Henry is trying to write. It's just not working. He can't get his thoughts out and he's getting progressively more frustrated with his abortive attempts, and he's been trying for long enough. He checks the clock on the wall, stands up and heads for the door. It's time to go for a walk ( Read more... )

It's late, and Henry is sprawled in a chair downstairs in the Mansion, sipping a glass of water and flipping boredly through a book that he has no intention of actually reading. He might be waiting for someone, by the way he keeps looking at the door.

He shuts the book and stretches, setting it on the table, feeling oddly cheerful.

It's getting uncomfortably close to dawn, and Henry is up still, sitting at his desk with his face in his hands, brooding. He doesn't like doing it, particularly, but he can't really help it. He lifts his head and one hand goes to his face, wincing as his fingers brush the raw, pink-red skin of a painful blister, just one of a smattering of them ( Read more... )

Henry is sitting, tapping his fingers idly on the keyboard and staring at it with evident frustration. He's not getting anywhere, but he doesn't know what else to do. Anita wasn't in her room and now he's worried, though he knows he shouldn't be, not by rights ( Read more... )

...with Valen and Henry. Warnings for ooze, random nudity, and  blood-drinking.

Anita has gone back to bed - she’s feeling so very faint, so very cold, her pulse, she knows, has never been this slow in her life. She slugged into bed, and she’s trying to think of the last time she felt this shitty… and it’s slowly dawning on her.  She’s been ( Read more... )

Henry isn't hungry yet, but he can feel it tickling at the edge of his mind, and he's tired, and confused, and has been staring at a piece of blank paper for ten minutes. It's time for a walk ( Read more... )

While he may not be hungry, he is restless, and that's why Henry Fitzroy is prowling around the upper floor of the mansion silently, frowning at the floor, tapping a red pencil against his chin thoughtfully. Pausing at the end of a hallway with a window, he looks out to examine the grounds. He'd welcome some company and a distraction. 

Henry is reading Carmilla - his conversation with Mina inspired him to brush up on his vampire literature. He hasn't read any in quite a while, and he's rather enjoying this one. Sitting downstairs in the main room, one light on, he's smiling slightly and playing with a loose strand of hair absently. 

Late at night, Henry's finally given up his pointless typing and goes downstairs, thinking about going to the library to look for Dracula. He needs to reread it, especially with Mina Harker around here somewhere...he certainly doesn't want her getting ideas and trying to stick a stake through his chest. That would not be good. The idea is to find ( Read more... )

Sometime in the middle of the night, Henry is sitting at a typewriter he gained before the plothole checked out and typing rapidly. He stops abruptly and leans back, frowning. Though he'd never admit it, he's almost certainly a little put-out. He hasn't hunted for days, and fed in even longer, and while he's not unwell yet, it isn't pleasant at all ( Read more... )