chomp.
@mnxjimin
it’s his own fault that he’s not as strong as a vampire his age should be. foster doesn’t feed properly, he can’t bear to, and even though he keeps himself and his vampire instincts at bay with innocent woodland creatures it’s still not enough for his strength to manifest itself as it should. he’s never been to concerned about it before, keeping to himself in the woods, but since slowly easing out of his shell like a shy hermit crab, he finds himself in situations that almost make him wish he didn’t stunt how own growth.
almost.
the werewolf took him by surprise; foster hadn’t pinned the beasts as ambush predators especially when alone, but the rogue werewolf caught him off guard nonetheless. he fights back, of course, using teeth just as much as he uses any weapon available to him, but he’s careful not to swallow werewolf blood no matter how tempting the taste is on his tongue.
he survives the fight, successfully driving the werewolf away, but not without wounds of his own. they’re not healing right; he’s lost a little too much of his own blood to the skirmish and he wasn’t well fed to begin with. the vampire whimpers pitifully, limping into some little shop to try and collect himself. he smells witch.
“i’m sorry, i’ll.. i’ll be out of your hair in a minute, i--” he hisses, recognizing the feeling of snapped ribs and his lungs expand and contract in his chest. it hurts. “do you mind if i..?”
foster leans toward the witch, reaching out and grabbing a wrist to pull him closer. “i won’t take much, i promise. just.. please. i don’t feed well.”
