Holding up a clawed hand so it caught some of the scarce moonlight finding it’s way into their shared space of alley way, Creed examined the blood coating his skin, the bits of flesh from the dead girl sliding past the spaces between his claws and falling to the pavement. With his clawed hand still held high, making sure LeBeau didn’t miss a single inch of blood stained flesh, Creed looked past it at the boy and licked a clawed finger clean with an obnoxious slurping noise. “Tastes like chicken…” he purred and without warning launched himself at the Cajun with a deafening roar, going down on all fours to barrel into the thin man, bringing him down hard onto a bit of pavement devoid of blood… Well, he’d be sure to change that real soon.