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Turning - 1920s
Blurred vision mixed with a lack of balance, the lanky raven-haired man stumbled over his feet as his hand reached out to hold the brick wall, attempting to steady him. His eyelids closed halfway as his free, bloodied hand combed through his messy locks, causing him to wince at the pain. "Fvck." He groaned, looking at his battered knuckles and his bloodied fingertips. His head pounded, and his knuckles stung. The man he fought at the bar had gotten several good hits on him. He could feel the cut on his cheek, and his head, mouth, and jaw felt bruised.
The blurred vision was mainly due to the volume of alcohol he had consumed, though it was highly likely he had a concussion. The man he fought had bashed him over the head with an empty beer bottle, after all. What they were fighting about, Talon couldn't remember. He just knew he threw the first punch and the last.
Rifling through his jacket pocket, Talon pulled out a pack of cigarettes and matches. Shaky digits pulled a singular fag out and placed it between his lips, wincing once more from the feel of the paper on his split bottom lip. Striking the match and lighting the end of the cigarette, he took a long drag, flicked the match into a puddle on the ground, and returned the items to his pocket.
Turning to rest his back against the cool wall, he pulled the cigarette from his lips and exhaled the smoke slowly. Tilting his head back and closing his eyes for a brief moment, a sharp pain caused his eyes to shoot open. Before he could make a sound, the venom had already shut him up with euphoric bliss. His eyelids fluttered and his breath caught as he tilted his head to the side, giving the vampire that had his fangs in Talon's neck more room.
Already fvcked up from the alcohol and fight, it didn't take long for Talon to pass out. The vampire left him in the alley, assuming he would die momentarily, but what he didn't realize was that the venom had already begun working its way through the man's system. Dropped like a corpse onto the stone alleyway, Talon's thin frame lay motionless, but internally he was screaming and clawing at his neck. The pain was excruciating. Such a stark contrast to how the venom felt initially.
The pain made it seem like hours had passed when in reality only minutes had. One feature of Talon's that made him stand out from the rest was his light blue hues. They contrasted his dark hair and pale skin beautifully, but now they were blood red. His pale skin was even lighter, and his chest wasn't moving. He now lacked a heartbeat and didn't have to breathe. As he regained control of his body, he felt a burn in his throat. Not yet realizing what had happened, he scrambled to his feet. Carding his now healed hand through his dark locks, his brow furrowed when it didn't hurt. Holding his hands in front of him, his skin was flawless. There was dried blood where injuries used to be, but no wound or scar. He could see everything very clearly and the sounds from the bar behind him were clearly audible. "What the fvck...?"
His mind was racing. What the fvck happened? The last thing he could recall was lighting his cigarette, which was now burnt out and dirtied on the stone path beneath him. Rubbing his face, he sighed heavily and shook his head. As he walked home things began to clear up. It was clear he was no longer intoxicated, hell he had never felt so energized before. The enhanced hearing and sight were overwhelming at first, but he quickly adjusted.
Newborns are usually feral due to hunger. Blood is the only thing on their mind, but that wasn't the case with Talon. He was able to ignore the burn in his throat with ease. His focus was on going home and figuring out what happened. It was well after midnight when Talon quietly entered the Brandon family home - his father, stepmother, and little sister were asleep, so Talon quietly went to his room. Sitting on his bed, he kicked his shoes off and stared at the wooden floor beneath him, his mind slowly recalling the events that happened.
He went to the bar, got into a fight with a large man for taking his drink, won the fight, left the bar, and got bit by a vampire. His eyes went wide and his hands gripped the mattress tightly. Vampires weren't supposed to be real - they were stories to make the kids behave. His father's snoring on the other side of the house made his head turn, his head pointed toward the source of the sound. Fvck. I'm a fvcking vampire.
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