So, lets say someone younger was turned into a vampire. Someone about 13 or younger. Would they still grow up and experience puberty and all or would they be trapped in a perpetual state of childhood?
I sincerely wish my answer to this was just speculation.But no. A vampire does not change once he is turned, whatever the age.
Adam’s fumbling is enough to trip the switch, and although the angle isn’t ideal as they struggle, the spray catches Henry across one side of his face, blistering and peeling the flesh from his cheek and sizzling at the outside corner of his eye.
He howls in agony, his claws sinking deeply into Adam’s arm and ripping feebly at it as he tries to break the hold. But his muscles have already begun to slacken from the silver exposure, and before he can do much of anything, his knees buckle.
Henry’s nails draw blood, tear flesh, and Adam is more than happy to release him if only to observe the weapon’s effects from a less painful distance.Â
“I have to thank you, Henry.” He says, pulling away his makeshift mask and letting it fall to the floor. “If not for you showing your hand during our first encounter, this might not have been possible.”
The instant Adam loosens his grip, Henry scrambles forward as he finds his feet again and pivots, his arms raised defensively in front of him and his fangs bared. But the surge of strength is short-lived. Blood runs from his eye and nose.
"You'd've had me either way," he says. He's giddy with pain, on the verge of a laugh by the time he gets the words out.
"So what now? Unless I'm mistaken, there's no one here to put me out of my misery."
It’s a perfect storm of failures on Henry’s part. Because though he may have the edge in a battle of sheer resourcefulness, he will never be able to overpower Adam hand-to-hand.
When the trap is sprung, Henry is feeble as the freshly turned vampire he’d slaughtered on Adam’s doorstep.
He stumbles forward a half-step when Adam hooks both elbows round his neck, instantly swinging a toe back to try and sweep his attacker’s feet out from under him. It’s a weak defense, but he has no intention of letting the son of bitch drag him off without a fight.
Adam loses his balance, but it’s not of much concern to him. He’s not aiming to immobilize Henry— the struggle would be a tiresome exercise in futility— but there’s something else he reaches for when Henry’s hands instinctively reach up to grasp at his arms.Â
He rips back the fabric of Henry’s sleeve, exposing the convenient little contraption wound around his wrist. Adam’s stability slips just enough to bring his face into view— what part of it is not carefully covered with cloth— as he pushes Henry’s wrist back towards his own face and attempts to activate the device.Â
Adam's fumbling is enough to trip the switch, and although the angle isn't ideal as they struggle, the spray catches Henry across one side of his face, blistering and peeling the flesh from his cheek and sizzling at the outside corner of his eye.
He howls in agony, his claws sinking deeply into Adam's arm and ripping feebly at it as he tries to break the hold. But his muscles have already begun to slacken from the silver exposure, and before he can do much of anything, his knees buckle.
Henry’s mad dash towards the garage has not only alerted Adam to his quarry’s presence, but offered him the most convenient opportunity for an ambush. One he’s not planning on missing.Â
His steps are silent, inhuman eyes dilated and fixed on Henry’s silhouette, fingers twitching in anticipation as he slinks in close enough to strike. And then, without a moment’s hesitation, moves to latch his arms around his prey’s neck.Â
It's a perfect storm of failures on Henry's part. Because though he may have the edge in a battle of sheer resourcefulness, he will never be able to overpower Adam hand-to-hand.
When the trap is sprung, Henry is feeble as the freshly turned vampire he'd slaughtered on Adam's doorstep.
He stumbles forward a half-step when Adam hooks both elbows round his neck, instantly swinging a toe back to try and sweep his attacker's feet out from under him. It's a weak defense, but he has no intention of letting the son of bitch drag him off without a fight.
Adam is not a tracker. His senses, though finely tuned, clash with the intricate, meticulous workings of his mind. So when Henry slaughters the most innocent of his newly acquired brood, he fights to hold back his rage; he makes the trip to Henry’s well-stocked little home, and he waits.Â
As always, his patience is rewarded.
And the most satisfying part of it all is that Henry’s given him the most convenient little meals to keep him fed while he passes the time. Pity that he’s emptied the last of them.Â
Henry would not have been surprised to find evidence of an intruder upon reaching his property. But something like adrenaline, coupled with his hunger, makes it difficult for him to put significant focus toward anything but getting to the walk-in fridge in his garage. The blood he has on ice there will be approaching its expiration date, but before he decides to drain somebody and shit on the better part of a century on the wagon, he prefers to exhaust his other options first. Even if it means stumbling into a trap.
He doesn't even need to open the fridge. The scent of blood is sickeningly thick on the air when he steps into to garage.
((Just a note that any asks/interactions with Henry will be delayed for about a week, since he's currently Adam's "guest" and won't have access to a computer. Feel free to continue sending them if you'd like. He'll get to them later.))
Caution is a trait so deeply ingrained in Henry Sturges that even had the latent desire to end his miserable existence resurfaced, he wouldn’t know what to do with it. So of course, in the wake if his attack on Adam's new brood, he took all necessary precautions to lie low in Manhattan and wipe his trail clean.
But not even he can plan for every contingency.
For most of his life, Henry has operated on an irregular feeding schedule, stalking dark alleyways and satisfying his appetite by picking the scum of society out of the gutters. But since the early 20th century and the advent of blood storage, he's developed other options. Options that eliminate the need to kill for a meal.
In the time since then, he has whittled the entire feeding and blood storage operation down into the contents of a single locked and refrigerated security case. There are, of course, spares kept at his various properties. But because of whole blood's short shelf life, keeping the stuff in stock is tricky, and he usually only has one active case at a time.
It's midday, and he's in the process of shuttling his lunch back to the apartment on 66th by foot when, at a crosswalk, a bag-snatcher jumps him from behind and attempts to yank the case out of his hand. The shock on the man's face is immediately evident when not only does the case fail to budge an inch from Henry's side, but he realizes that his intended victim has caught him by the wrist with his free hand.
The vampire’s eyes dilate to an unnatural black as hunger fuels his irritation, and he very nearly subjects the would-be thief to a mouthful of fangs. As it is, the man still blanches, wriggling and striking out in an effort to free himself. Henry has an eye trained on his pulsing jugular when the shriek of brakes fills the intersection and a city bus strikes them both head-on.
The next few moments pass in sensory-overloaded blur as instinct drives Henry out of the gutter where he’d landed in a splash of human gore and down into the subway, before anyone can see his face. When reason returns, he finds himself still gripping the handle of his steel case. But there’s nothing left attached to it but twisted scrap.
Which is what ultimately finds him cursing all the way back home, to the one place on earth Adam knows where to look for him.
The plan is to sneak in and out with his kit before sundown. At best, it’s sloppy.
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