Arlo James

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

It was hardly a satisfying meal. His blood was...poor, Arlo's own features scowling slightly at that displeasing taste though he hardly possessed the control to stop himself in the moment. The man was already dead, the amount of blood he took no longer mattered- he was hardly going to wake up. This was a free meal and a large one at that even despite its poor quality. This individual far from healthy in any sense of the word. In fact, that blood being spilled further down the alley held a far more appealing, intoxicating aroma even if neither woman were exactly what he wanted. He could sustain himself on them all the same, at least for a while. A snack of sorts to keep him sane between those much more delicious meals he so craved and yet that required so much more work so as to assure he hardly bothered more than twice a week with his true targets. That ardent blue of his gaze lifts briefly upward from his own meal, meeting that of the Hunter girls, baritone lyrics so seeking to draw her attention back to the matter at hand and away from himself- if only to allow him to finish. The canine having proven quite the distraction, his attention drawn between both his meal and those women behind him to assure neither might attempt to strike at him while he feeds.

It is only once he has taken his fill of that particular target that he drops the dead mans wrist, his attention returned in full to the brawling Hunter and Were, the canines teeth locked around the Hunter Woman's arm as if it bit into the most desirable of ham bones, the Hunter seeming to struggle to prevent that cry that surely clawed at her throat from breaking free. How very entertaining. How very glorious that blood smelled. He was very nearly full and yet no part of him could truly ignore that scent, his recent meal affording him some level of control in the least and yet still that blood positively sung. How wasteful they were being too, blood flung about that concrete floor with utter disregard, the Huntress seeming to be attempting to wound the dog rather then kill it- though why he hardly knew. A Hunter with a sense of morals would be a decidedly new discovery and yet truly Arlo supposed he hardly cared. It wasn't his business to care. It was his business to stay alive and yet was he truly willing to allow a second meal (perhaps eve a third?) to merely escape him?

He lingers within the shadows of that alleyway, azure eyes watching from beneath the hood of his coat, contemplating how successful he might be at attempting to have both the Hunter and the Canine and yet neither would surely go quietly, the Hunter far more of a risk to himself then the Were though. Arlo so contemplating his own boldness for tonight, both occupied with the other and so affording him a singular opportunity, his predatory nature so taunting at him now. The Hunter woman manages to throw the canine from her a moment later, clutching that deliciously bleeding arm to herself before reaching for another knife- the dog stumbling to it's feet as Arlo summons his own affinity to life, that ball of webbing hurled towards the dog- bursting into a net mere moments later- ensnaring the animal with enough force to send her stumbling and howling to the ground- hopelessly tangled in those sticky threads as she flails wildly on the ground. Dog was hardly an ideal meal either and yet Arlo was not above the scraps of others.

He is careful enough to give the Hunter woman a wide berth, tall, dark form striding around her with several feet in between as he approaches the ensnared dog, several of its wounds already bleeding and so encouraging him with temptation all the same. Perhaps she would taste better than the man, perhaps her blood would be richer, sweeter, thicker than that poor excuse for a being he had already drained nearly dry. He can hardly help the way he inhales that scent, the canine kicking all the more frantically against his net in some anticipation of what was surely to come and yet the Hunter remained still. Her presence a disturbance to him, the woman having served her purpose to him for the night as well. So kindly leading him to not one, but two victims, even though neither was his ideal target, neither capable of doing more than taking the edge from his hunger without truly sating him. Yet his own preferred prey was I short supply tonight. He turns neatly now, his tall, slender form in between the Hunter and the Were, blue eyes watching her softly from beneath that hood before his lips pull backward from his fangs ever so slightly in a subtle threat. Though how much of his action was true threat and how much was merely bluff remained to be seen.

"She is mine, Hunter Girl. You had your chance."

Those white fangs gleam in the pale moon, Arlo so attempting to see if she might be scared away in that all-too precarious moment, the vampire so attempting to gauge this situation and where each of its players stood. How delicate these dances of press and retreat so tended to become, Arlo the eternally impulsive man and yet among his own kind he was hardly known for standing his ground. Yet she was hardly his own kind, she perhaps, might be convinced to leave him with his second meal uncontested.

"Your arm is bleeding, maybe you should leave and attend to it. I don't know why you didn't kill the dog but your wasting so much blood there will be nothing left for me if I let you keep going."