Arlo James

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

He could hear her well before he could see her. She was almost obscenely loud- at least to his own hearing. Her steps, her breath, her heartbeat- those sounds of life so echoing within that empty alleyway and yet tonight at least, those sounds failed to excite him in any true fashion. He was hungry- but he was always hungry- and yet even he, Arlo, is not inclined to the sort of foolishness that might drive his more reckless brethren to lust after Hunter blood. She would be more effort than she was worth, she would be armed, she would fight and he is ill inclined for these dithering ideas tonight. Besides- his own tastes were far more contoured, far more specific and she did not align with them. It is only for concern that she might wander into his trap by mistake that so sees the lazing man roll onto his side and then his stomach- peering down from the roof above- his chin resting in the palm of his hand in a manner almost boyish as the striking blue of his gaze so lingered upon that slender Hunter girl. She was pretty- he supposed and yet that delicate array of scents that so patterned her pristine skin spoke of another. This one did not sleep alone at night, in fact, she had left her male companion not more than an hour ago surely for such a scent to be so strong upon her still. Yet such information failed to intrigue him all the same. Arlo content to ignore her existence and wait for the prey he preferred, the woman turning right at the end of the alley and away from his trap, so eliminating the need for his intervention.

It is only the rustle of paper that returns his interest to her, the man leaning further forward to better allow the azure of his gaze to sweep that page from above. She hunted tonight then- actively so, seeking some rouge dog that left bodies in its wake. Ah, but perhaps there was opportunity to be had! A hunting Hunter left death in her wake, a meal for him to scavenge with little effort, more so- perhaps, she might be inclined to so unknowingly entice his own preferred prey from the shadows in her quest for this canine. If he was so dammed to be a parasite in this world then perchance he could at least achieve some symbiosis with it. It is the prospect of this alone that inclines the vampire to rise from his laconic position atop that building, the cowl of his hood pulled forward to hide that wealth of unruly near-black hair and obscure much of his features. Affording Arlo that anonymity he so required.

It was easy then, to follow in the wake of Hunter Girl, the vampire slipping from rooftop to rooftop in that silent embrace of the night he was so enslaved to- watching her from above as he did. How dishonourable it surely was to follow a Hunter as a Hyena follows a Lion in the hope of some scraps from a kill and yet his own kind already thought him dishonourable if not something to be wary of as a whole and as such their opinions no longer intrigued him as their covens no longer appealed to him. Why need he work for a meal if one might come to him? Why need he chase someone into his trap when she might do it for him so unknowingly? So he simply follows. Content enough to play the metaphorical vulture tonight, aware she may so look up at any moment and become aware of his shadowy figure above, the dark of his clothing unable to conceal him entirely against the night all the same. If she became aware of him he would deal with it then- for now he is inclined to follow silently behind in the hopes she might kill something, wound it even- and allow him to pilfer it from her once she was done and before the blood ran from it. He was hardly asking too much.