There are some things one never really gets accustomed to. And though he's taken just about every injury a person can in their requiem, including that which would kill a mortal, Dillon's eye twitches at the sound of Catherine's teeth coming together. It's worse than the clank of a bear trap closing dry.
Almost like nails on a chalkboard.
By the time he's ran his tongue comfortingly over his own teeth and fangs, Dillon is on the move. He takes off at determined, predatory sprint after the fellow that snapped the picture. Shoulders low, eye on the target, powerful limbs pumping...
He can move pretty good for a man his size, and without employing a Kindred's more preternatural speed.
With Vigor up, Dillon's running speed in the shape of a man is 32