Julian could see perfectly in the dim light of the twilight, and an eyebrow arched when he took in the label. "Oh," he said. "One of those."
He relaxed slightly. A vampire that hungry who was still looking for synthetic blood was probably the type to keep to it. Not that any of them were particularly keen on garou blood.
He tipped his head westward. "About half a mile up that way. Bar called the Roadhouse. Not exactly a... fangbang? bar, but they keep it in stock. The so-called clubs are over in Shiloh, but that's maybe fifteen miles. Lots of dumb goth college-types, mostly." Yeah, he'd seen posters and ads around campus. It seemed completely ridiculous to actually want to be a vampire, to him. Anyone who had much experience with the supernatural world could envy those kept away from it, and Julian had plenty of impolite thoughts about the people who thought vampires were lonely, misunderstood, romantic creatures.