Clay leaned heavily against the bar and wallowed over his recent injury, attempting to wash away the pain with long messy swigs from an unlabelled bottle.
Even at his place of haven he couldn't find rest with his self pity. An unmistakeable smell reached his nose, it caused his heightened senses to grow more aware, the hair on the back of his neck to stand, his heart to suddenly beat harder and a weary almost vocal growl to rumble in the back of his throat.

The scent was a scent he hadn't smelled in many years. But every couple of years it would arise again. Each time slightly different. There were still the telltale signs that were always present, the familiar musk of herbs with an ever present undertone of wolfsbane. The faint brash metallic touch of raw silver and iron. 

Clay began to look around suspiciously, but it was too late... The smell was on his breath and in his drink. Someone here was trying to kill him and doing a damn good job. Clay suddenly leapt behind the bar and returned instantly with a shotgun in hand. It shook as he swayed it around the room in the direction of the other patrons. Paranoia in his eyes and anger on his lips. 

[@Lunar][@Alisdragon911][@Tokwa]