Arlo James

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

God it was a miserable night.

If he hadn't been so hungry he'd almost consider going home if only to avoid the rain and the inevitable soaking he was sure to get the moment he left the bar. He'd been stalking this target for two nights now, this the third. If anything could be said for his own species it was surely that they were, hopelessly, creatures of habit. Territorial too. Inclined to revisit the same places over and over if they proved to be profitable, or more so, rich in blood. The vampire he stalked tonight frequented one of two bars in a pattern, searching for the drunkest woman within the crowd, flirting with her shamelessly, offering her only more to drink before inviting her back to his apartment. So few of them ever made it. Yet Arlo couldn't quite bring himself to feel sorry for girls stupid enough for fall for this ruse. It was the other vampire alone he was interested in after all. He was perfect. Predictable, wealthy and inclined to draining his victims utterly dry. The more he fed, the more he took- the more for Arlo in turn to steal from him. He reaches for his own drink then, one utterly free of alcohol if only because he couldn't risk any inebriation. His own species were bastards to bring down. One second to slow, one movement not swift enough and he'd find his own neck snapped else suffer a beat down he hardly wished to live through again. Most vampires were older then him, stronger then him- so he had to be faster than them, smarter than them. He'd survived this long with that motto, why change it now?

He takes another sip of that lime and soda, resting the glass on the coaster once more. Arlo having seated himself at the bar, towards the end, as far from his target as possible and yet close to a group of human women and a Were man attempting to drink himself into stupidity. He was hardly foolish enough to attempt to look shady after all. No. The vampire had seated himself with others, smiling when needing, nodding politely, drinking his drink and fiddling with his phone as if there was something on it truly interesting else he was waiting for someone. Every hour he moved, wandered, found a new spot, made light banter with some girl all the while watching his victim. Arlo so having effortlessly mastered the ability to be seen and not seen, to appear so plain as to be forgettable and yet not so unfriendly to be remembered. His attention deviates briefly upward at the sight of a Hunter woman dumping her wet clothing onto the floor before collapsing into the nearest chair in search of a drink, his lip quirking upward in some mild amusement at the woman in general. He can hear loose bits of her conversation with her phone, Arlo half wondering what her deal was before his target suddenly moved.

His head snaps sideways in a manner entirely inhuman, the man berating his own sudden movement, forcing himself to finish what remained of his drink before he moved to stand- his victim strolling out with a girl in arm- Arlo moving to follow behind. One hand reaches up in those last few strides before the door, pulling that black hoody up and into place, hiding that wealth of shaggy near-black hair and those azure blue eyes that so often game him away. If he valued anything more than his life it was surely his anonymity. The two having begun to go hand in hand. He knows the path his victim will take before the man even takes it, Arlo dipping into the nearest alleyway, using those side streets as a shortcut his well-worn shoes almost silent upon the ground save for the occasional splash or slip on the wet ground. He places himself within the shadows, knowing entirely where the man will pass, his own affinity called to life now- ready and waiting until the perfect moment. Just a bit more. Just a bit further. He releases that web just as the vampire comes into view, the man doing just what they all did, throwing his arms up and attempting to be rid of it- only tangling himself more as Arlo aims another at his legs to bring him crashing down. Maybe it wasn't a very fair fight, maybe he had cheated- but going punch for punch was hardly his style. Arlo the coward. Wasn't it what they all called him?

The vampires shouts of surprise turn rapidly into curses and threats as he struggles in that web netting on the sidewalk, the human girl screaming bloody murder as Arlo reaches to grasp the top of her arm, pulling her towards him- fear at last seeming to silence her. Her 'lover' had been one street away from killing her, the bite marks on her indicating he'd already had a taste and her she was, screaming at him.

"Just go, alright? Go."

He shoves her back the way she had come, the girl hardly needing another excuse as she took off, probably going back to that bar, back to get help. Whatever. His own attention returns to that rather enraged vampire at his feet, Arlo crouching now, reaching for the mans arm- forcing him to hold it out and expose his wrist. God he was strong. The other vampire attempting to haul his arm free- very near throwing Arlo into a wall. An irritable mutter hisses from between his lips before he jerks that arm out again- this time wasting no time in sinking his fangs into the flesh of the other vampires wrists, letting his venom course though his bloodstream. It's strange sedative effects taking hold in mere seconds leaving Arlo with a victim so sedated to fight. Every part of him so designed to bring down his own kind. With the other vampire so fully sedated now he merely sets about the most pleasurable task of the evening, biting into that wrist once more, this time coaxing the blood from his veins. God it was glorious. The sound of pleasure that rises within his throat can hardly be prevented, Arlo determined to drain him entirely, the world around him becoming lost in that blood induced haze. It is only as he pauses to lick his lips, positioning himself to bite again and steal those last few mouthfuls from his prey when he becomes dimly aware of...something. Someone was here.

"God damn it!"

He drops his victims arm almost immediately, Arlo far more prone to flight then fight. The vampire unwilling to stand his ground over a meal he was all but done with, the other vampire so utterly out of it he could barely move. A distraction maybe, for whoever else was here. After all, why would they follow him when he'd left them a target so weak a child could kill it? He is on his feet almost instantly, pivoting in place to duck down the nearest alleyway, vaulting up and onto the rooftops before taking off across them as he did every time. His latest victim's wallet nestled within his hands. All in all a good night.