Griffin hissed in pain as his shirt brushed against the sunburn on his neck. Stupid. Though he normally stuck to bartending, one of the servers had quit mid-afternoon shift and he'd stepped in to help, neglecting to reapply his sunscreen. While vampires didn't actually turn to ash when exposed to the sun—fiction greatly exaggerated that—they were still sensitive to sunlight, and now Griffin was suffering for his carelessness.

Though he was a relatively young vampire, having turned fifteen years ago, he knew better. This was a lapse in judgement he hadn't had in a long time. But what was done was done. Luckily, the Whale's Tail was one of the few places in the city where vampires, lycanthropes, fae and other creatures could mingle in peace, so he hadn't had to worry much about hiding the truth from anyone just yet.

He sat in the bench just outside the now-closed pub, the cool ocean breeze doing little to soothe his burn. His shift had just ended, and he was dreading going home when every little movement sent a stinging pain across his skin.

Griffin fished his phone out of his pocket, cursing softly as the burned back of his palm brushed against his coarse jeans. He stared at it, debating texting his best friend. On the one hand, he'd already fed very recently, and he felt bad imposing. On the other, a bit of blood would do him wonders, and he didn't want to attack random people on the streets. He wasn't about that—not anymore.

Mentally berating himself, he began to write a text.

"Hey. I know it's late, but I could really use some help," he typed. Griffin never had the heart to ask for blood directly. "I did a stupid, and my skin is red as the pits of hell itself." He hit send, and immediately regretted it. "Actually, don't worry. I'll figure it out. You're probably still recovering from last time."

With a groan, Griffin stood up. He'd been fine inside the pub, but in public, he couldn't afford to attract attention. Not many people were out and about at three in the morning, but still. He had to get home.