Arlo James

See what it's like to be a vulture's lunch

It was a disagreeable night, the very sort of night that seemed to incline most people to stay indoors. The promise of rain threatened at any moments from those swollen dark cloud above, the wind was bitter and biting and those few people on the streets hardly bothered to linger like they normally would- hurrying along in an effort to remove themselves from the cold. It was this lack of mortals however, that so resulted in a distinct lack of vampires and in turn a lack of his own preferred prey. He had been careless these past few nights, his two attempts at finding a target having failed for various reasons, namely that those he had targeted had proven to be what Arlo had so come to refer to as 'sippers' those agitating vampires who took the bare minimum from a victim before fleeing back into the darkness. Sating themselves, if only barely, before retreating for the night to their homes or beds. They were not worth his effort and it would seem tonight he was to go hungry yet again. Perhaps tonight, in a true rarity for the man, he might sate himself on someone or something outside his usual host. It was, after all, a Saturday Night- those young men and women whom frequented the nightclubs hardly cared about cold weather, those skimpy outfits displaying a plethora of flesh for the eyes (and the teeth). They would most assuredly be drunk and yet for once he might allow himself an easier victim if only to take the edge off that gnawing hunger that bit at his stomach with unease.

One hand reaches upward to pull that dark hood up and over his head, azure eyes scanning the street before the man stepped out and onto it, heading downtown and towards that hotbed of dancing and drunkenness that might yet provide him with a reason to so make this night worthwhile, his gaze ever watchful beneath that hood and near-black hair lest any of his own kind choose to ruin his attempts. There was a distinct risk to hunting on the grounds or in the territory of another, Arlo having lost count of the amount of times he'd been run out of an area of town by a territorial vampire or worse still, a coven whom had become aware of his existence. Snarky bastards they were. Yet if they were never as clever as they believed they would have surely caught him by now, this city, if it even had a coven, remained distinctly unaware of him. Arlo content to keep that anonymity for as long as he could. This side of town was louder, brighter and more heavily populated and yet he makes no effort to press himself into those dancing bodies or over-heated clubs. He couldn't afford to be trapped in any area or allow that many people to achieve a true view of himself, the man instead passing down the nearest alleyway, vaulting up and onto the roof a moment later to peer down from above.

It takes not but a half hour for the vampire to so predict the patterns of those club goers, a number of them passing through the back door of one club, ducking down one of two alleyways and back onto the street or into the side door of another bar further on. One single, shadowed point within that alleyway a near perfect location to so ensnare himself something to feed on, the man moving silently along those rooftops and towards his chosen location. He works with a methodical ease that had come from so many years of doing just this, stretching those silken, near-invisible threads across the alleyway, tying them neatly off against either building before retreating upward and onto the roof once more, leaning back against the corrugated iron panelling of the upper floor of the club the wait. He presses the hood of his jacket back, one hand running through the black of his hair, blue eyes cast upwards to the sky if only momentarily, Arlo inhaling that wealth of scents that surrounded him on that too-cold breeze. Ah, the promise of so many things lingered in that scent. What a glorious night this might yet prove to be! His attention returned in due course to his wall of webbing below, the ardent blue of his gaze fixated upon it, waiting for someone to stumble into it as they would any spiders web before finding themselves rather hopelessly tangled and perfectly poised for his taking.