[ Benny notices him the second he gets even remotely close. It’s not the footsteps or the shuffling of bags, the creak of someone sitting down on one of the chairs (though he hears those too, perks of being the thing that he is). Mostly, it’s the smell, metallic and coppery. It’s the telltale scent of flesh and blood human, the thump of a heart, blood pumping in succulent veins. It makes his mouth water, the back of his throat ache.
But he’s practiced at control, and there’s no slide of teeth, no reaction beyond a subtle shift of his body on the creaky pool chair. It’d be nice to relax in the sun - he wouldn’t combust, but the sunburn would go from mild to really damn annoying before long, so this atmosphere is perfect for him.
He doesn’t sit up, but those senses narrow in like a camera lens, focused sharp on the stranger taking a seat a chair or two down. Not a threat that he’s aware of (yet, everyone here seems to be some breed of bagged cat), but definitely something alive in a way that’s hard to ignore.
He lifts his drink, takes a long sip of something way too sweet (he’s more experienced in straight liquor, the syrup in his drink is his own damn fault this time), and finally speaks. ]
I can almost hear you thinkin’ from here. Have a drink, stay a while. [ He might have a syrupy sweet little cocktail, but he’s easing up a bit to rummage in his own duffle to produce a bottle of liquor he’d ‘procured’ from the pool bar. ]
its perfect!!
But he’s practiced at control, and there’s no slide of teeth, no reaction beyond a subtle shift of his body on the creaky pool chair. It’d be nice to relax in the sun - he wouldn’t combust, but the sunburn would go from mild to really damn annoying before long, so this atmosphere is perfect for him.
He doesn’t sit up, but those senses narrow in like a camera lens, focused sharp on the stranger taking a seat a chair or two down. Not a threat that he’s aware of (yet, everyone here seems to be some breed of bagged cat), but definitely something alive in a way that’s hard to ignore.
He lifts his drink, takes a long sip of something way too sweet (he’s more experienced in straight liquor, the syrup in his drink is his own damn fault this time), and finally speaks. ]
I can almost hear you thinkin’ from here. Have a drink, stay a while. [ He might have a syrupy sweet little cocktail, but he’s easing up a bit to rummage in his own duffle to produce a bottle of liquor he’d ‘procured’ from the pool bar. ]