Maybe a vampire in camp was a bit of a bad idea— but, no one knew. If no one knew, then it was okay.

Right?

Anyways, you didn’t act like the stereotypical one. A brooding, sly, mischievous, blood lusting monster wasn’t you. You were bubbly, joyous, and just a doll in general.

Your naivety was endearing to him, nit used to such behavior from a woman. Usually, women tried to ease their way towards him, wanting money for the use of their bodies that they could please him with.

A cold, metal flask was in his hand as he nearer you, carrying the blood that he had collected from god knows where that carried a sustenance that you dearly needed— blood.

He had placed it in a flask so that others would just assume it was alcohol. He thought he was pretty clever for that.

“Here ya’ go, fangs,” Arthur pipped up, clearing his throat as his heavy steps came to a stop beside you. He held out the flask, looking down at you with those jade colored eyes of his.

“Don’t worry, I made sure it was clean,” he said, acknowledging the fact that it was bad for you to drink sickened/stale blood. Surely, that wasn’t good for the health of a lil’ vamp such as yourself.

With a grunt, he sat down next to you, his elbows leaning down on his knees as he waits for you to pop the cap, and take a swig of the liquid. He always loved the way the red would thinly coat your lips before cleaning it off with your tongue.