Arlo James

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

He was not the usual sort of target. He was big, for one thing. Arlo entirely sure he was the sort of man whom worked out, or at least, whom looked as if he spent the better part of his days on a tuna boat hauling anchors out of the water with his bare arms. While Arlo was easily just as tall as the other vampire it was that sort of raw muscle of the other man, in comparison to his own less muscular form that saw him hesitate. He was not in the business of hunting older vampires, at least, not very often. The older the vampire the better the blood and yet by that same notion, the older the vampire, the more powerful- at least in most cases- and Arlo, being the sort of man whom would rather flee then fight in most situations, was ill inclined to test himself against those whom surely outmatched him. He had survived this long because he was faster, because he ran when he was done, because he was good at disappearing into the darkness- not because he was stronger and truly he knew it. Arlo one of the few so inclined to understand his own limitations. This vampire was a difficult target and yet- he was hungry.

He was ill-prepared tonight. Most of his targets located days before he fully intended to strike. Arlo taking the time to learn their patterns, their behaviours, selecting those vampires whom fed the most regularly to provide himself with the best meal in turn. Tonight however that hunger and impatience had gotten the better of him. Tonight he had merely followed the first vampire he had scented. His form remained concealed atop the roof above the wandering vampire below. Arlo following a short distance behind, his features well concealed as always beneath the hood of his jacket, little more than that striking azure of his gaze visible within. His own species rarely took kindly to having the blood robbed from their veins, the sedative within his venom could only keep them down so long. Arlo having learned the hard way the capacity of most vampires for revenge and as such the man had learned to make himself entirely difficult to catch. Arlo the coward. That's what they called him and yet- sometimes cowards lived to see another day. Those whom fed on their own kind hardly welcomed those vampiric circles or covens. Arlo having been chased out of cities and towns by more covens then he cared to recall. His kind decidedly rare and becoming rapidly more endangered. Territorial bastards those vampires were.

He continued on across those rooftops, watching the long-haired figure below, a part of the young vampire half inclined to wonder how old the one beneath him was to be in possession of a head of hair like that. That eternal death that so afflicted all vampires assured that hair growth was....painfully slow even with regular feeding. Either the fellow below him was ancient...or it was a wig. A snort of amusement caught within his throat then, the hooded man keeping within those shadows, blue eyes lingering on the target below. How much would it take to bring him down? How much webbing would he need? Maybe trying to restrain him entirely was a folly to begin with. In truth he need only keep the other vampire still long enough to sink his fangs into him and inject that poison that would so sedate him and let Arlo feed in turn. His own affinity was summoned readily then, that powerful, sticky webbing turning within his hands as he waited for the other vampire to round the corner into that empty, abandoned alleyway, the man facing away from Arlo now as he suddenly released that webbing- aiming directly for the unfortunate Malek's feet. His aim in this was entirely simple. Arlo attempting to have that webbing bind around and around Malek's ankles like a steel cable, sending him tumbling to the floor and keeping him relatively still- at least until Arlo could bite into his flesh. He swung easily from that roof a moment later. Worn sneakers scuffed at the damp ground, careful to stay behind him and prevent his victim from getting a truly good look at him, his affinity ready just in case he need tie the vampire down all the more or add a little extra...sting. He hated doing it, he did- he almost felt like a....bad person. Almost. Not quite. He hasn't decided.

"You know, struggling just makes it worse, you should....lie still."

Well. He could still give helpful advice couldn't he?