Arlo James

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

It had been weeks. No. Not even weeks. Months since he had first picked up upon that glorious scent that was like.....like sunlight itself on the very sort of summer day he was desperate to see again and yet knew he never would. He had hardly believed it possible that one individual could smell as good as that. He had been sure his mind was playing him for a fool when he had first scented it and then- by some greater miracle he had come to discover that blood belonged to another vampire. He had barely caught a glimpse of the Englishmen that night all those months ago amongest the crowd of the club and the press of so many other bodies and yet even beneath that cologne and perfume and sweat of every human body on that dance floor he'd had managed to smell that other vampire. Like some glorious beacon in a sea of otherwise unappealing and frankly agitating other beings. He'd heard the Englishman murmur something to someone else, that distinctly British accent the only true key he had been left with before the other man had disappeared entirely. Taking that intoxicating blood with him- never to be seen again- or so Arlo had come to believe. God he dreamed of that blood with all the obsession his species was capable of when it came hunger. He hadn't forgotten it. Not in all those months even though tracking its own had proven impossible. He'd all but given up.

There was barely anyone on the streets tonight. It had stopped raining at least an hour ago and yet the threat of more rain seemed imminent. The streets were wet, unpleasant and frankly Arlo wasn't sure why he had bothered coming out at all. His prey followed their prey and their prey rarely wen out in whether like this. His shoes were rapidly becoming soaked from puddles, the thought of wet socks almost saddening, Arlo at last turning into those more residential areas with the intent of heading to his own home and giving up for the night. Maybe his Little Bear would be waiting like she was some nights. The thought of pulling the Panda onto his lap to watch those classically bad late night movies a pleasing though in that otherwise sombre evening when it struck him with the force of a freight train. The scent. His entire body jolted to a halt, Arlo pivoting on his feet in a desperate attempt to find the source of that magical aroma. It was, somehow, impossibly, stronger than it had been the last time. His bright blue gaze settling upon that same English fellow from before as he strode out from one of the apartment buildings nearby. Which one he had come from Arlo hardly knew and in that moment hardly cared. The only thing that mattered was that blood. That scent so potent the other vampire had surely fed no more than an hour ago at most. His body looked distinctly alive, his skin flush and vibrant from that meal.

How strange it was, that sudden flood off....something. Arlo both suddenly jealous and starving all at once. Whomever that blood came from was the Holy Grail- of that he was sure. How this vampire had found them he hardly knew and yet whoever it was, he wasn't killing them, just feeding from them. Someone willing then. God some guys had all the luck. Arlo knew without any hesitation that all his years of work, of teaching himself to ignore those mortals or indeed- anything other than his own kind would have unravelled faster than then he could blink if he found out the source of that scent. He would kill them, he knew it as surely as he knew his own name even though he wouldn't mean too- wouldn't want to. He lacked the impossible control of this other vampire which surely meant one of two things. Either whomever he was feeding from was important to him (Arlo had seen his own kind do impossible things and defy all odds for their chosen being) else this other fellow was, well, decently old. The old ones often had more control. The old ones were a risk he rarely liked to take. Older meant stronger. Arlo rarely inclined to take on battles he could not win. The young man so considering his options in this moment. He could attempt to find the source of that blood or he could follow his preferred prey and though surely a more difficult target- at least attempt to bring him down for just a taste of that blood that coursed through his veins so richly and perfectly intermingled with...whatever it was about this vampire that seemed to appeal to Arlo's tastes in particular.

The other vampire seemed to be heading North, to his own home perhaps? Arlo lingering within those shadows until the other man was decently enough ahead to make it appear as if he was hardly following him and yet well within range of scent and sight all the same. God he was practically drooling and yet...things had gone so awry the night he tried to attack Malek. Arlo unwilling to experience the wrath of an elder vampire again. Maybe finding the source of the blood would have been easier and yet the English vampire smelled so good! He trailed after the other man for another few blocks, Arlo drawing steadily closer to him, wavering upon that proverbial edge of whether or not this was a battle he could win and attempting to steal that blood was worth his life. Maybe he could just ask him where he got that blood? He'd never tell. Arlo would bet on that. It was rare for the man to let his guard down as much as he did, Arlo distracted by that scent so much so that he realised perhaps far too late the that Englishman had stopped to turn around and face him. Arlo halting but a moment later with barely a few feet in between them. Well shit.

"Ummm."

God- this close to him he could smell it even more. His pupils dilating in that entirely predator fashion until he could feel that saliva flooding his mouth, each muscle tensing in readiness and yet there was something almost...apologetic in that longing glance. Something almost defeated. Arlo hardly having the will to ignore it. His gaze dropping to the man's own now.

"Do you have any idea how good you smell? I have no idea what or who you're eating but I can smell you a mile away. I don't want to do this but I can't stop myself. I'm sorry."

The words were barely free of his lips before Arlo quite simply disappeared from in front of him, reappearing suddenly behind him, one hand reaching out to grasp the man's shirt and tug him backwards and against him in some effort to hold him still as his fangs aimed straight for the Englishman's neck. If he could just get enough venom in him to sedate him he could feed in peace. This by far the most desperate Arlo had even been for a meal.