His tone was gruff as he swiftly shrugged her off, now facing away, and brought his left hand to his neck, feeling for wherever she had tried to tear his skin out, for what damage she might have caused. The tone of one who didn't seem to give a damn about attacks from whatever monsters were around him, or about the politics of hunting and destroying by each side, undead or someday-to-be, for each other.
Or at least, that was the best she could think of in the seconds after his tossing her to the side like a plaything, and quietly gripping his neck, finding the sight of blood on his palm when pulling it back away.
What she assumed was blood, given only that it was what obviously flowed in him. Everything else about it screaming as to being only holy-knew-what.
It was all she could do for those seconds to merely cough and spit back out, as best she could, what tasted to tongue like burning, frothing acid, and watching as it then began eating its way, here and there, through the wooden floor below.
It was green, the brief thought she had while quickly clambering over the counter and grabbing the nearest pitcher of water to still try to wash and spit the stuff out. Green, looking as acidic as it tasted and felt as it only now began slowly dissipating on the floor…and eerily burning, or something, the skin of his very own neck as it flowed down, the bleeding itself beginning to subside and dry under his hand. Dry under his hand, already.
What in the hells was he…
"Certainly not one of your normal prey, wouldn't you agree my dear?"
His tone seemed all but imperious, and laced with the kind of outright arrogance she had only heard from amongst the elders of her own kind…but far more disturbing, that she had said nothing, the only possible goad for his statement being her own thoughts.
Or was it? Perhaps it was merely random, to taunt her about his apparent bizarre, poison-natured immunity to attack. Who had ever heard of a mortal reading the minds of vampires or vampiresses?
He had turned and stared toward her, after speaking. Giving indication neither one way nor other as to the true nature of the words, only staring.
She gazed into old eyes. Far older than they should've been for a man in his seeming twenties. Predatorial, too? She'd seen it enough before, in others, amongst the elder. An enjoyment in watching prey squirm, at seeing hopelessness creep in, and so much more…some days she fancied she might begin to see it in her own face as the years passed…in her own eyes, if there were to ever be anything to see at all. An enjoyment at being of the dark, of being what they were.
But not here, not with this…thing. There was no satisfaction there, no pleasure. Coldness, alone. Predatorial? Yes…but another kind of predator, not like them…one with a cruelty deep in the eyes that she…yes she, of the vampires…wanted emotionally away from, wanted nothing to do with.
He stood there and stared on, eyes glancing momentarily to the floor, to where his blood had tarnished the varnished wood, leaving unnatural looking black marks, almost like burns, on the surface, and then back to her. His eyes seeming to glow, somehow, and his lips peeling back for a brief instant, like the predator again? It happened too fast for her to say for sure. She only knew that whatever he was, he had no like in all her experience…and when she considered it, he could stay that way.
The entire encounter had taken perhaps at most forty seconds, before she turned and fled, into the outer night where others among her kin likely roamed, unfettered and unconcerned with mere mortals, save as the delectable meal. He was left the only figure within.
He growled while sitting back down at the bar, and waiting for the owners and tenders to come back out of hiding from wherever they might be, from this, yet another attack…what had been intended as an attack, anyway. He considered telling them specifics on how to uninvite, before deciding they could get whatever the hell was coming to them, and that if they wanted to know, they'd think to ask. If they didn't, then all the better them cleaned out by playful monsters. Not as if an undead couldn't serve him just as good a liquor as a mortal.
He was already gone by the time they began coming back around from the adjacent, hidden rooms, sad at the prospect of losing yet another who might've turned out to be a regular customer, but easily preferring any day, him taken over them or their loved ones.
Beginning to clean up what surprisingly little damage was visible from the likely struggle between such a huntress and her chosen prey, they were somewhat stumped to find a small, velvet-laced sack of coins on the table, neatly tied at the top…and beside disturbingly scrawled letters, actually carved into the bar table itself, in a crescent-shaped line.
THANKS FOR THE DRINK.
They sighed and grumbled a little, knowing there was no real way to fix it, yet another physical reminder of horrors who never seemed to grow weaker.