Henry awoke that night not in a fit, but in a slow progress of the sleep (death?) leaving his body, the blood stirring him to rise and the beast growling at him from a dark, unused corner of his being. But as his eyes open and he slowly became more and more aware, the vampiric feelings faded into the background, even the hunger, which he'd seen grow so very much worse, didn't seem that bad, tonight. Having stopped being amazed at his body's newfound agility, he didn't marvel at the ease with which he opened the coffin's lid and leapt outside, but instead took a second to shake his head in awe at the fact that he'd gotten so very used to this new state of being already.

He was no longer startled to think of himself spending the day in a coffin. The ready supply of blood to be taken here without hurting anyone had even dulled that blow to the point where it seemed nearly acceptable.

After all... there are worse things than drinking human blood. Right?

Henry watched the very words pass through his thoughts like an astonished spectator at a parade that turned out to be not quite what he was expecting.

Shaking his head and trying not to think about it, he went to the lightswitch and turned on the single lightbulb that lit up the VIP tent. A vague hint of garlic still pervading the air sparked his ire along with his memories of the frantic cleaning of last night.

"Boy, if I ever see that Frank Burns--" he muttered to himself, then cut himself off, coming to the door and looking out into the night.

He frowned and shut the door again, wondering where the other two were. Were they up already? He didn't remember hearing any motion in the tent since he woke up. Maybe he overslept? It didn't look THAT much past dusk. In fact, the still slightly grey aura in the western sky had unnerved him a bit as he'd looked at it, and his hand went to his face to rub his cheek in a thoughtful gesture as he inwardly cringed at the memory of the intense pain of daylight.

Feeling awkward, he wandered in circles around the other two coffins in the tent.

'Henry,' he told himself, 'Quit with the vulture act and just look already.'

Smirking, he obeyed his won command and leaned down, lifting up the lid of the first of the other two coffins. It was empty.

Henry nodded. Well... the others must be up already. He headed towards the door to head out and see what was what tonight, but, as an afterthought, returned to the spot and lifted the other coffin lid.

Had blushing come with littler effort on Henry's part, he would have done so. "Oh, I'm-- sorry, I'll-- sorry." He stammered before finally letting the coffin lid shut again over the seneschal and his wife, who were cuddled together tightly, fully clothed, and holding each other in their cold, dead arms.

Neither of them showed any signs of waking. Henry wandered out of the tent, a bit dazed, but, well, what else was new, these nights?

~