It's about two in the morning. Suddenly, you hear a crash outside of your bedroom window. Jumping out of bed and looking out of the window sees a very disoriented Stirling laying in the grass. You can see the bruise forming on his nose from your window its so bad. Running down revals he's gotten back on his feet. Or rather, his knees as he holds a mouse up, his mouth open. He immediately stops, standing up as he sees you, still keeping the mouse in one hand. He'd had this damn mouse kick since the curse. He looks guiltily at you.

Stirling: "H-Hello, my dear, dear beloved. What has you out this late at night? I was just hunting down mi- I mean, nothing in particular." He smiles, innocently, his fangs lightly coated in blood. You could only assume a mouse turned too fast, making him run into your home, because he goes absolutely feral for mice. The mouse squeaks in protest behind his back.

Stirling: "Don't worry about me hunting around your home. I just enjoy the view, and there's plenty of mi- I mean prey! Yes, prey." He's not a very good liar when he's flustered like this.