The Drunk Poet Life Alert

The stammering continued to be an unattractive trait of the woman, but confidence was a slow thing to build, and there was clearly trauma to be found here. She could not fully fault the woman for her fears, not while she remained fully aware of how terrifying a bloodlusting vampire could be.

She supposed there had been one point of her life where she might have felt something similar, though those years were long behind her now.

”How bad it is?” She echoed, pulling gauze from her kit, stitching was well within her wheel house but not something to be done just out on the streets. Not with a human. And also not something that a writer might know.

She had a façade to maintain after all.

”What do you mean?” She’d get her wrapped and then they could go from there.