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If there was one thing that Scott Goldsmith missed about life as a benevolent (ish) vampire lord, it was being able to adhere to his regular sleep schedule without the risk of being burned at the stake.
_______
He stumbled into the house, chicken blood dripping down his face and magenta eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
Shelby let out a piercing squeal of… excitement? Had she been up waiting for him? The moon was low in the sky, and the night was almost at an end— how long had she been awake? “Oh my goodness! This is just like my fanfictions! C’mon, roomie, I’ll be so still and quiet when you turn me! Am I going to get fangs? What does blood taste like? Oh my god, is Bigfoot real? As a vampire, have you met Bigfoot?”
Scott sighed.
Well, there were worse people to turn, he supposed.
_______
The moon was red and bloody, just the way Scott liked it.
As he was wandering about the Beacon, looking for any weaknesses, Apo called to him from above. “Hey! Creep! It’s after midnight, what are you doing out of bed?”
Scott looked back up at her and eyed the decor work that they were doing with a critical eye. The moss was a nice touch, but not very defensible. All the better for him.
“What are you doing out of bed?”
“I have— stuff to do, evidently. Y’know, if you keep refusing to emerge during the day and sneak out of town only at night, somebody might start to get a bit suspicious.”
In a cloud of fluttering wings, he turned into a swarm of bats and then coalesced beside Apo, several stories above the ground.
“Unfortunate,” he purred before restraining her and biting down harshly.
_______
Foolishly, he had assumed that because Ren lived outside of Oakhurst, he wouldn’t be disturbed by him, at least, when patrolling inside the town.
The universe, or maybe just the vengeful god that he mocks by his very existence, seemed to hate him in particular, though, because he heard footsteps behind him a moment before Ren’s voice.
“Scott! The rest of the fine town of Oakhurst is sleeping, don’cha know? Somebody might think you’re a vampire!”
“So I’ve been told,” he bemoaned, before letting out a vehement curse and lunging toward the tavernkeeper.
_______
A few hours later, he got the alert of another new fledgling. Martyn was alarmingly easy to convince, he mused. Something to think about.
_______
Drift was poking around the garlic patch, magnifying glass inspecting the growing bulbs. Scott slowed his steps, wanting to avoid her notice— of course, nothing could ever be easy when you’re an immortal vampire, and her gaze immediately snapped up to meet his.
“Scott? What— what are you doing here? It’s nearly midnight— I didn’t think anybody would be up.”
“For the record,” he drawled, “I don’t want to do this any more than you do.”
Then, he lunged toward her, claws outstretched.
_______
Did the humans in this god-forsaken town not sleep? Was he the only one who had a sleep schedule, even if it was, admittedly, a nocturnal one?
Sausage was perched atop the beacon, scribbling furiously into a notebook.
“What are you writing about, Mister M?” Scott asked, purely for formalities. This was something that humans did, right? Inquire about others’ interests?
“Oh, I’m writing this killer vampire romance novel, the main character is this girl, Bella, who falls in love with a vampire named, ooh, Edward, who’s like, a century older than her. It’s great— there’s even a war between two enemy vampire covens, and—”
“Cool, don’t care.” Damn, that wasn’t a very thoughtful inquiry about Sausage’s interests. Oh well. “Say, Mister M, how would you like to have some first-hand experience with vampires?”
“Oh, Lord Goldsmith, that’s actually why I came to Oakhurst-”
“Great!” Scott grinned widely and leaped toward the unsuspecting author.
_______
He had only turned Sausage last night, but making so many new fledglings was very intensive, and Scott was getting hungry for blood.
This is how he found himself in the town cattle pen, draining a few particularly unfortunate cows. Cattle blood, at least, was relatively flavorful.
“Ahem."
Detaching from the now-bloodless corpse of a heifer, Scott turned around and was faced with an enraged Cleo.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?”
Scott groaned and looked toward the bloodmoon in poorly-disguised exhaustion.
“One night! I just want one! Night!”
Then, he leaped toward Cleo, knocking aside her hastily drawn sword, and bit down hard.
_______
Another new fledgling, turned from Cleo’s house. Based on the lack of screaming, Scott can only assume that Pearl was the newest vampire to be given the blessing.
______
Legundo was entering Oakhurst at the same time that Scott was leaving to go hunt for blood in the woods. His pockets were bursting with wool and pungent herbs, but no garlic.
Scott barely hesitated before lunging toward the doctor.
He has to get his blood from somewhere, after all, and it was simply efficient to take the bloodsource right in front of him instead of having to go hunting in the woods.
______
Scott almost thought that tonight was going to be the night. It was dark, a new moon, and no humans (not that there were many left), and especially no humans with any sense of preservation (of which there were none to begin with), would be out and about when they couldn’t see two feet beyond their nose.
Instead, Pyro was sitting in the doorway of the beacon tower, furiously scribbling something down on a parchment with a quill. He was muttering something about the first Oakhurst massacre, and Scott had to resist the urge to correct him on some… pertinent details. He had been provoked, and the vampire that perpetrated it was still alive and kicking. Well, as much as a vampire could be.
He loomed over the man’s shoulder and was almost disgusted by how atrocious the man’s handwriting was. They’re letting everybody write a thesis now, it seems.
Pyro didn’t even notice when Scott began the turning process, too engrossed in his writing.
By the time that he did, there was too much venom in his bloodstream for him to protest.
_______
His leisurely stroll through the woods was interrupted by Avid, of course. Hells below, couldn’t a nocturnal vampire go on a post-wake-up walk around his territory without literally and figuratively running into the most annoying bloodbag in town?
Before the “monster hunter” could scream and alert the entire town, Scott covered his mouth with a taloned hand and bit down on the junction between his shoulder and neck.
Huh. His blood tasted weird.
Must be an Avid thing.
_______
Finally, Scott knew that the mines would be clear of humans at the ungodly hour that he was active.
Most humans, he amended, looking into the exasperated eyes of Abolish Veylocke.
“Look, bloodsucker—” What? He hadn’t been the most inconspicuous, but how the hell did the town recluse figure him out so fast when they hadn’t exchanged more than three sentences? “—You need to stop turning people, or I’ll be forced to get my Organization involved—” What? “—And believe me when I say you do not want that.”
Then, Abolish turned around and… left?
What just happened?
Did that puny human just threaten him?
_______
A rustle behind him, like somebody was trying to sneak up on him, but stepped on a twig. Sloppy.
He turned around and saw Owen, who was creeping behind him with claws extended and teeth bared. Foolish.
“Now, why would the local lumberjack be trying to gorge himself on the local manor lord?” He raised a sardonic brow, internally wondering which of his fledglings was idiotic enough to turn somebody without his permission.
Instead, he was shocked when Owen let out an anguished cry. “You’re the one who keeps turning people?”
Oh.
Poor fledgling, all alone without a stable food source.
Scott wondered how many of his own fledglings Owen had tried to siphon blood from, and cackled.
_______
The citizens of the town of Oakhurst were just starting to rise with the run, fangs flashing in the darkness of the crypt.
Outside, birds were awakening with twittering chirps, heralding the coming dawn.
“Go back to sleep!” Scott Goldsmith, sleep-deprived sire of too many vampire fledglings, groaned.