This was...better Italian food then he had anticipated. Christ he was hungry. Even if he hardly remembered exactly what he was hungry for. He wanted...something. Maybe it didn't matter. Darcy was quick to ease himself down and onto the ground. His legs felt tired, heavy, walking was far too much effort. Sitting seemed a far more desirable plan. His fingers worked to pluck a plastic fork from within one of the napkins. Risque always insisted upon cutlery. She would be pleased. Darcy stabbed at a piece of chicken before lifting it to his lips. The taste of lemon, garlic and pepper was pleasing. His mismatched gaze shifted briefly upward to eye Harley and Arlo and yet, here and now, he hardly found he cared what they were doing or why they were here. Only that chicken mattered. Their senseless, useless chatter was blocked out. Darcy fixated only on his meal as Arlo begant to walk away and Harley lingered a safe distance away. At least until she reached down to pick up a rock and toss it towards him. Darcy paused mid-chew to watch that pebble bounce upon the concrete before it gently bumped agianst his outstretched leg only to tumble back to the ground beside him. What, in god's name, had been the purpose of that? His gaze shifted from that rock and up toward Harley once more, that look upon his face so surely giving away how utterly senseless he found that act and yet he made no effort to chastise her. Darcy so hardly seemed to care about that rock at all as he simply continued to eat his meal. At least until she questioned his like for Italian food.

"I ain't a fan o'it really. I'm just....'ungry. I'm always 'ungry. Dis chicken ain't bad dough."

Darcy paused to examine the piece resting upon his fork- as if it required further consideration- before slipping it between his lips. That, by far, the most polite....and truthful answer he had ever afforded her. The vampire so simply hardly inclined to....bother with the effort of being irritated at her. God he could hardly remember the last time he felt this...relaxed. Nothing within that world seemed to manner. His body felt...heavy, lazy and yet even that so hardly seemed to concern him. Right there, seated within that alleyway was by far the most comfortable he had ever been he was certain. That shear comfort and relaxation so betraying a truly rare....good mood upon the southern cowboy. Harley's sudden question about age and food prompted his features to frown slightly, the vampire pausing once more in his meal before he nodded.

"Yar. Baby vampires ain't got no want far 'uman food. Dare bodies reject it, can't stomach it. It's only when yar been a vampire for a damn long time dat yar start likin' 'uman food again. I was near seventy-five before I could eat it. Risque kept given me bits o'it, jus little bits, till I learned ta stomach it again. We dun eat it much dugh. Dun need it."

That southern drawl fell easily from his lips and yet his features remained distinctly free of any hint of snarl....or aggression. Darcy, in that moment, so merely pausing to look near expectantly at Harley as if anticipating some further questioning before returning to that meal again. The cowboy leaned further back agianst that wall then, his entire form relaxing all the more as Harley wandered closer in turn. The woman was entirely within his reach and yet he made no effort to reach for her. This very spot, right here, he was certain- was where he intended to live for the rest of his life. With this chicken. He would marry this chicken. Harley's insistence that she wanted to get to know him coaxed a sudden simper to his lips. That look shockingly...free of malice in any sense. That look entirely genuine.

"Yar want ta get ta know me better? Are yar askin' me out? Darlin, I got a girlfriend already. She's really 'ot."

The vampire seemed to pause once more as if to consider his own words before turning to Harley again to announce that new consideration.

"She is really, really 'ot."

We are rough men and used to rough ways.