"[b][color=00746b]Another.[/color][/b]" Dimitri grunted over the empty glass in his hand. The bartender serving him gave Dimitri a strained look, however he relented and filled the glass with another three fingers of scotch. Under normal circumstances the look that the barkeep had given would have been reserved for someone whom had drank far more than they could tolerate, in this case however, the look he was giving Dimitri the look due to the fact that Dimitri was a licensed witch hunter. The license Dimitri carried served three main purposes: it allowed him to carry his weapon freely and in full view, worked as a pass onto restricted or otherwise private property during hunts, and acted as an identification card, one that Dimitri was all too happy to flash in the name of getting a drink or two in his system. As far as Dimitri was aware, witch hunters were still receiving mixed views from the public; some viewed them as saints or heroes that did the work that needed to be done, and other viewed them as murderers. The bartender was of the former mentality, however, that didn't mean he was about to let someone with a deadly weapon and the skill to use it efficiently get drunk enough to become violent. 
Dimitri drained his glass and savored the burning smoothness of the liquid on his tongue as it warmed his chest and stomach. The witch hunter was about to ask for another, however the look on the barkeep's face ultimately turned him off of the idea. Instead Dimitri slapped his payment down onto the counter along with a nice tip and exited the bar with the intention of finishing off the six pack of Angry Orchard he had in the back of his fridge when he got home.

Upon his exit Dimitri felt a strange prickling sensation on the back of his neck, the kind that one only received when something was either about to go very wrong or when they were being watched. He'd noticed it earlier when he'd been heading towards the bar, however he'd initially chalked it up as post work jitters. Now that he'd gotten a chance to calm his nerves Dimitri's instincts kicked into full force, and all of them were telling him that something was most definitely off. The witch hunter tried to play it casual; he yawned and scratched at his goatee while taking a look around his environment. A couple necking a block or two down, nothing out of place there, a junkie sitting on the corner begging for change, sad, but again normal, and a person on a bench across the street that seemed to be looking his way. The possibility of being stared at wasn't exactly pleasant, but the unpleasantry of the situation immediately took a back seat to the confusion that came when he took note of what the guy was wearing. Unless the guy was coming from or heading to a ren-fair, LARP session, or some sort of cult meeting, his apparel meant that he was either a hunter or a wizard. Then again, maybe he simply had a peculiar sense of fashion. Dimitri decided that it was ultimately none of his business and calmly began walking towards an entrance for the underground subway. If the mystery person wanted something to do with Dimitri he would have to follow him. Dimitri had seen his share of bloodshed for one night, and he was not keen on actively seeking more.