✢
“Hey there,” he looked up from the glass of stout he’d been nursing (not nursing so much as bracing himself to take a drink of the foul-smelling liquid that passed for beer) as a brunette slid onto the barstool next to him and ordered a glass of wine. “You looked lonely.”
“Are you sure yer old enough t’ be drinkin’?” he raised an eyebrow. She was pretty, but it’d be a damn shame if he came onto her only for her to be a cop masquerading as a minor, or worse, if she actually were a minor. The woman only laughed as if that was the funniest joke she’d heard all night which only made his eyebrows raise higher.
“What about you? You sure you’re twenty-one?” she asked and Hircine sputtered a little. Culture shock had been being kicked out of a bar a couple months after his arrival because he was only eighteen.
“Quite sure. Name’s Hircine, or Gwyn if yer like most of the eejits in this city who think it’s too weird a name,” he extended a hand to her, trying to place her scent, not human, but not one he was familiar with.
“Bittie.”
“Like… ‘itty bitty’?” he grinned, “Fittin’ as yer rather fun-sized.” She socked him in the arm for that.
