Drinking in a bar was a pastime that probably belonged to underage girls, college students, drunks, and I don't know, whoever found themselves fancying loud music, a heavy aroma of sweat, and over-priced drinks. I had come to appreciate a good cigar lounge, spending my time with people who were a good deal older than I and fairly more sophisticated. But tonight? Half of me wanted to get smashed â€" like so drunk I couldn't even get home. I happen to be incredibly sick of everything... Of my job, of my clients, of my city. I didn't have family here, didn't choose to make incredibly strong relationships. I preferred my own company a good hundred and fifty percent of the time, but tonight?

I really didn't often seek out others. Company came only when seriously necessary, or if my brother decided to visit and my neighbor who had a serious affinity for the weed I didn't mind growing showed up. He was useful, testing whatever it was I grew or made from my own magic. But sometimes, when the chord was plucked just right, there was a deep longing for something more meaningful.

Ha, as if I'd find that here.

The drink wasn't as strong as I'd like, but drinking it quick enough afforded me the buzz I had been looking for. Warmed from inside out, my shoulders slowly dropped a little, and my posture relaxed. Man, I should probably do this more often. Habitually, I slid a cigarette from the pack in my back pocket, proceeding to light it as a young woman found her way to a seat near me. She looked jittery, anxious, like she too didn't fit in a place like this. My newfound relaxed stance probably drew her over to me, instead of the pretentious looking group of men at the other side of the bar. She clearly needed a similar kind of solace, one that I was tempted to inform her she wouldn't find here. Something was different, and off, about her â€" potentially in the way her movements were animalistic. Before the bartender glowered at me, and demanded I step outside for the cigarette, I ran a finger over my lips while my gaze fell on her, wondering what kind of animal lay restless under her skin.

I stood, moving past her to get outside and finish the cigarette before smoking another one. A large group of men turned into the alley that the door to the bar was located in, their strides purposeful and intoxicated on a kind of drug that you can't buy or drink. I mean, you can tell a man's demeanor by his walk. These men strode pridefully down the alley, their swagger indicating their hunt, their prowl for something, - or someone- innocent, and an easy kill. Metaphorically, maybe, but they clearly noted I had stepped outside. That part didn't bother me, I could handle them easily. What was disconcerting, and clicked even though there was a whiskey buzz filling my head, was that there was a young woman inside who looked shaken up.

I flicked my cigarette into the street, closer to where their footsteps fell before turning into the bar as their voices rose. They were commenting on finding their little red riding hood, and the general taunts of men eager to prove their testosterone was bigger than yours. Unhurriedly, I scanned them to see if it was someone I might have an inkling of knowing, before stepping back inside the bar to quickly lock the door behind me, gently using a little bit of magic to fuse the door shut since the knob and lock were metal that bended to my will.

The woman was still by herself, and I migrated back to my seat. My voice was lower, and my eyes moved from the door to her systematically, especially as there was a faint pounding accompanying the taunts that, if she were a shifter, she would be able to instinctually hear.

"Do you want to tell me why those men are looking for you?"