A brief smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, amused by the thought that being poisonous would be cool. It wasn't a superpower he'd have picked, of all those countless times that question was posed among humans as theoretical. It was always flight, or invisibility, or Wolverine's regenerative healing. No one wanted to be poisonous. No one wanted to turn into a half-rotted monster that cannibalized people, either.
"Not poisonous," he assured, releasing her hand when she'd risen. So neither were poisonous. Both were hungry. Both were new to the cirque. He'd manufactured pleasantness for less worthy reasons.
He was about to ask her if she was a meat eater, as there was a perfectly good arm and thigh left from his dinner that would be less than ideal for breakfast, when footsteps sounded from a few hall down. He frowned. Lights off at the entrance should have telegraphed the attractions' closure. “A few more to round up.” He paused, then turned his attention to the newcomer. “Unless you’d rather?” Vaughn lifted a brow, wordlessly asking her if she was the human hunting sort or creepy crawly.