WHO: Rhys [Narrative] WHEN: August 21st, after this [backdated] WHERE: Henry's haven WHAT: Poor diet leads to dangerous situations WARNINGS: Borderline frenzy, spilled blood
The first ritual had been a success and Rhys was riding on the high from being able to do it. The knowledge the first attempt was a failure simply because Henry hadn't been conscious? It was everything. With that high, he called Amadeus and made sure to leave a voicemail. It was a bit longer than he had meant it to be but how do you get information like this straight? They were getting closer to finding his sire! He could go back to normal. Well, whatever normal was once Henry got back. It didn't sound like he was doing so well... but he wasn't going to focus on that right now!
Flipping through pages as he finished off his message, he threw his phone onto the couch besides him, finding the exact page he had been looking for. Was there anything extra he needed? Paper, blood, a recipient. Easy. His stomach was cramping a bit, his head hurt a little, but he wasn't paying attention to that now. Instead, he carefully poked his finger with the tip of a pin, quickly pulling out a few drops before it closed up again. Was it weird that it was a little slower than he expected? Also not paying attention to that. He had to do this now, before anything else. Right now while he was awake and able to read it.
The pen went into the ink, a simple message. He had to keep it short-ish. "Tell me where you are next time. Just think of the place, any detail. -Rhys" Of course, signing the message wasn't necessary because no one else would see it but maybe it would be nice to see a familiar name, a familiar hand? Closing his eyes, the baby Tremere held the note in his hands, clearing his thoughts as best as he could before saying Henry's full name out loud. It took a moment but he could feel something twisting in his body, signalling the magic was doing something? It became sharp, forcing him to open his eyes. The paper was gone, true, but all of his thoughts were focused on feeding.
Blood. Blood. Blood.Now. Now. Now.
His diet wasn't the best, cold dead blood wasn't enough for what he did, but it was all he had. Without really realizing it, he was off the couch and headed down to the basement, his fingers curved into claws, almost. The door almost ripped off in his haste, Rhys grabbed whatever he could reach, not even bothering to rip the top open. Puncturing them with his teeth was the fastest way, not caring the spillage that was flowing from the corners of his mouth as he drank. Each ripped open bag earned a snarling noise, drinking as fast as he could but it wasn't enough. Much too much was spilling out of the bag before he could drink it.
Five or six bags down, two or three of which must have been spilled over him and on the floor, his hunger finally subsided, his frenzied motions slowing down as he came back to himself. What had he done? Slowly dropping the last empty bag to the floor, Rhys slowly took inventory of what happened. He was covered in cold blood. The floor was covered. Was he shaking? He felt like he should be. Had Tristian been right? Was he really a monster deep down?
Weren't they all?
He felt different. Like he had had a brush with something he didn't understand. Thoughts were slow, his hands being brought up to see them red, as if he had ripped into someone with them. Or dunked them up to his elbows in red paint? Oh he wanted to lick them clean... No. He needed a shower, he needed a change of clothes, then he needed to come back here and scrub the floor clean like he had when he accidentally ripped that one bag too much. Amadeus was right - he needed hot blood if he was going to continue to learn magic. If whatever that had been was the alternative? He'd do anything to avoid that.
And he definitely couldn't tell his mentor about this. This... had been an accident. Yes. An accident. One that would probably keep him up at night. Or whatever.