Sohow it’s more stressful when the vehicle is stopping and starting so much compared to traveling at high speeds. The more populated areas of the Silverton section of Vossden were fairly busy this ti of night as the auto-pilot navigated all the traffic.
My stomach had been unhappy with since the small protein bar I ate and the small amount of foraging I’d done. So the neon sign for [Cluckers, Grill ’n Wings] called to like the oasis mirage in a desert.
I’d eaten before I found her in my apartnt, but really only snacked until now. All after spending hours around Martha’s chickens without being able to do anything about the temptation...
Quick as I can, I reroute the destination. The parking lot it pulled up to was busy but not packed, with a mix of work trucks and sedans. Suggesting that the fare inside appealed to both blue-collar workers grabbing dinner and possibly office types.
The atmosphere inside was exactly what I’d hoped for - dim lighting, sports I barely understand playing on multiple screens, and the overwhelming aroma of chicken... fried and grilled.
My mouth watered imdiately to the point that I had to actually wipe what escaped my lips before I slurped back the saliva. The hostess standing at a little counter looked to be college-aged with a business friendly smile.
"Just yourself tonight?"
"Yes. Sowhere I can see the screens would be nice."
Just because I have no idea what is going on does not an I cannot distract myself by trying to figure it out. She led to a high top table with realistic room for one - and barely two - on the floor near the bar.
Hopping onto the seat that will leave as high up as my navel when standing, I accept the nu she hands over and begin to scan it. Though I already knew what I wanted the mont I opened it - and nod when the server that appeared asks.
"I’ll take the fifty-piece traditional wings."
"Fifty? That’s... a lot of food. It’s usually ordered by larger parties."
"I haven’t eaten properly all day."
When I say this with a straight face, she narrows her eyes and shrugs.
"...Well, it’s your money. Sauce or rub?"
"Can I do half and half? Alright, then honey garlic sauce and the savory rub, please. Also add a basket of fries and a pitcher of water."
"A pitcher. For a single person, I can’t really-"
"There are dozens of tables that seem like they’ll require your help this evening. If you’d truly like to bring my five single glasses of water one by one just to keep coming back and seeing , you are welco to."
Adding plenty of charm to my voice as I tilt my head, I watch her upper body lean back without actually taking a full step. A clear sign that I’ve made her uncomfortable but she is trying not to overreact.
"...I’ll ask the bartender."
While waiting for the food - or the person I could tease to return with my drink, I pulled out the hunter’s phone and scrolled through their software app. I’m sure that Claire has already checked in here for information, but I feel the need to do so myself.
Glancing through the titles and amount of interaction on the most recent posts, I realize quickly enough that nothing ’major’ seems to be going on. No big plots by the humans in the know to topple the status quo of the supernatural world as far as I can tell.
Nothing much different at all from how it was the last tis I looked at it. Exactly as expected. Because if they were smart, they would be talking to each other outside of this place. So to kill ti until I savage the partial remains of twenty five tasty birds, I start to look through the equipnt sections again.
> Why? Because if things get hectic, I want everything I can have to help. And I do rember seeing sothing that I still want. <
"Mind if I sit? Place is getting crowded."
I looked up to find a middle-aged man with graying hair and calloused hands gesturing to the ’empty’ pub seating across from . He wore work clothes and carried himself with a laborer’s bearing.
The kind of tired but easy confidence that ca from being comfortable in his own skin. Sothing much rarer to find in courts of political intrigue. Though sothing tells that his choice to pick was not exactly... apolitical.
> Yes, I sll it. <
"Of course. Feel free. Though my order may take up a lot of space."
He settled down and signaled the bartender for a drink. I assu he must be a regular, because the man back there just raised his thumb up high and apparently started preparing one.
"Thanks. Na’s Richard, but I go by Rick. Don’t think I’ve seen you around before."
"Citra. First ti in here. New to the area."
"Ah, one of those. Moving here for longer term work?"
I nodded without explaining further. To the man joining my dinner, anyway. My wolf on the other hand...
> The key for learning what another knows is listening. There are tis where speaking makes them talk more and tis when doing so would make them clam up. <
After a few minutes of both of us staring at the television, the wings arrived in multiple baskets along with the fries and two glasses and pitchers. One water and one beer.
"Damn. I’m not interrupting a date or a private gathering or sothing, right?"
I picked up the first wing and bit into it, tasting the crispy skin and tender at. The savory rub had lots of notes, but complented the flavor of at without entirely overwhelming it. Using the bone left in my fingers, I point at his alcohol.
"I could ask the sa thing. Apparently pitchers are for groups."
"That they are. I used an interesting argunt to get mine the first ti."
"...Oh?"
"Said I was sitting here with my past, present, and future self. So, that’s at least a party of three."
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