Zephyr stepped out of Sugarcube Corner as his stomach gave a rumbling complaint. He winced, looking around to make sure nopony heard. That would be the last thing I need, he thought, let's let them see me eating cupcakes and snacks, and then hear my stomach growl. Totally normal, I'm sure.
Trotting away, he headed for his cabin. Reaching his door, he lifted his hoof and set it on the handle, which extended from the wooden obstruction and turned sharply left, turning into a lever easily manipulated with hooves and able to leverage the latch on the door. Entering his new home, he grabbed his saddlebags in his teeth; They weren't very unique, all things considered, being a plain brown in color and made of the most durable faux leather he could find. He checked them to make sure he had the key to his home, and tossed them onto his back. He then reopened the door, making sure to use his teeth to twist the locking mechanism into the locked position. Galloping toward the outskirts of town, Zephyr headed for the nearby forest. Ponies called the forest haunted or creepy, and because of this tended to stay away from it, making it a suitable location to find some fresh, warm blood.
He warily studied the street, watching for any sign of another pony wandering around. The party had stretched later into the night than he'd thought, and now most ponies would be in bed. Only the few who stuck around to help clean up would be heading home by now. He'd only stayed because he felt guilty about leaving before doing anything to help – after all, she'd gone out of her way to give him such a warm welcome. It was only polite for him to help out, even if it was just a little.
He reached the dark and foreboding forest, looking around once again to make sure that nopony was around. Satisfied that his trip wouldn't be discovered, he stepped into the dense foliage; The feel of the branches and leaves brushing and tugging through his coat and mane was unique, no brush he'd found was able to effectively emulate it.
After he'd wandered into the forest, he allowed his senses to reach into the growth, searching for something of suitable size to be made into a meal. Although Vampires only technically required small amounts of blood, drinking large amounts made it possible to go for longer periods between feedings. He wouldn't be able to sneak back into the forest every night, so he needed to find something larger than most to feed on.
He allowed his senses to expand into the forest, his ears searching for the telltale snapping of branches under a heavy step, his nose itching to smell spilled blood, his eyes filtering the light out of the darkness, granting him near-perfect night vision. It only took awhile for him to pick up potential prey; A sharp crack alerted him to a larger creature to his three-o-clock. Turning and being careful not to make a sound, he crept through the foliage until he could get a closer look.
In a clearing stood a manticore, it's catlike eyes darting around in search of it's own prey. Being downwind of the beast, Zephyr knew it was oblivious to his existence – perfect. He silently stashed his saddlebags into a nearby bush – It wouldn't do to have them tear and lose the key to his home, and have to sleep on the street tonight. Satisfied that it was safe, he stalked forward as silently as he could, inching his way toward the edge of the clearing. He knew that once he broke cover, he'd have to catch the beast by surprise if he didn't want a major fight.
He slowly, carefully reached the edge of the foliage, and darted forward without hesitation, allowing his vampiric instincts to take over. His legs beat against the ground as he raced at the manticore, which had turned in shock at the sound behind it. Unfortunately for the manticore, Zephyr took advantage of it's moment of shock to lunge, mouth open and fangs revealed, straight for it's neck. He felt his fangs pierce skin; He felt and tasted the warm, sticky fluids fill his mouth and coat his muzzle, running all the way down his left shoulder. His fangs held their death-grip on the beast, as it struggled to get away; He felt it's claws slash at his flesh, and it's tail batter him, but he still held. The manticore struggled fiercely before collapsing from the loss of blood, it's life ebbing away like the blood which poured from it's wound.
Zephyr drank as much of the manticore's blood as he could get, even going so far as to lick his shoulder clean of the clinging fluid. Content, he returned to where he stashed his bags, donning them once again before he trotted through the forest, his senses alert for something else – water. He'd need to clean his blood-soaked muzzle before he went back into town.
It only took a little while for him to find what he was looking for, his ears being the first to pick up on the flow of a nearby river. They faithfully led him to the edge of the stream, and he dipped his face in. He scrubbed at his muzzle with a hoof while it was underwater, watching as the red streams turned into strands while the water displaced the blood. Finally satisfied that he was done in the forest, he headed for the entrance.
He trotted for a few moments, enjoying the scenery as he made his way back to town. His sightseeing tour ended abruptly, however, as a familiar tingling sensation pricked at his spine. He knew what it meant instantly; The vampire who'd been at the party was here, and he was all alone in a deep, dark forest, an easy target.
The forest, which he'd once had the gall to call beautiful, quickly became terrifying. He studied every shadow carefully, watching out for any sign of danger with the diligence only known to the select few who had the experience of being behind enemy lines. Every motion was noteworthy, every sound a warning. His adrenaline soaked mind worked feverishly trying to determine where the potential threat could be.
“I don't know if you mean harm to the ponies of this town... but you will not harm them.”
A voice whispered through the trees, no less threatening for the lack of noise. Even worse, he couldn't recognize the voice from what he'd heard at the party: It was just barely a whisper, teasing at his ears in the wind. Zephyr's ears twisted around trying to locate the owner of the voice, but to no avail.
“If you harm them, I will hunt you down and I will gut you.”
Zephyr could feel himself sweating, continuing toward the exit of the forest. Staying here seemed even more hazardous than before. He unconsciously picked up his pace, moving faster in an attempt to get away from the intimidating whisper.
“It will not be pleasant, to say the least. I have hope we can be friends.”
Zephyr snorted in amusement at that prospect: being friends with a disembodied voice which was threatening him with disembowelment. Any normal pony would have thought the whispers insane; however the politics of vampires were so unorthodox that occurrences like this were actually commonplace. As some vampires have said; “diplomacy is the art of speaking softly, while baring sharp fangs.”.
After much too long for his tastes, Zephyr managed to exit the dark, foreboding forest and picked his way down a dirt path, heading for his new home. He wandered the empty streets, enjoying the quiet of the night, and only speeding up his pace when he overheard some... interesting... sounds through a way too thin wall.
Banishing that memory to the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind, he proceeded towards his house, intent on getting in; He figured he deserved some at least decent sleep before having to face tomorrow.
Reaching his door, finally, he used his hoof to press down on the handle. Only realizing after the door refused to open that he'd locked it, and feeling quite silly, he fished his key out of his saddlebags and unlocked the door, holding the key in his teeth and craning his neck to turn the lock. Satisfied at the clicking noise the lock made as it disengaged, he pulled the key out of the keyhole and leveraged the door handle again, pushing the door open and stepping through into his new home.
Zephyr made sure to shut and lock the door again, setting his key on the fireplace's mantle before retreating to his room. Folding back the blankets, he climbed into the new bed, yawning widely, his fangs becoming visible as his jaw opened as much as possible. He eventually felt himself drifting into a state of blissful unconsciousness, and succumbed to sleep.