The vampire's obvious disgust with the agent βΈ» who he apparently knows the name of, interesting βΈ» is noted, but Grayson's can't exactly pay it much attention right now. There's blood in the back of his throat, and he's only stopping himself from coughing it up with sheer willpower. Yeah, he's definitely got an internal injury or two.
Technically, it doesn't matter. He has a half-baked theory about how he might just be immortal, not because of any blessing or real power, but because the shit he stole hates him and doesn't want him to experience the sweet release of death. So internal injuries won't kill, they'll just suck royally until they heal, which he largely does at a normal human rate.
He does, however, take a little more notice of the impressive show of speed.
(See, he ate two vampires, why can't he do that. God.)
He reaches out his good arm for his groceries, biting back a grunt as he takes them. The weight isn't fun on his broken ribs. He can feel the broken ends grating against each other with every movement of his torso. It's not the worst pain he's ever felt, but it's pretty fucking close. The offer has him staring like an idiot, the words lost somewhere in the disconnect between reality and pain, until they sink in, and Grayson has to spend another long moment debating just how wise it would be to take him up on that offer.
The man's a vampire. Now, Grayson would be among the first to insist that that doesn't mean he's evil βΈ» he's met plenty of werewolves who hate harming people, plenty of witches who would never hurt a fly βΈ» but still. There's a risk. There's an unknown vampire, he's bleeding, and he could be leading that vampire to his home address.
"Don't have much of a choice, I think." Grayson swallows thickly, and pushes himself off the wall. Black sparks at the edge of his vision as he adjusts, braces hard through the urge to just pass the fuck out. "Maybe you can tell me about Bellis on the way there."
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Technically, it doesn't matter. He has a half-baked theory about how he might just be immortal, not because of any blessing or real power, but because the shit he stole hates him and doesn't want him to experience the sweet release of death. So internal injuries won't kill, they'll just suck royally until they heal, which he largely does at a normal human rate.
He does, however, take a little more notice of the impressive show of speed.
(See, he ate two vampires, why can't he do that. God.)
He reaches out his good arm for his groceries, biting back a grunt as he takes them. The weight isn't fun on his broken ribs. He can feel the broken ends grating against each other with every movement of his torso. It's not the worst pain he's ever felt, but it's pretty fucking close. The offer has him staring like an idiot, the words lost somewhere in the disconnect between reality and pain, until they sink in, and Grayson has to spend another long moment debating just how wise it would be to take him up on that offer.
The man's a vampire. Now, Grayson would be among the first to insist that that doesn't mean he's evil βΈ» he's met plenty of werewolves who hate harming people, plenty of witches who would never hurt a fly βΈ» but still. There's a risk. There's an unknown vampire, he's bleeding, and he could be leading that vampire to his home address.
"Don't have much of a choice, I think." Grayson swallows thickly, and pushes himself off the wall. Black sparks at the edge of his vision as he adjusts, braces hard through the urge to just pass the fuck out. "Maybe you can tell me about Bellis on the way there."