy, and he snaps his head back and takes a chunk of the thing’s throat with him. It wastes blood but silences the creature immediately, and he’s about to drink of what remains when a voice sounds at the mouth of the alley.

      His attention snaps quickly towards the source, and for a moment he merely bares his teeth at the red-washed world around him -- too lost in the heat of a feeding to make sense of what’s happening. When no competition comes to claim his kill he relaxes slightly, enough so that shades of grey creep back into his vision. And then the full spectrum of color crashes in all at once when he realizes he’s been found out.

     The Skal’s limp, gurgling body hits the pavement with a thunk as Geoffrey straightens and wipes the back of a sleeve across his mouth. It does little more than smear a sticky streak of blood from his lips across his cheek. There’s nothing he can say that would explain this away. He swallows thickly and it tastes of overwhelming copper. She isn’t with the Guard directly and that might prove a saving grace -- but that doesn’t mean she won’t kill him herself. Is he free of fear because he welcomes it, or because he knows how good of a fight he can put up when cornered?

      “This doesn’t concern you. If you’ve surprises of your own, then leave me to mine.”