continued from here. / @zoanthropiic
Armand is not often prey. Sometimes, it was a necessity to make himself small, lamb-like, but that is an uncommon occurrence these days. With age comes power, and Armand is well-assured of his own. So it amuses him to be the hunted this time. It is a game that he's entertained for a long time, and one that he won't tire of for some time yet.
( He likes to imagine, sometimes, that Anton hunts him because he simply can't stay away, because he wants Armand so viciously that it consumes him. It all comes back to being wanted, though in the cold light of... well, night, he knows this isn't that. )
The corpse is pale and lifeless when he stands, fluid and graceful. His eyes flash, reflecting the light of a car speeding past the mouth of the alley, and he has never seemed less human than now. He feels it, though, in an absent sort of way. Prey, weak, human, they all amount to the same thing.
Still, he smiles, and steps over the corpse, towards his hunter. He was aware of Anton the whole time, and though he dislikes others knowing his appetite, he has allowed it this time.
"Needs must, I'm afraid." He doesn't feed often, not only because he doesn't like to draw attention, but because he likes the gnawing hunger that grows with each night that he denies himself. It means that he, on occasion, will make a mess. Easy to clean up, for one of his power, and he doesn't need to fear discovery - usually - but a mess nonetheless.
"Did you enjoy the show?" he asks, tilting his head and chasing a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth. "This is the first time you've caught me feeding. Was it everything you hoped that it would be?"