Something about the almost careless nature of the stranger is disarming to him, a lack of hostility. It makes his own feel wildly misplaced â and with a quick âgod damn itâ, Ethan relaxes his threat of a pointed gun.
âSorry. Havenât exactly had the warmest welcome.â He doesnât step closer, the thought of cigarette smoke wafting to his nose already has his mouth slanting even further. âIâm Ethan. Guessing you live around here?â
              No objections to the cigarette so Bigby busies himself with the process of rummaging through his pockets for his carton and lighter as the man -- Ethan, he introduces -- finally relaxes.   â Bigby, â he offers out of the corner of his mouth before lighting the tip. The smoke provides a welcome distraction and gives Bigby a moment to consider his next answer. He takes time to consider Ethan, as well. The smell came in with him but by all appearances he was unassuming; normal. Certainly not a villager, worshipping Mother Miranda and her â Black God. â
â Sort of. Used to, at least, but not for a long time now. â   He shakes his head with an exhale of smoke through his nose.   â Place looks pretty much the same. Not that thatâs a good thing. â   The toe of his shoe prods at the lycan at his feet.   â These are new, though. I donât suppose you have any idea what the hell is going on here? â